It's been a long time since I last wrote. Not because I've given up and not because I haven't thought of it, but I honestly think I cracked this time. Nothing seems important, aside from my latest obsessions. And while related, this does not directly affect or involve what's going on and so it fell to the side. But, I think it's important to verbalize everything - for myself and anyone who may benefit from what I'm slowly finding.
Everyone knows the sob story about how I was fired for having a big butt - and if you don't, now you do. Once upon a time, I worked really hard to make myself a ballerina for about 6 months, and the last week of that was spent barely eating and sustaining a back injury just before the show. I never got to go on stage though because after all that hard work and borderline mental breakdown, I was fired days before the performance and received no compensation for the work done. Now we can do the typical "Oh my god, have you seen your own butt? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," to which I would probably respond with, "Well, apparently not," or we can just skip that part and come to the conclusion that mine is not a dancer's form.
It took a long time but I got myself back together after that. Then, those same people were hired to teach ballet at my home again, and I was certain it could be for no other purpose than to let me in on the secret of my unsightly body in a passive aggressive manner. I was assured this was not the case, and yet within the first few classes, attention was again drawn to the fact that I am not a dancer who starves herself, which is apparently an issue.
So again, I swallowed the pain and continued forward, until something was said about the shape of my body and face. At the moment, it's not right, but if I could just listen to what I'm being told and change everything I've ever known, I have the hope of being skinnier.
Okay. Easy. Piece of cake. Or...maybe celery in this case...
So, I try. Already going to the gym at least 4 times a week, usually more. Already trying to watch what I eat. Already dancing myself silly. What can I do? Okay, cut out meat. Maybe that'll help. Go vegetarian. Done. Change the workout. More reps. More sets. Less weight. Done. Walk as much as possible instead of public transportation. Okay. Stop eating so much. Okay. Substitute sugarless, creamless tea for that second cup of coffee. Done.
Then, off to New York, where I'm told to look less healthy, moments before going on stage. Less healthy? Assured that wasn't an allusion to the shape of my face, I'm told to cover up the rosy cheeks with brown. Okay, that makes sense. But no, that's wrong. We were talking about the shape of my face. After removing the brown makeup, lines are drawn on me from just shy of my ear down to the corner of my mouth. I look skeletal.
Humans have cheekbones.
So now I'm a fat alien. Awesome. And I'm the only one out of the 6 of us who needs the help of drawn on cheek lines. Even better.
Over it. Pushing forward. Can't change my facial structure. It is what it is unfortunately.
Just keep moving. You can do this.
Then the next week, the solo attention I've needed. I feel better, more grounded and certain of what I'm doing...until I'm pulled to the back of the studio.
You have a baby face. As he puffs out his cheeks to show me what I look like....that's why it looks like you have baby fat all over your body.
Granted there was a lesson in there, a lot more was said, and everything was said in kindness and an attempt to teach me something, but the words stung so badly that I could process nothing further. It was all I could do to hold myself composed for the next 5 minutes of the speech, to look interested and not like my whole world had just been shattered. 5 minutes that lasted an eternity as my head reeled with the words. Fat had been said to my face. That was all I could understand.
Tears. Uncontrollable tears while on the phone with my mom. I didn't even care who heard what I was saying or who saw what I looked like. Everything I've ever wanted just fell on me again, and it is continuously more difficult to pick up the pieces each time they collapse.
The next few days are spent in a total and complete submission to this new obsession. Any time I'm left alone, I'm in tears. All I dream about is different ways of failing for the company. My subway rides are spent examining the facial structures of those around me - jealous of the ones who have the right cheeks and tempted to ask how they got them. I can't look at myself in the mirror, it actually makes me sick. Researching different diets. How on earth did Natalie Portman get so thin? Joy...she was actually unhealthy according to all accounts. Excellent. There has got to be a way to do this.
It's all I can think about and all I can talk about. I know no one wants to hear it. I know I have a complex. I know it's a problem. But how am I supposed to fight this one? I'm already doing everything I know how before leaping into an entirely new realm of sickness. Why isn't it working?
Then I step on the scale at the gym...I've lost at least 6 lbs. That can't be right. So I try again the next day. 7 lbs down. Okay...that didn't happen overnight. Can't anybody see that I'm trying?
I get my head on straight enough to go to rehearsal this past weekend. Saturday's fine. Just a badly bruised shoulder, some swollen knees and floor burnt feet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Sunday rolls around. God damnit I hate that ballet class. I love ballet, but I will always dread that class. Always.
First off, I had danced from 9:30am until 2pm and worked from 5pm until 12:30am Friday night, then rehearsed Saturday from 10:30am to 4pm to work from 5pm until 12:30am to be back dancing Sunday at 10am. I am not complaining but jeez oh man, give me some credit. God forbid my arm isn't fully stretched first thing, on that very first plie Sunday morning. If that is the case, we have to go into a 5 minute speech about how terrible I am and that we've been over this before. I have no place on a stage and should just stay home in my kitchen to dance for my mother.
You don't belong on a stage. You should stay home in your kitchen and dance for your mother.
Oh. Okay. I'll do that next Sunday instead. Better that than ever having to be in the same space as you again.
I got pissed. I bit my tongue into tiny shreds and fought back the angry tears. Not only were her words horrible, but there he was, right next to me, the man who was always been there to help me, and he is doing absolutely nothing. Not even so much as a kind glance in my direction.
Fine. I'm on my own. I've got this.
And just in case I'd gotten myself to a place where I felt too secure, she came back over to remind me that my arms are fat. I just wanted to scream. Just because you have no muscle at all does not make me fat. Or maybe I wanted to punch her to show her what those fat arms could do. I couldn't decide and did nothing...as I was trained to do.
I think you're a beautiful dancer. You can't let her get to you. She doesn't get to do this. You are here for you, and for your enjoyment of dance. Otherwise, what've you got? And we all know it's not true. If it was, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have improved like I've seen you improve.
I was actually dumbfounded. Jess spoke for me. I couldn't believe the words coming from Jen's lips. She doesn't mess with people. She doesn't say something she doesn't think is true. She honestly believes I can do this. Okay. That's gonna have to be enough to get me through these next few months. Jen thinks I can. Jess thinks I can. My parents think I can. I think I can.
Not doing it was never an option. This is my dream. Very specifically. What I'm on the brink of having right now is everything I've wanted for 5 years. This is the life I chose.
Honey, you're fat and no good. You are exactly where you're supposed to be. This is what you decided to do.
That one actually made me laugh and feel better. It's true I guess. This is everything I asked for.
