Don't Look Down

I have this mantra that I follow- that I have followed since the time of my initial bout with anorexia.  I say it to myself over and over and over.  Daily, Hourly, Minute by Minute it hums through my brain, a constant companion.

Don't Look Down.  Don't Look Down.  Don't Look Down.

I get that it probably does not make much sense to many people why this would be my own personal mantra.  It's the thing you say to the person doing the epic climb- who is afraid of heights; to the person who is bungee- or base-jumping for the first time; to the person who really did NOT want to be stuck on the rickety old Ferris wheel... especially when it stalls at the top.

For me it holds, of course, entirely different meaning.

To look down is to acknowledge the beast- the physical evidence of my disease.  The breasts, the belly, the legs- all those parts that I so loathe.  The parts that are too big, too rounded- too feminine and so very hated.

DON'T LOOK DOWN.

To look down means facing the abyss- the deepest darkest fall into the deepest darkest parts of my self, my brain, my psyche.  The parts that cause me to HATE, to LOATHE, to toe a desperate line of self-destruction with every step I take.  It means heartbreak.   I look down and I am heartbroken.

DON'T LOOK DOWN.  PLEASE DON'T LOOK DOWN.

And that is the name of the game- Don't look down because down is bad.  Down is pain.

Until next time, Friends.
Much love.