CLIMBING
Once again Yours Truly has been sent a little message from the Gods, and if you have been following me on my journey you’ll know that these little messages usually hit me with the force of a thunderbolt direct from the hand of Zeus himself. It has been brought to my attention that I have been treating my body not so much as a temple but more like an all nite Drive Thru. I have never been the type of girl to turn down a night out at the pub and a stop at the nearest Mr. Chippy van on the way home; in fact I believe Mr. Chippy has seen me through more than my fair share of late nights, but lately I have come to the realization that beer and carbohydrates do not a healthy lifestyle make. I have also come to the realization that my body has begun to rebel against this lifestyle; I am entering my mid-thirties and am now just beginning to understand the extent of the damage I have inflicted on myself over the years, which has lead me to my final thunderbolt: I did these things with a clear mind because I have always hated my body.
I have to tell you now how hard this is for me to admit; I have always gotten away with being bubbly and light-hearted, somehow managing to laugh off my clumsiness, my big breasts and my flabby arsed way of life before anyone else could. But they have laughed anyway. Heartily. I heard laughter when I was twelve years old and stood nearly six feet tall and had breasts and hips that belied my age, and they laughed when my legs would come out from under me, and I hear that laughter still. But perhaps it’s because I’m facing thirty five, perhaps it’s because I have someone in my life who contradicts every negative thought I’ve ever had about myself, or perhaps (without sounding like too much of a cliché) it’s because it’s time to let that tall little girl go, I have decided to come clean.

Nearly everything I have done in the last few years has been done to sabotage myself. I have starved myself down to anorexic proportions, ballooned because of binge eating and drinking, gotten into destructive relationships, and beaten myself up both emotionally and physically because the image I had in my mind wasn’t what stared back at me when I looked in the mirror. And I am so sick of it. I am so sick of being tied to my scale, hoping against hope that the number that will make me perfect will appear, and I am so tired of using the same ridiculous excuse that ‘I’m not hurting anyone else except myself, and that’s okay’, because it isn’t okay. It isn’t okay to look in the mirror and repeat the phrase ‘You are a fat, ugly pig’ like a mantra, and it isn’t okay to live my life with the understanding that I have no right to be happy. I have been fighting with these demons for so long that I can’t remember a day when their voices weren’t present, and on those days when I’m actually feeling good and alive, I will get frightened and will actively seek out the nearest pitfall so that I can put myself back on the negative treadmill all over again. In the past it would be at this point that I would reach for a Big Mac, a cigarette, a bottle of wine, anything to take away the fear of being present in my own body, but not this time. This time I went rock climbing. What better way is there to confront my fear than to put it front and center?

The voices entered my mind as if on cue: who the hell do I think I am? How the fuck am I going to get this ridiculous, pathetic, flabby body of mine up that wall? What if I fall? What if I hurt someone else because I’m dumb, clumsy and worthless and can’t do a thing right to save my life? Stupid Anna. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! Through this mental mess I heard other voices coming at me from the ground and I looked down and saw The Lad and my lovely sister looking up at me, smiling and egging me on, not realizing that I was on the verge of giving up once again. It was then that I made the decision to fight, not only because my love and my sister were there, but because I Just Didn’t Give A Flying Fuck Anymore. I didn’t care if I looked ridiculous, fat or clumsy, and I didn’t care if people were laughing because I wasn’t doing it to be or look perfect. In fact I really don’t know why I was doing it except that I have never felt more powerful. I didn’t receive any awards for grace and poise and I didn’t make it to the top, but I think that was the most wonderful thing about it, knowing that I was hanging on a wall, terrified and exhilarated and only fifteen feet up but doing it on my own. I learned more about my body in those few minutes than I have in almost thirty five years of living and I am far from being done. I’m going back tomorrow. I have a wall to climb.

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