Une Fleure Fanée

Week 2 Part 1 (Monday)

     "Hi, Lilly! I'm Dr. Sanders. Can Mom sit down for a minute to go over some basic info?" Dr. Sanders introduces. I wave and take another sip as my Mom sat down on the other side.

     Mom and Dr. Sanders talk for what seems like hours upon hours. Eventually, my Mom gives me a kiss on my forehead and leaves. Dr. Sanders and just stare at each other as I take another sip of my drink. The thing about therapists, however, is that they're good at starting conversations.

     "I'm tired, how about you?" Dr. Sanders asks me, obviously fake yawning. I nod, keeping quiet.

     "I heard that you like to dance. Do you have any awards?"

     "I've gotten a lot of first places for solos in dance competitions and a national title," I mumble, uncomfortable, not wanting to brag too much.

     "Impressive! And how do you feel when you're dancing?"

     "Sometimes, when I'm confident in the dance that I'm performing, I feel like nothing can stop me. But other times, when the dance isn't so good, or it's not stage-ready, these..." I pause, trying to explain this in a way that didn't make me seem like a psycho or a schizophrenic.

     "... these thoughts enter my head. They sound just like me and they make me mess up sometimes, like last week in my trio. I fell out of my side aerial," I finish, as I take another sip.

     "And what do the thoughts say?" she asks, an inquisitive look forming on her face.

     "Can I not share that?" I ask, curling up a bit more into myself into discomfort.

     She nods, and I show some visible relief. It wasn't that I didn't think that she wouldn't understand. I didn't trust her enough.

     Trust is big to me. Normally, it takes me up to a year or two to trust someone. My reasoning is that if I can't trust my own mind yet, how can I trust someone else? It's weird that I already sort of trust my new dance mates so fast.

    The rest of the therapy session is almost silent. The therapists don't make you talk if you don't want to. After our session is over, I go back to the waiting room. Dr. Sanders talks with my Mom, but I know I didn't share anything that Mom doesn't know.

     We have some time before FroYo at ten, so we go back to our apartment. I want to just take a nap, post on Instagram, and just watch TV, but I have to talk to my mom about what she did yesterday.

     "Mom, can we talk?" I ask my Mom quietly.

     She smiles at me. "Sure, honey. What's up?"

     I explain, "I know you were trying to help, but if Ms. Abby wants me to do acro, just let her do it. Please, just play along, because if you talk to Ms. Abby, and you get her mad, I'm going to have negative repercussions. So, please, Mom, please just let Ms. Abby do what she wants."

     Mom seems hurt, but she just nods and walks to the TV, turning on some documentary about turtles. I instantly feel bad. Nice job, Lilliana. You hurt your mother. That's all you do. Hurt people. Afraid that I would hurt Mom anymore, I just grab a sticky note and a pen. I write I'm sorry on the note and put it on her knee before rushing to my room in tears.

     I am scared of myself. I want to purge. Throw up. I know I can't. But it doesn't help that I was nauseous from the pure stress my body has gone through. So I just lay on my bed at my ceiling, trying not to vomit. I feel horrible. I shouldn't have asked my Mom to change her behavior. She is just helping me.

      I drag my hands down my face as I realize we have to leave. Mom was just going to drop me off because she had some errands to do.

     Sarah and Pressley are there already, waiting. I hop out of the car, saying goodbye to my Mom and blowing a kiss. Sarah and Pressley are very chatty, and I have to put on my bubbly persona. I have to seem normal.