I'm supposed to be doing research for the company, but I can't focus. This is the first research I've had to do since graduating, and while I sincerely am interested, it's such a foreign process somehow. I'm also not interested in the way that I usually am - eager to learn about something I don't really know. I know this stuff, basically, and am just finding myself increasingly frustrated by the lack of attention that has been given to something that truly is important and should be viewed as such by those who run it.
So, I figured I'd write. Maybe if I get it all out of my system I'll be able to focus.
I performed a solo for Jess last night. It's been a long time since I've felt so connected to a dance, and not in my typical way. It doesn't really transport me anywhere, or make me feel beautiful, or make me sincerely angry, or help me process anything...it just feels like home. I don't know how to explain it, but I belong in that solo.
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
I found that quote yesterday and I can't let go of it. It's what the piece is for me. When we first started, Jess told me that it was about broken things and how they can still be beautiful, and of course immediately, I was in. Something like that, you figure I would get super emotional. I figured I would. But I don't, not when I'm dancing it. It just is. Matter of fact. This doesn't quite go the way I want it to, but it is this, and this is going to have to be enough. In fact, I am going to make this better than enough. I am going to make this beautiful.
I felt a little uncomfortable with it last night. Something just didn't go quite the way I wanted or expected it to, and I was nearly knocked out of the dance. But I clung to what I could and did it. I just didn't think it had gone as well as it had in rehearsals, and I was slightly disappointed. But then Jess came backstage to help me get that dress off, which talk about a process, and she was all smiles.
I am so proud of you. I've never seen you dance like that. You did it. You made the leap, from student to professional.
I'm still having trouble comprehending that, what it means, but I'm ecstatic.
But I've noticed it, very recently, I'm dancing differently. I'm dancing more like I used to. I'm putting myself back into it without fear. And I'm stronger and my technique is better so it's not as much of a struggle as it once was. I really noticed the difference on Saturday when Jen and Olive taught Kun-Yang's class. I was just joyous and moving and owning it. It was fantastic. Once I found that, I've been determined to hang onto it. For the most part, I think I have, despite what corrections I've received that make no sense and contradict everything. Whatever. I'm happy again and I'm dancing and that's going to be good enough.
I think I realized something important about a relationship that is so crucial to my life at this moment...it isn't healthy. Most of the reasoning behind that probably falls directly on my shoulders, but blame aside, that's not okay. I need to step back and figure out what needs to happen to turn it around, so I don't get lost or hurt. Still working on what that means...but for now, it means dancing my way and taking only what I can. No more. No less.
I'd be remiss not to mention it, although for some reason, I feel no need to, despite the importance in my life that he has suddenly embodied. The changes in my dancing life correlate directly to him. I feel lighter, thinner, and yes, I mean that in a very literal and physical sense. I know that's crazy, but I really do believe he has something to do with it. I feel my size again and I'm dancing for me again and that's huge.
But I'm not sure how to admit it. He caught me thinking the other night (and unfortunately he already knows how to pinpoint the important thoughts in my face and ask me about them) and I told him I couldn't tell him. I physically couldn't get the words out. They got stuck in my throat. I could feel the lump and weight of the words sitting there, happy to remain inside me, fighting his coaxing them out.
He called me perfect.
He's taking me to an audition in NYC because he's frustrated that I can't go to the classes I want to, or see the shows I want to, or be the dancer I want.
He just got to know me and he is willing to throw everything to the wind as long as I can have my dream, my way.
And the craziest part of this whole story is that I don't question him. Not for a second. He's real. He's there. And I'm not afraid. I try really hard to make myself afraid all the time, but I'm just not.
If anyone can find a way to help the words out, he can. And I don't even fear that. I'm just interested to see how he'll do it and how long it will take.
I'm letting go. Finally. Of everything. I'm not afraid. I'm not side-stepping my life.
This is it
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Ostrich Confessions
So I don't have the video, although it does exist, but I just improved and discovered some really important things.
Class, rehearsal and a second rehearsal today after a weekend of concerts...needless to say I'm a little exhausted. Joking, I said that to my old teacher/friend at the beginning of his rehearsal (the second one in my lineup for the day). He forgave my exhaustion and the fact that I didn't quite know what was going on and just laughed with me. I caught up quick enough, so it wasn't a big deal...thank goodness.
He ended early and the studio was open, so I figured I'd use the time to work on one of the solos that I need to have polished in the next week. But, he didn't leave. He asked me about my life and somewhere in our chat wondered if I wouldn't mind fooling around and coming up with some material with him.
What an honor. Of course not.
Okay. I'm going to follow you.
Now, if I had the video, I could show you how I shook my head at him and told him I was absolutely not leading anything with him. And he still won somehow. Momentarily.
We start dancing and I realize...I'm terrified. What if I screw up? I am so not good enough to be improving with him. Ugh, my leg is not going to go where he wants it to. Why are our faces so close? Is this okay? What is he thinking? What am I thinking? Jeez oh man, why did I say I'd do this?
And then I realized...Cassandra, stop being an idiot. Just dance. You really can do this. You really are good at it. You love this. Who cares what's going on? He knows you, he's seen you dance, and he still asked YOU to dance with him. Just let it happen.
Immediately, some really great things started to unfold. It was like a relaxing game. And I came to the conclusion that I trust him immensely. There were a few moments that bordered inappropriate, a few lifts that could have spelled disaster, and overall it was a dance that I never could have imagined being a part of next to someone so incredible. But he trusted me to handle it and was patient with me figuring out how to trust myself. And for that, I had no choice but to trust him back.
A good 10-15 minutes later, we were giggling and he flat out said he missed dancing with me. A little bit in awe and star-struck, I could do nothing but say the same back, which is the obvious truth. So, I admitted to originally being terrified of dancing with him, which he claims to have not understood. I think it's obvious though.
We watched the video and he kept saying that he was just trying to give me his weight, and I wouldn't take it. I didn't know how to tell him that was when I was still at war with myself about what was happening. We didn't get to watch the part where I decided to just be. I want to see the whole video and hope the difference is visible.
My revelation for today is to stop allowing myself to become so afraid of the wonderful people and dancers around me that I stop letting myself do what I love to the extent that I love it. I don't know where I got the idea that hiding myself and playing it safe would be better. It's so completely not. I haven't worked this long and this hard to dig a hole and stick my head in it and I've never ever considered doing that until somehow, subconsciously that became my method of survival. That's crap.
Once again, it's about time I started trusting myself. It's kind of great when I do.
Breathe.
Just be.
Class, rehearsal and a second rehearsal today after a weekend of concerts...needless to say I'm a little exhausted. Joking, I said that to my old teacher/friend at the beginning of his rehearsal (the second one in my lineup for the day). He forgave my exhaustion and the fact that I didn't quite know what was going on and just laughed with me. I caught up quick enough, so it wasn't a big deal...thank goodness.
He ended early and the studio was open, so I figured I'd use the time to work on one of the solos that I need to have polished in the next week. But, he didn't leave. He asked me about my life and somewhere in our chat wondered if I wouldn't mind fooling around and coming up with some material with him.
What an honor. Of course not.
Okay. I'm going to follow you.
Now, if I had the video, I could show you how I shook my head at him and told him I was absolutely not leading anything with him. And he still won somehow. Momentarily.
We start dancing and I realize...I'm terrified. What if I screw up? I am so not good enough to be improving with him. Ugh, my leg is not going to go where he wants it to. Why are our faces so close? Is this okay? What is he thinking? What am I thinking? Jeez oh man, why did I say I'd do this?
And then I realized...Cassandra, stop being an idiot. Just dance. You really can do this. You really are good at it. You love this. Who cares what's going on? He knows you, he's seen you dance, and he still asked YOU to dance with him. Just let it happen.
Immediately, some really great things started to unfold. It was like a relaxing game. And I came to the conclusion that I trust him immensely. There were a few moments that bordered inappropriate, a few lifts that could have spelled disaster, and overall it was a dance that I never could have imagined being a part of next to someone so incredible. But he trusted me to handle it and was patient with me figuring out how to trust myself. And for that, I had no choice but to trust him back.
A good 10-15 minutes later, we were giggling and he flat out said he missed dancing with me. A little bit in awe and star-struck, I could do nothing but say the same back, which is the obvious truth. So, I admitted to originally being terrified of dancing with him, which he claims to have not understood. I think it's obvious though.
We watched the video and he kept saying that he was just trying to give me his weight, and I wouldn't take it. I didn't know how to tell him that was when I was still at war with myself about what was happening. We didn't get to watch the part where I decided to just be. I want to see the whole video and hope the difference is visible.
My revelation for today is to stop allowing myself to become so afraid of the wonderful people and dancers around me that I stop letting myself do what I love to the extent that I love it. I don't know where I got the idea that hiding myself and playing it safe would be better. It's so completely not. I haven't worked this long and this hard to dig a hole and stick my head in it and I've never ever considered doing that until somehow, subconsciously that became my method of survival. That's crap.
Once again, it's about time I started trusting myself. It's kind of great when I do.
Breathe.
Just be.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Awesomely normal
Where to begin? I'm burnt out a little. I took some time at home to give my parents some time away and it was phenomenal. It made me not want to come back.
My back is killing me. I went to the chiropractor back home and he thinks he can fix it. A mere issue of being all around unbalanced. Oh, okay. Just that. Him helping my back also resulted in my hip screaming at me. I can't decide which is better.
I actually did something right in rehearsal though. I was bombarded with corrections Sunday morning, before I'd even warmed myself up, running on 4 hours of sleep at most. I got mad. I thought about what was being said and what I could do to fix it. What is this piece about? The fragility of life. How we as humans deal in terrible situations, when all hope is lost, when we've reached the breaking point. I realized I'd been dancing scared...which is one way to approach that breaking point. But there's another way - anger. The why me? The attack. The drive to do anything necessary to bring things back to the way they should be. Frustration. Rage. Hunger.
So I figured, what the heck? It's worth a try...I suck anyway. So, I pictured figures from my past whose actions still have me furious, who I will never truly be able to get revenge on, who may not even know what they've turned me into. And I attacked. And I did good.
Rage. I have plenty. Without a doubt enough to get me through this performance.
And then there's this boy. There've actually been several who have tried to break through to me...and every time I run, right when they're about to get somewhere. I have it down to an unconscious science. But this one, he snuck in. He's already talked to me further than I should have allowed. He's already trying to save me, and I can see it. And I'm letting him, but I'm not sure how long I'll let it go. And it won't make any sense at all to him when I disappear and for that, I already feel guilty. And I started to last night with the guarantee to melt away my bitterness. With the belief that chivalry still exists. With the texting that accompanied me until I fell asleep with a phone in my hands. It's only a matter of time...
I'm reading this great book that Jess gave me called "women, food and god" and it describes me to a t. It would be so helpful if I could listen to it. I see the connections, and my problems, and while I believe the solution is all but blatantly spelled out on the page, I can't seem to find it. Or maybe I don't want to. Maybe I'm so set in my ways that I fear being in a place where I can know who I am and that whatever that is is ok.
Today, I read about past stories. The book is encouraging me to let them be just that...stories. They can't hurt me anymore because they're not real anymore. It's the first time that's really made sense to me...but I don't know how to let go. It insists that as soon as I do I can start living for who I am and what I want, need and feel now. That'd be great.
It also wants me to stop apologizing for who and what I am. I'm gonna try book. I really am...but it's going to take so much courage.
My back is killing me. I went to the chiropractor back home and he thinks he can fix it. A mere issue of being all around unbalanced. Oh, okay. Just that. Him helping my back also resulted in my hip screaming at me. I can't decide which is better.
I actually did something right in rehearsal though. I was bombarded with corrections Sunday morning, before I'd even warmed myself up, running on 4 hours of sleep at most. I got mad. I thought about what was being said and what I could do to fix it. What is this piece about? The fragility of life. How we as humans deal in terrible situations, when all hope is lost, when we've reached the breaking point. I realized I'd been dancing scared...which is one way to approach that breaking point. But there's another way - anger. The why me? The attack. The drive to do anything necessary to bring things back to the way they should be. Frustration. Rage. Hunger.
So I figured, what the heck? It's worth a try...I suck anyway. So, I pictured figures from my past whose actions still have me furious, who I will never truly be able to get revenge on, who may not even know what they've turned me into. And I attacked. And I did good.
Rage. I have plenty. Without a doubt enough to get me through this performance.
And then there's this boy. There've actually been several who have tried to break through to me...and every time I run, right when they're about to get somewhere. I have it down to an unconscious science. But this one, he snuck in. He's already talked to me further than I should have allowed. He's already trying to save me, and I can see it. And I'm letting him, but I'm not sure how long I'll let it go. And it won't make any sense at all to him when I disappear and for that, I already feel guilty. And I started to last night with the guarantee to melt away my bitterness. With the belief that chivalry still exists. With the texting that accompanied me until I fell asleep with a phone in my hands. It's only a matter of time...
I'm reading this great book that Jess gave me called "women, food and god" and it describes me to a t. It would be so helpful if I could listen to it. I see the connections, and my problems, and while I believe the solution is all but blatantly spelled out on the page, I can't seem to find it. Or maybe I don't want to. Maybe I'm so set in my ways that I fear being in a place where I can know who I am and that whatever that is is ok.
Today, I read about past stories. The book is encouraging me to let them be just that...stories. They can't hurt me anymore because they're not real anymore. It's the first time that's really made sense to me...but I don't know how to let go. It insists that as soon as I do I can start living for who I am and what I want, need and feel now. That'd be great.
It also wants me to stop apologizing for who and what I am. I'm gonna try book. I really am...but it's going to take so much courage.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Baby face is in the corner
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.
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.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Everything's different
"To prove to myself once and for all that I am good enough and I deserve to be happy."
I wrote that on the wall in the Kimmel Center last New Year's Eve. I was bound and determined, very heartbroken and a little bit hopeful on the adventure of a lifetime with a friend who'd seen it all.
It's hard having someone you've trusted your entire existence to look you in the face and tell you that everything you are, everything you could ever be, would never and could never be enough. It's even harder having the best support group in the world there to tell you that you're beautiful and exactly everything you should be when every bone in your body believes that you aren't. The nightmares, reliving him listing all of your flaws - real, exaggerated and completely fabricated - there comes a point when they seem more real and that moment is more true than anything anyone can ever say. And suddenly you're sick. You believe all the awful things he said. You deserved all the awful things he did. You can't sleep. Eating is hard. There's circles under your eyes from the exhaustion and the tears shed around the clock.
And you wake up one day and realize that this isn't you. And one jerk does not get to do this to you. But that in the few minutes it took for him to do this, it will take you days, months, maybe even years to recover. But it's time to recover.
And that was last year's resolution. It's not over, I still have a lot of work to do, but I at least know that I deserve to be happy, and most days, a lot of me thinks I'm good enough. Or at least alright enough.
This year, I don't know if I have one. Something about love comes to mind. I seem to be on some kind of journey to figure it out. But I'm fighting with every fiber of my being to not have my resolution have anything to do with love. So then dance comes to mind, but I can't figure out what I really really want to gear everything towards that will somehow be new for me. So then there's the weight thing, but I'm already working on that.
So what is my New Year's Resolution?
I found this awesome quote today about how we shouldn't be looking for flaws to fix, but instead for areas of potential. I think that in and of itself is something I can use for a resolution. They aren't flaws...they're areas of potential. All of it. Everything I'm upset about. Everything in my past and present that hasn't worked the way I really thought it should. Anything that I would normally do that whole Eeyore thing about...maybe it doesn't have to be like that. Okay...shit happens. We all know that. But it happens for a REASON and I have always believed that. So what good can I get from it? What lesson can I take away from it? Or what could be waiting for me because of what I've experienced?
I'm not saying I want to become Mrs. Sunshine...but maybe if I can try to find the strengths instead of the flaws. Maybe I can change things then. Maybe it'll all work out just how it should, no looking back, no second guessing, no regrets.
Happy New Year everyone! Here's to living down the Apocalypse...I hope...
I wrote that on the wall in the Kimmel Center last New Year's Eve. I was bound and determined, very heartbroken and a little bit hopeful on the adventure of a lifetime with a friend who'd seen it all.
It's hard having someone you've trusted your entire existence to look you in the face and tell you that everything you are, everything you could ever be, would never and could never be enough. It's even harder having the best support group in the world there to tell you that you're beautiful and exactly everything you should be when every bone in your body believes that you aren't. The nightmares, reliving him listing all of your flaws - real, exaggerated and completely fabricated - there comes a point when they seem more real and that moment is more true than anything anyone can ever say. And suddenly you're sick. You believe all the awful things he said. You deserved all the awful things he did. You can't sleep. Eating is hard. There's circles under your eyes from the exhaustion and the tears shed around the clock.
And you wake up one day and realize that this isn't you. And one jerk does not get to do this to you. But that in the few minutes it took for him to do this, it will take you days, months, maybe even years to recover. But it's time to recover.
And that was last year's resolution. It's not over, I still have a lot of work to do, but I at least know that I deserve to be happy, and most days, a lot of me thinks I'm good enough. Or at least alright enough.
This year, I don't know if I have one. Something about love comes to mind. I seem to be on some kind of journey to figure it out. But I'm fighting with every fiber of my being to not have my resolution have anything to do with love. So then dance comes to mind, but I can't figure out what I really really want to gear everything towards that will somehow be new for me. So then there's the weight thing, but I'm already working on that.
So what is my New Year's Resolution?
I found this awesome quote today about how we shouldn't be looking for flaws to fix, but instead for areas of potential. I think that in and of itself is something I can use for a resolution. They aren't flaws...they're areas of potential. All of it. Everything I'm upset about. Everything in my past and present that hasn't worked the way I really thought it should. Anything that I would normally do that whole Eeyore thing about...maybe it doesn't have to be like that. Okay...shit happens. We all know that. But it happens for a REASON and I have always believed that. So what good can I get from it? What lesson can I take away from it? Or what could be waiting for me because of what I've experienced?
I'm not saying I want to become Mrs. Sunshine...but maybe if I can try to find the strengths instead of the flaws. Maybe I can change things then. Maybe it'll all work out just how it should, no looking back, no second guessing, no regrets.
Happy New Year everyone! Here's to living down the Apocalypse...I hope...
Thursday, December 22, 2011
My hair's long now
Truth: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I think that's usually my truth but now it's just annoyingly obvious to me and probably anyone who's been paying any kind of attention to me.
Someone from my past hasn't made me shake like that in almost 2 years. I don't know why it was this time. Why walking into the restaurant was so heart-wrenching for me. The way you looked at me - were you looking at a person you know you have power over, proud of your conquering, or were you trying to read someone you know you have no business coming back to see or talk to, and yet something in you moves you to do so every time? Were you trying to figure out why even though we all know the answer?
Everyone shakes their head, sighs and walks away from me before they've even given me the chance to tell them what I really think. The new girl said it's written all over me. I guess I haven't managed to convince myself that what I'm trying to say is what I really feel. And I guess I'm as much of an open book as ever.
Maybe that's why I've lost control again. I'm trying to prove to myself that I can figure it out, I am better than that and there's something out there for me...but it's not working. It's just helping to jade me more.
I don't trust the new one. I'm waiting and watching for what he isn't going to like, for why he'll just up and vanish one day. I went on a date with someone else a few days after seeing him just to detach myself from the idea of him a little bit. It was nice, I had fun, but it was immature...and then I found him again.
Truth: I think he's awesome but I can't read him and that terrifies me. The people I thought I could read turned around and stabbed me in the back, so what is someone I can't read capable of?
http://youtu.be/01Du8S6Tksw
Monday, December 19, 2011
Dorothy
This time of year is my favorite, by far. It's filled with all kinds of childhood memories that warm my heart in a way nothing else has yet to. My fondest of those are probably of Christmas Eve, and what comes to mind initially isn't the presents, but my family. They're wacky and crazy and we don't really keep in touch the way we should, but Christmas Eve always brings us together. For the most part. Well, it used to.
And it was all because of her - my Nana. When I was little I wouldn't go near her without my mom or dad pushing me in her direction. I thought she was weird, and stuffy and overall just disinterested in my life. I wasn't like the rest of my cousins - I wasn't very loud, I didn't look for trouble, in fact, I was usually the one my aunts and uncles could get the information out of. Not that I was a tattle tale, but scared of breaking rules - oh ya. But she made Christmas Eve magical, and we had so much fun those nights the majority of the time.
The year after she died, we found a few presents hidden in her closet waiting for the special night. She worked, up until she got sick and really couldn't anymore, and she worked only to save it and spend it all on gifts for her 18+ grandchildren. Each year, one or two of us would get an extra special gift, and I can say that happened to me a few times. One year it was skis for my family so we could go on a trip and Brittany and I could really learn how. One year it was a beautiful painting of a ballerina, that I'd made fun of earlier in the evening not knowing it was mine. And this final year, when she wasn't around to smile as I opened the boxes, she gave me a Coach bag that I still have safe and sound somewhere, and a statue of a ballerina and a mirror that she herself had painted. My mom and dad have that statue in their room, and I can't wait to put it and the painting somewhere perfect in my own home someday.
So what do all those memories add up to? Christmas without her - now for the 6th year in a row. They've gotten progressively better, I think we're just adjusting to the way it is now and letting go of how it used to be, and I still can't decide if I'm okay with that. But I voiced something about the holiday to someone that I've never actually said aloud before the other day -
"My family doesn't have a lot of money, but they deserve it. Ever since she's been gone, I've tried to fill her shoes a little bit and take really good care of them on Christmas. I know it upsets them sometimes, and my wallet hurts for a little bit, but it's so worth it."
I have always, always wanted to be just like her when it came to Christmas. Her name means "goddess of gifts," and she really, truly was.
So, Nana, I don't really get to dance on Christmas for you, but I promise I'll look after them. As long as I do that, a little part of you is still here with us.
Merry Christmas everyone. All my love.
And it was all because of her - my Nana. When I was little I wouldn't go near her without my mom or dad pushing me in her direction. I thought she was weird, and stuffy and overall just disinterested in my life. I wasn't like the rest of my cousins - I wasn't very loud, I didn't look for trouble, in fact, I was usually the one my aunts and uncles could get the information out of. Not that I was a tattle tale, but scared of breaking rules - oh ya. But she made Christmas Eve magical, and we had so much fun those nights the majority of the time.
The year after she died, we found a few presents hidden in her closet waiting for the special night. She worked, up until she got sick and really couldn't anymore, and she worked only to save it and spend it all on gifts for her 18+ grandchildren. Each year, one or two of us would get an extra special gift, and I can say that happened to me a few times. One year it was skis for my family so we could go on a trip and Brittany and I could really learn how. One year it was a beautiful painting of a ballerina, that I'd made fun of earlier in the evening not knowing it was mine. And this final year, when she wasn't around to smile as I opened the boxes, she gave me a Coach bag that I still have safe and sound somewhere, and a statue of a ballerina and a mirror that she herself had painted. My mom and dad have that statue in their room, and I can't wait to put it and the painting somewhere perfect in my own home someday.
So what do all those memories add up to? Christmas without her - now for the 6th year in a row. They've gotten progressively better, I think we're just adjusting to the way it is now and letting go of how it used to be, and I still can't decide if I'm okay with that. But I voiced something about the holiday to someone that I've never actually said aloud before the other day -
"My family doesn't have a lot of money, but they deserve it. Ever since she's been gone, I've tried to fill her shoes a little bit and take really good care of them on Christmas. I know it upsets them sometimes, and my wallet hurts for a little bit, but it's so worth it."
I have always, always wanted to be just like her when it came to Christmas. Her name means "goddess of gifts," and she really, truly was.
So, Nana, I don't really get to dance on Christmas for you, but I promise I'll look after them. As long as I do that, a little part of you is still here with us.
Merry Christmas everyone. All my love.
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