Eating Disorder Awareness Week:What Recovery Actually Feels Like

I open my eyes from a mediocre night’s rest, roll over and grab my phone. I know I should go back to sleep or meditate or stretch or do something productive, but I’m a human being who sometimes checks her phone too much. I instantly start scrolling and am reminded right away when I see photos with long captions posted like NEDA week is a religious holiday.

It’s eating disorder awareness week. All of my friends that are also maintaining a recovery are posting happy pictures of themselves, before and after photos, and confident selfies. This is the week we talk about how difficult our struggle was, how sick we were, and how far we have come. This is the week we post pictures with our significant others and express gratitude for all those who supported us on this gruesome journey.

I debate whether or not I want to share a photo of myself, but my “before” photos are painful to look at and my after photos are far and few because I hate taking photographs of myself. I’m not a different person, I’m still me. I’ve maintained a healthy weight for a while now. But the truth is it’s just too hard to look at myself. My perception of beauty is distorted, my body dysmorphia leaves me feeling ashamed, and really my eating disorder just feeds on the wrong kind of attention. My life is the best it has been in a long time; I am the healthiest I’ve been in a long time. It is still and will always be hard. Eating is not as hard. Feeling okay in this body is hard. Accepting where I am in my life is hard. I sometimes feel cheated and like I lost time. I know I am making up for it, but I will never be 19 or 20 or 21 again. I will never be 14 or 15 or 16 or 17 or 18 again. Those are all years I lost to anorexia. And I feel intense anger and frustration that I am now playing catch-up on my life. Being in a healthy body is… invalidating. Because despite how invasive my thoughts are, I am perceived as generally doing well. “It’s not a big deal.” “I’m okay now.” I’m “staying strong”.

Don’t get me wrong, recovery really is all that it’s cracked out to be. I have a life, I have friends, I have goals, I can move my body, I’m generally happy and able to focus. But there is still a large part of me that is very sad. And when life is difficult and there is no anorexia to fall back into I’m forced to face life’s demons. I feel things deeply…. And I wish I didn’t. Because in those moments I miss the false safety starving myself gave me from reality. 2021 was a slew of deaths, grief, heartbreak, and more grief. And life will always throw curveballs. When you’re recovering from an eating disorder not only do you have to deal with what life is throwing at you but you have to deal with the intense urge to not fall back into your self destructive safety net. I didn’t want to post a picture of myself today. Partially because I don’t like to see myself in photographs and also because the reality is that this illness is glamorized and I’m not here to glamorize something that nearly killed me. This blog is at least real. It’s a little vulnerable but a photo of myself smiling and saying I’ve conquered my demons is, well… a massive lie. I’ve worked on myself. I’ve come far. And yes, I’m totally okay. But it’s not easy, and when you cross that big scary bridge in your life you then reach a point where you need to deal with the consequences of the YEARS of self destruction. The osteoporosis, the osteopenia, the infertility, the stomach issues and food sensitivities, the brain damage, the liver problems, the psychological trauma that you basically bestowed upon yourself, and then the guilt you carry for basically traumatizing your whole damn family. And all the unresolved “food feelings”, insecurities, and issues with your self concept that held you down for years. You have to deal with all that.

I always thought that sitting in that hospital bed and understanding that my destined fate of eating meals and gaining weight back to health was the scariest thing I could ever go through. I thought that eating a granola bar and not being able to walk it off right after was the most painful thing I would have to experience. News flash, IT’S NOT. It really felt like it though.

Eating is hard and to some extent you might always feel like it’s hard. But what’s really hard is maintaining your health while trying to piece your life back together while also trying to be a normal human while also engaging in relationships and being hurt by those relationships while also experiencing close friends dying while also trying to finish school while also juggling two jobs so you can make money. It is hard to hold yourself together when everything in your life is going wrong. But I know that I have to because eventually things will go right. Eventually I’ll feel like it was worth it. Today I don’t. Today I miss being sick. Today I envy the lives of everyone who seems like they have gotten it together since meeting in treatment while also maintaining a hot appearance on social media. It sounds vain, and it totally is. But I totally envy them and the confidence they’ve built in themselves and their lives, I envy how they can seemingly share it effortlessly with the world. It is hard to feel ashamed of your own. Especially when in retrospect, I know I have climbed mountains from where I came.

And that is honestly how it feels to be in recovery from an eating disorder. It’s overwhelming and sometimes I just want the safety of nothingness.

Debbie

I’ve always thought of my relationships as teachers. People come into our lives to show us things. Our relationships can transform us in the most beautiful ways; our friends are truly blessings.

My dear friend Debbie was more than just a blessing. She truly was a gift. I don’t know where or who I’d be if I had never met her.

It was Spring of 2019; I had come home from college mid relapse in my anorexia. I knew I couldn’t put my parents through a cycle through hell and back again; I was going to land myself in the hospital again if I didn’t take care of it. My world felt upside down, I was constantly consumed by thoughts surrounding food and weight, I was lonely and isolated, and truthfully deep down I was beginning to accept that maybe I would just suffer from this the rest of my life or until it eventually killed me. I didn’t feel strong enough to tackle my eating disorder myself and I couldn’t envision myself attempting treatment again. I felt like a lost cause, I felt hopeless.

One night before I went to sleep I asked the universe to help me figure all this out. I had no idea what I was doing and had completely lost my sense of self. I wasn’t prepared to face the reality of what real recovery looked like, nor did I even understand what it was or how it was going to work. Within a day or two, the woman across the street came by walking her dog. Her and my mother were friendly but I only knew her as Debbie, the lady with all the cats in her backyard.

My mother came inside while I was having a meltdown over my inability to decide what to cook for dinner. She expressed to me that Debbie was concerned about me because I didn’t look too well, and my mother assured her I was okay, just going through some things. Debbie looked at her and replied “I had an eating disorder too. Tell her she can come over for tea or something if she wants.” After my mother expressed this I was offended but knew that she just wanted to see me get better. I thought about Debbie’s offer for a few days and decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to meet her. All I really wanted was someone to talk to who would understand how I felt.

It was a Thursday afternoon, around 4:00pm, I headed to Debbie’s house after my daily walk and knocked on the door. She was friendly and invited me inside, and instantly we formed a special bond that I can’t really explain. She just got it, and she was very easygoing. There was nothing pushy about our conversation which was unlike any other conversation I had had with others regarding my anorexia, as I always felt people wanted to tell me exactly what to do, how to do it, and then place an unreasonable amount of pressure or guilt on me. She was a breath of fresh air.

I had been all over to receive help for my eating disorder. I had been in and out of hospitals and treatment centers for years, with little progress. Sometimes I’d be okay for a bit, but eventually something would trigger me and I would fall apart. Because deep down I had never got to the root of my issues, I was always just band-aiding my issues with temporary meal plans. It wasn’t until I met Debbie that I truly began to heal. Through our friendship, I gradually began to let go of my anorexia.

Debbie quickly became one of my best friends and she was there for me through one of the darkest and most confusing periods of my life. I went to her house every day, sometimes several times a day. Sometimes I would come and we would eat a meal together, other times I would come after I had eaten and was panicking over it. Sometimes I would just come hang out because I needed a friend. She gave me space to freak out about my disordered thinking, she rationalized my thoughts and grounded me, and then she would change the subject to something completely different. Eventually I learned how to move on from my anxiety.

As I grew healthier I wanted more from my life and she not only helped me find those experiences but she was there for me and was my friend as I went through these new challenges. All I had known was my eating disorder for so long, moving outside of that was terrifying. She helped me apply for jobs and get ready to work after being on medical leaves, and I wound up with two. She would even visit me at work if the coffee shop was empty. She was there for me before and after the first date I had gone on in years, and she continued to be there for me as I developed new relationships with other people. My circle slowly started to build and I suddenly had a real life that had nothing to do with my anorexia. Debbie was there for all of it.

Throughout covid if I couldn’t see her, she would text and call me. She always told me she was praying for me that I’d see the end of my eating disorder. Sometimes it seemed slow, sometimes it seemed impossible. Sometimes I felt like I made no progress, but she was always there to remind me I was, always reminding me how far I had come.

July of 2020, I came home from working all day and my father asked me if Debbie was okay. I was unsure what he meant by all this, and he explained that an ambulance had come the day before for her. I had been so caught up with work, I had no idea. I reached out to her and within a few days she called me and told me she had brain cancer and that it was incurable. I was shocked, and I really didn’t know how to process this harsh reality. She told me she would most likely die from this. She told me her life expectancy is 9 to 12 months. How do you process your best friend telling you they are going to die within the year?

Truthfully, the reality of what was actually happening to her didn’t really sink in until I was able to see her more often. I was so frustrated that she had gotten sick during the pandemic, all I wanted was to see her and spend time with her.

I think my brain was dealing with the grief incrementally. I was mentally preparing myself for it so to speak. Seeing her suffer from cancer was so incredibly painful, and I felt guilty that she helped me get through my illness but there was nothing I could do to resolve her cancer. I was helpless and I just wanted to take it away from her. “I don’t know if I’m ready to die, I have a lot of life to live” is what she told me. My heart shattered.

On April 13th she told me she had come off chemo and gone onto home hospice care. Fighting was too difficult and she needed help. I was relieved she was no longer struggling through chemo, and proud of her for her brave decision, but so heartbroken knowing that she didn’t have much time to live. I tried to visit her as much as I had time for, it was very stressful for me being during finals. I wished that I could have seen her more.

It went by so quickly… hospice care is typically a life expectancy of six months or less and it is the agreement to end all forms of treatment and to just focus on making the most out of your life not to extend it. I know she had hoped to make it to October, and I hoped she would too. Every time I came to visit she seemed to grow weaker.

I came over one morning after class and sat with her at the kitchen table. She needed a lot of things to keep her propped up but she was still talkative. “How are you doing with your dietitian?” “I’m doing good…. I’m not worried about my weight anymore.” “That’s good, all that matters is that you are healthy.” I wanted to tell her how fulfilling and exciting my life is, how I rarely worry about calories, how I have so much more space in my brain to focus on other things… I regret being speechless 80% of the time I spent visiting her in her last few weeks. “I’m going on a date with someone new, I’ve never met him before.” She smiled and said “make sure you spend time with a man who treats you right…” and then she told me the most beautiful story of how she met her husband David, how it was love at first sight, and how happy she was that she married him. That was the last conversation I had with her. After that visit, she became very unresponsive. She would give me hand squeezes and I knew it was her way of saying “I love you”.

On May 3rd, I woke up with a bad feeling that I couldn’t really describe or understand. I had some free time after getting home from an appointment so I figured I would visit quickly. When I knocked on the door, her son came out and told me that she was going to die within a few hours, that the nurse suspected she would pass that morning and they were waiting. I went in and braced myself, and God, I wish I had said more than just I love you because that’s not enough to express all the love and appreciation I had for her. I held her hand and tried to keep myself collected. I cried hysterically as I walked home and my mother pulled me in for a hug as I walked in.

On May 5th, Debbie passed away. I felt like I was okay, it wasn’t news I wasn’t expecting, I had known this was coming for quite some time. May 8th, the day of all of her services was quite different. I completely lost it, I don’t recall crying like that since my grandma died when I was a small child. It’s really difficult to wrap your head around, when you remember someone as being so vibrant and healthy and the next you are praying over a casket. It was all so overwhelming, and the guilt washed over me like a hurricane. I had the blessing to sit next to her niece, who I had never met before, and after all the speeches were made she gave me the biggest hug.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this post anymore. It’s more of an open diary today. Grief is strange, sometimes you think you’re okay and then soon after you feel as if it can’t possibly get any worse. I just can’t believe she’s gone.

I struggled with anorexia for 8 years… today I don’t. Thank you Debbie for being my light at the end of the tunnel. Thank you for being my rock. Thank you for being one of my best friends. Sometimes I sit and think about how much my life has changed in the past two years, and I know I wouldn’t be the woman I am if I had never met you. I love you so much and I am eternally grateful for our friendship and the bond that we shared. Rest in sweetest peace angel♥️

Peeling Away the False Self, Blossoming into My True Essence

Recently I applied and was accepted into my school’s Art Therapy program… I’m beyond excited. Anyone that knows me knows how passionate I am about my artwork. It is so deeply healing for me and my life’s mission is to bring that passion and healing to others.

This was the most recent piece I made, it’s actually my final project for the semester. The assignment was to research an artist and to create a piece inspired by their own personal style. I chose Louise Bourgeois. Her pieces are about invoking emotion, reflecting on her personal biography, and allowing the viewer to make connections to the piece with their own thoughts and emotions. She loves to reflect on the magic and drama of her childhood and personal growth. This couldn’t be more up my alley, as all my pieces have deep meaning to me.

This piece is about my eating disorder and my eating disorder recovery. The materials, the process of creating, and the final product are all a reflection of my personal journey.

In the center of the piece I have a pot of water. I’m steeping several bags of tea as well as chamomile leaves. When I was restricting my intake, tea was one of the few things I was willing to consume. I would drink cup after cup of tea. I did this to suppress my appetite, I did this because I hoped drinking certain herbs would make me healthier or more attractive, and I did this because I rationalized self destruction with self care; despite the fact that I was an anxious mess, drinking a cup of tea soothed me and brought me to my center.

The branches surrounding the pot were just stacked one on top of the other, much like my suppressed emotions. The branches are held together by dehydrated banana peels. It sounds odd (I know I can be strange), but it has a deeper meaning. In essence, a banana peel is the outer layer of the substance; I peeled that away from its original form, and allowed it to dry up and darken. Much like my eating disorder, I had separated from who I really was. My exterior was dying and I became cold and dark. I was separate from my body, yet so attached to it. I also have dehydrated banana peels at the bottom of the pot, because in the depths of my eating disorder I truly felt that I was drowning; I couldn’t see above what I was under. And in all my darkness and brokenness, I was trying to hold myself together.

The act of creating was a process of waiting. Waiting for the water to boil, waiting for the tea to steep, waiting four hours for my banana peels to dehydrate. Peeling the bananas, dehydrating them in the oven was picking myself apart and essentially destroying myself. Boiling the water was waiting for change.

The flowers are symbolic of my recovery. Growth. Blossoming into the person I am today. Flowers grow with water. With no pain, there is no growth.

The finished product is the story of my strength. Through the process of pain, there is growth. In growth, I find beauty.

The Reality of My Eating Disorder (It’s Not That Glamorous)

The older I get the more I realize how little the people around me understand the disease I struggle with on a day to day basis. Social media platforms like TikTok have become the new 2012 Tumblr, where we glorify eating disorders, depression, and other mental illnesses.

The frustration I feel when people minimize or joke about my struggle is indescribable. So often I hear “I wish I had your willpower”, “Just eat healthy and exercise”, “It’s not that bad, at least you don’t have cancer”, or my personal least favorite “Well, you look fine”. Eating disorders are mental illnesses that have serious consequences on the physical body. For anyone that has told me that my eating disorder wasn’t a big deal, keep reading. For anyone that thinks eating disorders are trendy, keep reading. And for anyone that has an eating disorder, this is your trigger warning, I will be discussing numbers and behaviors.

When I was 14 years old I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. Not only did it consume my thoughts, but it wreaked havoc on my entire body. Emotionally, I felt numb and overwhelmed by all of my thoughts. A day didn’t go by where I didn’t worry about what I was eating. I was depressed, angry, and isolated. I felt completely alone and I wasn’t willing to let anyone in. My relationships suffered. I fought with my parents all the time, usually about food. This went on for years. Whenever I struggled with food, I struggled with my relationships and sense of self.

The physical damage that I did to my body began almost immediately, but over time it gradually got worse. The first sign that my body was suffering was when I stopped getting a menstrual period. This happened as an immediate result of severe calorie restriction. I developed what is called amenorrhea, which is the absence of three or more consecutive menstrual cycles. I am 22 years old and I can count on my fingers the number of menstrual periods I have had in the past 8 years, which is not normal in the very least. I’ve heard plenty of people say that I’m lucky that I don’t get a period, which for me is incredibly frustrating to hear. A regular period is a sign of good health. My body was starving, so it shut down functions to prioritize “more important” organ functions for survival.

Having amenorrhea became like a domino effect for a slew of other health problems. Due to this, I had extremely low levels of estrogen and calcium. Why is this problematic? Well, my body was literally pulling nutrients from my bones at a time where my body should have been in peak condition for increasing and optimizing bone mass. When I was a junior in high school I started getting a ton of cavities. I couldn’t understand why; I didn’t eat any sugar besides fruit and I was pretty thorough about taking care of my teeth. I was getting cavities because I was so calcium deficient. By the time I was 19, I had developed osteoporosis in my left hip and in my spine. Osteoporosis is a disease that occurs when the body loses too much bone mass. Bones become weak and brittle; they can break or fracture easily. Osteoporosis is irreversible. At 19 years old, this was news I really struggled to accept. I worried that I would hurt myself accidentally in the future, and I worried that the damage I had done to my body would get worse. Osteoporosis typically occurs after menopause, I felt too young to be dealing with this.

That same year I received even worse news. Rewind to Fall 2017, I was away at school. My eating was terrible, I was struggling so much. I had a panic attack about food almost every day, was late to all of my classes, and could barely focus on anything. Eventually I was unable to move my right leg; I didn’t know why and I was scared. It didn’t help that my entire campus was composed of hills. I ended up in the hospital hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor because my heart rate was low. The protocol was to get an MRI of my brain to see if that could give an explanation for the lack of mobility in my leg. The news I received was heartbreaking and shocking. The MRI did not show any reason to lose mobility in my leg, however it showed something else. I have permanent brain damage from my eating disorder. I have lost grey brain matter, have holes in my brain, and overall brain shrinkage. At times I still struggle to process this harsh reality. How could I do this to myself? Well, what about your leg? I had very poor blood circulation due to not eating enough, so basically there was little to no blood flow going to my leg, which was why I couldn’t walk.

A “Normal” Brain vs My Brain. Side view.

I’d be lying if I said the self destruction stopped there. When I was 20 years old, I dropped down to 65 pounds. It’s a miracle that I’m even alive, that is the weight of a first grader, not a 20 year old woman. If I hadn’t gone into the hospital when I did, I would have probably died within a few days. I kept asking “Is it really that bad?” Because I couldn’t see how sick I truly was, and looking back I feel sad knowing how consumed by the illness I was. I was a pain in the ass; I gave everyone a hard time. I really didn’t want to be healthy. My heart rate was only 32. That’s not normal. After a couple of weeks it went up to the 50s. My liver enzymes were in the thousands and I had terrible edema in my feet and ankles (edema is fluid retention). I was in the hospital for about a month, a refeeding unit at a different hospital for two weeks, and then residential treatment for another four months. The mental torment was indescribable.

After all of that my doctors pretty much deemed me infertile. They said it was unlikely I could have a child of my own because of the damage I had done to my body.

When I was 21, I started binging and purging. This brought another slew of issues with it. Less than a year later, I have terrible acid reflux, vomit involuntarily (occasionally blood), have IBS, food sensitivities, and problems with my liver. For me, mentally, binging and purging was so much worse than restricting ever was. My weight was fluctuating, I was sick all the time, I felt out of control and like I was failing the one thing I had always been good at. I felt frustrated and ashamed of my actions and “secret life”. It destroyed my already non-existent self-esteem and sense of self.

Stop glorifying this illness, stop joking about it, stop minimizing it. It’s not glamorous. It’s not funny. It destroys lives.

The Story Behind The Yarn

I’ve posted quite a few pictures on my social media of a photoshoot I did for one of my studio classes. I put on a black dress, floral printed tights, and red flats. I put my hair in braids, dusted my cheeks bright pink, and drew cracks on my face. I was going for a weird, broken, slightly provocative doll/puppet vibe. Whether or not I achieved that, I’m still happy with the pictures I ended up with.

While I’m sure a lot of people think I was trying to be a weird artist, rolling around the Baker Center floor, laughing, and doing a silly photoshoot with my friends, there is in fact a story behind it. A story I’ve vaguely touched upon with my professor. While it was a lot of fun, there is a lot more to it than rolling around in yarn.

My artwork always comes from a place of expression, and today I want to share the story behind the photoshoot.

I was portraying myself as a doll or a marionette, and my friend Anthony was manipulating my movements, being the puppeteer.

I was a doll seeking attention. I was thrown around, played with, and my only fulfillment came from being used by others.

Sometimes I would be abandoned for days, locked in a dark toy box, or thrown on the floor to get kicked around and stepped on.

I had no will or say as to how my day would play out, but my manipulator did.

My definition and self-worth came from a person that was playing with me and using me when it was convenient for them, only to get thrown to the side when they were finished. Like my toxic relationship.

I was tied up in fear, confusion, and self-hatred. Despite how I felt, I always put on a show for my audience. And his.

I was desperate for attention. Desperate to be played with. Desperate to be used. I really just wanted love and affection. But this is how it is for dolls.

While Annabel the doll is a made up character, the woman experiencing these feelings is very real. Being stuck in a toxic relationship is shameful, humiliating, and dangerous. But somehow we find safety in that; for some reason we stay and come back for more.

Like I expressed through Annabel, the reassurance in our self worth feels necessary. We need it. But that’s just a piece. You are being manipulated. They are trying to control you. It is one sided and the puppeteer always has the upper hand.

You don’t even see the manipulation because you are so busy performing for the rest of the world.

You are scared and you are stuck; there is seemingly no way out. So you stay.

A Letter to My Younger Self

Antonia,

I wish that you could see how beautiful you are, how valuable and worthy you are, how many people love and adore you.

I wish you could understand that the only thing you can control is yourself. You could not be a better friend; it is not your fault that you could not solve her crippling anxiety. It is not your fault he relapsed and overdosed. It is not your fault they died in that car crash.

Starving yourself will not make him love you, but it will make him worry. He will not come to save you, he will step back and watch you kill yourself.

Your eating disorder will not bring people closer to you, it will isolate you. It will push people away and destroy your relationships. They will be horrified.

Losing weight will make you feel good in the short term, but living with anorexia will destroy your self-esteem. You will grow to hate yourself more and more; it will never be enough.

What’s comfortable isn’t always good for you. You may be scared of how many calories are in your dinner, but it could be the difference between a safe heart rate and a trip to the hospital.

The “friends” that reject you for being “too sick” don’t matter and they never will. Don’t miss them. The people that really matter will stick by you, even if it means creating a healthy distance.

Listen to the people that care about you; they are not overreacting. This disease will kill you. Don’t think or tell yourself that you can “just do it once” or “just skip one meal” because honey, you are addicted to starving. Your brain will change and chemical imbalances will get worse.

Your eating disorder thrives on isolation and secrecy; please reach out.

You will lose your period from eating too little. This is not something you should be happy about or push under the rug. You will develop osteoporosis and become potentially infertile. The damage you do now could be permanent.

Your mother is not sending you to treatment because she hates you, she just wants you to get help; please forgive her.

You are young and you are naive. Don’t always look for the best in people, some are just not capable of being good.

Your body is a temple, treat it like one. Eat 5-6 small meals a day and keep your protein high. Don’t google weird diets to experiment, and more importantly don’t try them. Eating high carb vegan, fruit only for the first half of the day will not help you lose weight, it will mess with your metabolism and blood sugar. Keep a routine, do yoga, and nourish your body with whole foods. People will make fun of you for the food you eat and the quantity you need to consume; ignore them, this is YOUR health not theirs.

The guys you’re dating are literal trash. You’re worth more than you think. Set your standards higher. If a man makes you uncomfortable, get out. He doesn’t really want to get to know you. Just because he wooo-ed you a couple times doesn’t mean he’s worth staying with. Just because he can play a few songs on the piano doesn’t mean he deserves to be with you.

Most importantly, be patient and go easy on yourself. Forgive. Keep loving. The next few years are going to challenge you in ways you could never imagine. That’s okay. Life is a journey and recovery is never a straight line. Things get so much better, you just have to do the work.

Sincerely, your older, wiser, more mature and forever evolving self.

A New Platform

So, here I am. Blogging. I’ve always loved writing, and after years of going through journal after journal and letting my thoughts and feelings explode in the DMs of my closest friends at 2am, I decided I wanted a new platform to express myself and hopefully reach a broader audience.

Being my first post, I guess I’ll just share a little bit about myself and some of the things I plan to post and blab about on this blog.

My name is Antonia Marie Geraci. I’m the oldest of three in a stereotypical Italian household. My mom’s side of the family comes from Calabria and my dad’s come from Sicily and Naples. I’m a 200 Hour Registered Yoga Teacher; practicing, teaching, learning, and sharing yoga is one of my biggest passions. I’m an artist, and I attended Ohio University for Studio Art and Psychology; my goal is to get my Masters Degree in Art Therapy. I love all different types of art, but I primarily like to work in charcoal and draw the human body. My art tends to be on the darker, creepier side. I’ve always had a love for writing, and I actually went into college with the intention of being a Creative Writing major, but I switched over to Studio Art at my orientation.

3ft Charcoal drawing. The Broken Chest; giving myself closure.

After years of struggling with an eating disorder, I’m learning to deal with it while juggling life and everything it throws at me. A great deal of my posts will be sharing what life with an eating disorder is like, recovery and relapse. I’ve been given a number of diagnosis over the past eight years but I would say my eating disorder has really effected my life the most, and I want to use this blog as a platform to share and hopefully educate people on the outside.

My good friend Alex helped me create the title for this blog. I was really freaking out because I had no idea what to name this without sounding ridiculous or stupid. He googled the meaning behind my name; apparently the name Antonia means priceless. He told me to title the blog “Priceless”. I liked it a lot. My thoughts are priceless, I am priceless, you are priceless. This is where I can share stories of my recovery, my struggle, life, relationships, and everything in between.

Thank you for coming to check out my blog, and I look forward to seeing where I can go with this and any doors it may open for me or for my readers.