Drawer of Contents

This is a drawer of things I'm not ready to deal with...






I have it set up so that every once in a while, I will inevitably open said drawer, usually in a state of exhaustion, getting ready in the morning, just to remind myself that both the drawer and its contents exist. 


Most of the time, I close it, disgruntled and annoyed with myself for ever opening it in the first place.


But every so often, I go through the drawer:


A bag of coffee from Indonesia. Made from bird or cat poop. Don't ask. I don't know.


A blue button down that I danced with once. Boy did that shirt light my eyes up. Now I can't even remember why.


A "Team Blackout" T-shirt. This one makes me uncomfortable for so many reasons. Primarily, I really wish I could tell you the whole story. But actually, I'm not sure I care.


A dark blue shirt I wore as a janitor. What an odd story. I'm still trying to work it out.


Postcards sent on false presumptions in a language I no longer understand. I hear you're happy. So how about you stay the hell away from me? You got what you wanted - I am unbelievably shattered.


An engagement ring, a family ring and a class ring. I don't know where they are exactly. I need to find them. You need them back.


A stuffed bunny. All I want is to rip its head off.






This is the drawer of things I'm not able to deal with. When you're all ready to let me...I think I'd like to empty it.

Confused

You look beautiful.


She said to me after a class I've been struggling in for a few months now - doing a phrase I've been struggling to make myself look like everyone else in for almost the same duration of time. I couldn't believe it. There's my perfect little friend calling me beautiful...how can she look herself in the mirror, see me next to her and call me beautiful? It meant so much to hear her say it though. It means all my struggling, all my head games, all my awkward body adjustments...they've paid off somehow. Thanks, Rachael. I think I can try to go into rehearsal and dance that phrase now and do it my way.


That was beautiful.


Say so man people after we leave the stage from my senior piece. Again...really? Another thing I've been wrestling with mentally and physically...and you all liked it? Sigh of relief...doesn't mean my work is done, but at least I can keep going and feel okay about it now.


I posted that video of the stairs, but I didn't tell you where it came from. I believe I  had a total and complete panic attack Monday night. I was called into work while I was dying costumes, and I had no idea I needed to work. So I dropped everything and got myself ready. In the process, I dumped a cup of coffee into all of my dresser drawers and immediately was sobbing. The back story to all of this is the realization that I really am leaving Temple. I really am starting life. Everyone decided that Monday was the day to remind me. I mean EVERYONE. I keep toying with the idea of whether or not I'm ready, and the resounding answer is HELL NO. Without Temple, I don't have a cushion. It's not okay to be fat, or have big shoulders, or be figuring myself out. I need to be something. 


And then yesterday, I still felt a little bit like the world decided to sit on me, and we were at our last showing for our pieces before tech week begins, and I was very nearly a disaster, but thought I was hiding it well. Then Sophia decided to talk to me about leaving. One more reminder that I'm done and that I'm doing it solo. But she had great things to say, and made me feel so much better.


You are so far beyond this place. You have been for a while now. If you stayed any longer, it would be ridiculous. There's nothing left for you here. You need to go. You're ready.


Coming from a blunt and sometimes harsh person, don't get me wrong, I know you have a good heart...but still, sometimes blunt and harsh...that made me feel so much better. 


I came home last night, determined to do work, and couldn't concentrate. I had finally relaxed after what was a hellish two days, and just needed to sit and stop contemplating everything. So that is precisely what I did. No gym. No dance. No work. Just Supernatural, a few beers, and Due Date. 


You're back in my dreams again...consistently, aside from the nightmare. It's annoying. Last night, you showed up again and pulled the same crap that worked back in August. You asked how I'd been lately. I responded tartly with "confused." Then you put a hand on my shoulder, I had my back to you, and asked, "and now?" I closed my eyes, inhaled and said, "confused."  


And as my eyes opened, you released your arm.

I never saw your face

http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?v=k0EYl-2fUkQ

I just woke up from a horrible dream...and thus am missing ballet because I didn't wake up to an alarm.


I remember sitting in a diner, or something, and knowing it was Philly. I was at school, but it wasn't quite like Temple, it was a dream version. There had been rumors that you were sick, in the hospital, but nobody seemed really worried about it. I don't know why I didn't go see you. Something was wrong with your heart, and I knew that. I should have gone. 


Back to the diner, and Melissa was across from me, in tears. I couldn't fathom what was wrong. And then Stacey showed up, and the way she looked at me...heartbroken. I was the only one smiling and confused. There was something I didn't know. Come to find out, that's because everyone deliberately didn't tell me.


Then Melissa did. "He's gone. McIlvaine's dead." 


No. No. No. I felt the smile die in me, but I kept it on my face. Everyone's eyes on me while I try to make sure I don't look distraught. Still trying to smile. "Oh, okay," was all I could say, nodding my head.


Everyone tried to reach for me, to talk to me. 


"No, I'm fine. We're good. I'm just going to go this way." As I scooted my way out of the booth and into Lynnia and Paul who came out of nowhere.


"It's true," she looked at me and said. I could see the pain in her eyes but also her measuring me, waiting for what I would do. Those words set off so many memories and pictures in my head - just like in the movies before a character dies. I looked her in the face, took a few steps away and ran. I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran as hard and as far as I could, ending up on the beach with the waves to drown out my screaming. I think I was crying, but my lungs hurt too much to recall. 




And then I woke up. Late for ballet. Scared to death. Out of breath. Phone in hand, texting you. It's saved as a draft because I'm still not sure I feel safe or better at all, but I can't bring myself to send it. I feel so weird. My head feels so weighted and full, if I could cry I probably would, and my heart is light and nervous. I hate waking up from nights like that and not being able to know what's going on.


I hope you're okay. 

Sometimes life's okay

When I got your email, I was like oh my god, this is what she needs. You need to stop holding in your chest. Sometimes we don't listen, or can't listen, and so life has to knock the answer into us.


She says with a smile, talking about my fractured rib.

This is your chance to find a new way to move.


Interesting, I'd never thought of it like that. The silver lining was never my strong point, but honestly, I'm not even upset about this. I mean, okay, it sucks. Breathing, sneezing, coughing, laughing, twisting, rolling, partnering, lifting...it all hurts. But, the good news is that I can't hurt myself. It's just pain. I can do that. If I can dance, I can do the pain.

So that's where I've been for a week. One fractured rib, a lot of fears, some relief, finding new ways to move and avoid the pain while attempting to assure everyone that I'm okay. Piece of cake...

I would improv right now, I'm so in the mindset, but the living room has recently become Paul's "bedroom"and is covered in unavoidable, sweaty clothes right where I usually dance. I don't necessarily feel inclined to move them.

You are an exceptional dancer. I loved watching your passion and joy exude every time you took the stage.


Nothing but compliments, Michael. Still. Although, we did laugh. The artistic director of Chunky Move stressed the importance of clear spacing when things get fast and chaotic in dance to avoid collisions. Maybe next time...=)

Love Junkie isn't over. Maybe this is the new theme of my life...the dances I'm really invested in don't end for me. The ones that touch my heart are there to support me for a long time after they've seen and left the stage.

I went out with my roommates and a couple of friends last night for the first time in a long time, and Ryan was trying to set me up. Weird thing is, I'm not sure that would normally fly for me, but I was excited to meet the friend and just talk. Not sure I could let anything come of it, but talking to him couldn't hurt....and then he didn't show. Oh well. Then talking to Lynnia - which for some reason, I've never really felt comfortable talking to Lynnia about guys. It's stupid. I need to get over it and I'm starting to. I think I'm just terrified of her finding out what a mess I really am, as if she doesn't already know, especially since she's got it together and I'm supposedly this mini-version of her. So...talking to Lynnia, and feeling so much better about where I am. One more supporting "It's not your fault." The validation that I'm okay, and for the first time ever, I'm just taking time to focus on me, and that's a good thing. But, I'm also probably ready to find someone. Being alone is getting old. The problem is, I don't want the random DJ she was trying to get me to talk to. I'm looking for something specific. I have no idea what or who it is, but I know that I don't want anything meaningless again. I want to be settled, and happy. The couples on the subway drive me nuts. The way he looks at her when she's not looking, her smile as she becomes a child again looking in his eyes...I remember that. I forget that I'd had that. And I'm convinced I can have that. Just going to take finding him...or rather, him finding me.

...good luck, sir.

Collision

Not even an hour after the last time we'll do "Love Junkie" the way we just did it and I am already home, with my wine, in tears. 


To begin, here are my list of concerns - I have a huge bruise on the palm of my left hand and one on the pinkie knuckle of my right. Both make putting weight on my hands difficult, which is somehow becoming my go-to mode of movement lately. The right side of my lower back is constantly pinching, making any and all extensions to the back excruciating and occasionally making jumping all but impossible. My left hip is stuck and always feels like it needs to crack, but it never will. It's really starting to limit my capabilities. My ribcage is spiraled out of place - my left side may or may not have a dislocated rib and after tonight's performance, who knows what happened to my right side. I look like I've been thrown down at least three flights of stairs with all my bruises and to top it all off, I have a hive that looks like a hickey.


I can assure you that it's a hive. I haven't had enough fun for it to be a hickey.


And again...this is how I will go down. That's all I keep thinking. This is what it feels like to be too broken to move. 


At least I have the mind power to shut it off and the will power to keep going. But it's getting harder and harder to warm myself up. The aches and pains are winning more and more every day. I'm still only twenty-one, I swear. 


Anyway...Michael's piece was absolutely stunning. I have never heard such an array of compliments before, on both my performance and the piece as a whole. Even the compliments I received personally I attribute back to him 100%. He pushed me to be everything I was on that stage. He molded me to fit his vision. For forty-five minutes, he made me beautiful. 


And then tonight, the last time we'll do this for a long time, having to say goodbye to something that has been so essential to my existence for such a long time, and tragedy strikes. Everything went fine, I was a little less grounded than I would have liked but I knew it was nerves and emotions and eventually I found my feet...and then came the running. That god damned running. Sorry friend, you know I never liked that running stuff. And there he was, right in my path. Okay, split second decision to fix it. I'll just go more downstage and leave her her path. But wait, she moved right back in my path. Okay, more downstage. She moved again. More downstage. She moved. Downstage.


You've got to be kidding me.


And we collided, with the force of a hit that spectators at a football game would cringe at, except, we weren't wearing any pads. All I remember is seeing the floor, and the immediate rage as I picked myself up and ran off. Then the undeniable lack of air in my body and the extreme need to vomit. Quick debate about staying off stage. And of course, I bolted to the front of the line to go back on, running as hard as I can. 


Section's over and I'm back behind the scrim, watching the already heart-wrenching duet and reliving that terrible moment over and over. Terrified of the feedback I'll get after the show. Still feel sick. Maybe before I go back on I can go puke real fast. Not sure I can breathe yet.


No time to puke. Back on stage. Still pissed. Reliving everything, every relationship, all of your faces in hers. Overwhelmed with hatred and the longing to be held, to be put back together, to never let this happen again, and all of the contradictions all of those feelings encompass. In tears as I run to stop her from falling. Dancing the end. Smiling. Am I bipolar? Back to shaking, and crying. Walking off stage. 


Michael, I will remember every face you ever made at me as I walked off from that piece. Thank you for filling my heart and letting me feel.


Bowing and coming off. Collapsing to my hands and knees. Sobbing. Am I sad? Angry? In pain? Scared? All of it? Jess hugging me. Ouch. She doesn't know I'm hurt. This isn't how this was supposed to be. Ah, but there is the beauty in it. That is very truly my experience with love.


So we sit, and she still hugs me, until I tell her I think I'm not okay. The ice. Everyone seeing me cry. I hate that. I HATE that. Then the talk of an EMT. I'll throw a fit, I swear. If I go, they'll tell me I can't dance. There's too much wrong with me right now. Jess, not knowing all of it. She thought I was just talking about my normal stuff. 


Drama. That's all I have to say.


But, before the show, we each had to share a word in order to sum up our experience during this piece. My brain flooded with thoughts, memories and ideas - love, friendship, belief, a chance - but ultimately, what kept coming back was "I'm okay." But then, this isn't just about me. It's about Michael. And me. And everyone who danced. And everyone who watched. And everyone who's ever meant anything to any of us. 


So, "I'm okay," turned into, "we're okay." 


And we are. Or we're going to be.


There will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears. And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

goodbyes

I was on the subway and thinking about how much has happened in the past few days, and I've had no desire to write about it. That's weird. I'm not sure if I'm just distracted or what, but I'm making myself write, to keep it going and maybe figure out why I suddenly don't feel the need to.

Michael's concert is this weekend (which you all better be at) and I feel strange about it. Obviously, I'm excited, but I'm also already sad. I told him today that I'll probably be crying in the end, because the last two times we ran the piece I very nearly was. Add in the adrenaline of the performance and the actual finality of the piece, and I can all but guarantee tears. I don't know why, but that simple step touch puts me in such a current of strong emotions. It's as if I finally acknowledge everything I've been through in the last 45 minutes and release enough to let myself process it, and it hits me full force.

I'm not ready to let go of this dance, Michael. It's meant so much to me for what seems like so long now...I'm going to need help coming out of this one gracefully. I know that sounds silly but it's true. Next Sunday is going to be all kinds of wrong for me.

Here I sit with my wine, contemplating the next few days ahead of me. I'm not dreading them because I don't want to be a part of them. I'm dreading them because I know they're going to end. I don't know why I'm getting so emotional about this dance, but it so a part of me...I kind of feel like I'm going to have to say goodbye to a piece of myself when it's done.

I think maybe it's partially the end of my college days finally becoming tangible. I can feel this one ending. In most ways, I'm more excited for this show than my own graduating piece. And I made such a strong connection here...with the piece and Michael. He's given me something I can't even put words to...but what comes to mind is "a chance." I don't know what I mean by that, but I know it's what I want to say.

And I'm already in tears. I'm definitely gonna have trouble Saturday night. This is your warning.

Okay, demonstration of what this piece has meant to me. Before every rehearsal I'm part of, I really do take the time to put myself in whatever place I need to be in to accomplish what I'll be asked to do. So, somehow, every Sunday morning, Michael's piece has taken priority over both Kun-Yang's and my own rehearsal. I come downstairs, put on a pot of coffee, and turn Pandora to some kind of love song station. Angrily, I'll admit that 9 times out of 10 it was Ray LaMontagne...but whatever. The point is, I do not listen to love songs. I don't even like them unless they're about someone's heart being trampled on. But here I've been listening religiously. And this whole week, I can't help it. Pandora is feeding me love, hope, anger, sadness and memories at the moment.

At first, when he told me that I needed to start "living the truth," I'll admit, I tried to force myself to fall in love. I figured if I could do that, if I could remember what it was like, then I could dance it. But recently, I realized that isn't what he wanted. You can't force love to happen. Any self-respecting love junkie knows that. If I'm not in love, then I'm not. That's my truth. I have been in love. Very truly. Very deeply. And I have been hurt - the kind of hurt that you struggle to believe you'll ever survive. But the truth is that I did, a little worse for the wear, but I am still here. And the truth is, I finally moved on. I fell in love again. Finally. And before it could even begin, it's over. It could have been everything both of us ever asked for. But it isn't. The reasoning, unforgivable, but for now, unchangeable. Somehow, he is everything and nothing to me in the same breath.

And that is my truth.

What do you want?

Hello darling.

And there you were flashing that smile again. But boy, did you make me cringe. Not only does "darling" sound artificial from you, but I could go a good long time without ever being called "darling" again. I know Cassandra is long and somehow impersonal in that kind of exchange, but please, find a new name for me.

That was two days ago. Then last night, sitting, eating, brought my plate back to the dishwasher to return and find her in tears. How awkward is that? The girl who attacked me, who I actually got the guts up to sit next to and talk to is sitting there crying. I still haven't forgiven her. I still have scars. So what am I supposed to do?

Well, as I have been lately, I swallowed my thoughts and became the grownup in a situation where I should have been allowed to be the child.

I'm sorry, you just have to know what happened.

I froze. Caught somewhere between relief and rage. She's pregnant. Okay maybe not. Something happened. She went up to see you and that explains everything, even though the timeline makes no sense at all. I can't make the math work in my head, but that has to be it. At least there isn't something wrong with me. You're just in a mess and handling it like a child. Nothing to do with me. Thank God and how dare you.

Why did my head go right to you? Again? There's something wrong with me. Really.

Surprise, surprise, it had nothing to do with you. She finally just meant her apology, and I could see that. I am so beyond grudges at the moment. The queen of holding grudges has had to let go lately in order to survive. So, if I have something against you, now would be the time to talk to me because I don't have the energy to fight back and I'll more than likely forgive you. Open door people. Once in a lifetime chance. Take it or leave it.

We watched "What the Bleep Do We Know?" in improv this morning. What an amazing movie. Cinematically and artistically - eh...but conceptually - my mind is blown and I am inspired to restart. This time, I'm gonna do it right. I hope...haha.

Some key points of interest from the movie in regards to my life and this project:

The brain doesn't know the difference between what it actually sees and what it remembers - so what is reality?

Atomic particles pop in and out of existence constantly which makes them more like a thought than the matter we understand them to be.

Instead of recognizing the world around us as things, we should see it as possibilities.

A study by a man conducted on molecules of water resulted in those molecules changing form in response to a single word taped upon their test tube. A thought reconstructed the molecule. Our bodies are 90% water. Imagine what a mere thought can do to us.

People who have been through a lot in their lives tend to operate in an emotionally detached place or as if today was yesterday. In either place they are not operating as an integrated whole.

If you can't control your emotional state, you must be addicted to it.


There is no such thing as love with a specific person. There is only being in love with the anticipation of the emotions you're addicted to.


Emotions aren't bad, it's the addiction that's the problem. It is a biochemical addiction just like an addiction to any drug. 


With my head and heart full of all of this new found knowledge (who knew quantum physics had morphed into a field full of such humanity?) I'm out to change who I've been lately. I'm ready to be who I want to be and I'm taking control again.

One month left to my college career. I can't even fathom what that means.