Fear is an emotion I’m quite used to. Fear of failure. Fear of losing control. Fear of the unknown. Perhaps most of all, fear of letting go. Letting go of all that I am familiar with, letting go of everything I know. The all-consuming nature of these fears is a black hole in the midst of my path to recovery. I’ve tackled many a fear on the road to health, the trajectory I’ve taken thus far having gradually coaxed me out of a rabbit hole of denial. Food no longer holds in front of me the same ghoulish figure, threatening to take me down, bit by bit. Irrational fears of muffins and chillers have been smacked down and conquered, helping me to realize the sheer ridiculousness of allowing something so inane to hold such a degree of power over me. Despite my conquests on the battleground of recovery, the dark knight of fear still tramples some of my hopes and haunts my dreams. I cannot rest easy, I cannot slip up for fear that it will come and blindside me- knock me to the ground and be done with it. Fear is insipid and rides on the back of my eating disorder, menacing always and seemingly invincible. If I do not continue to challenge irrationnality, to cheat fear, what am I accomplishing? If I do not oppose the fear, if I do not see it and run right through, if I lay back and allow the fear to dance a jig on my weaknesses, I am right back where I began. So although I may be used to feeling fear, I must never allow myself to rest comfortably in its reassuring embrace. The only way to extracate myself from its vice-grip is by removing its power- taking away its proverbial battle-axe. Keeping my eyes open and my mind clear, I move on to the next phase of my recovery, wary of but not deafeated by the fear.