January 30, 2019. I'm back onto Ms. Abby's new dance team. I am the only returning member, and I am so excited. But I am terrified. I am really scared that I will have a severe relapse, and honestly, Mom is too.
But we decide to be on the team because I am stronger, and I am sure that I won't crack. But my stomach is churning when we walk up to the reception area. I walk to where the producers tell me to go, and I see my new dance team members. They all seem blonde, but there are some brunettes. There is also a boy. I can't remember if it's Brady or Nicholas.
I start to do my splits and stretch as one of the girls comes up to me that I didn't talk to at the auditions. I smile at her as I stand up.
"Hi, I'm Savannah Kristich," she introduces to me, waving her hand.
I wave back. She has straight brown hair, thin lips, and half-mooned glassy grey-blue eyes. I hadn't talked to her in the auditions.
"I'm Lilliana Ketchman, but you can call me Lilly. I guess you kinda know that already," I tell her, giggling after.
I shake her hand and continue stretching until the producers call all the kids and parents over. They tell us each other's names. There is GiaNina, Hannah, Sarah, Savannah, Pressley, and the boy is named Brady. I actually remember Brady. He used to take some classes at the ALDC, and we did a photoshoot together a while back. I'm glad I didn't forget my Fluoxetine. I get nervous and shy around new people, and along with Fluoxetine helping with my bulimia, it helps with anxiety.
Then Ms. Gianna, the choreographer, tells us to go into Studio A to wait for Ms. Abby. I look at my Mom nervously. Am I ready to face Ms. Abby again? Am I ready to take all the pain that she may send me my way? I take a deep breath and walk into the studio.
It's the same one I've seen on TV. I had trained in the studio in Los Angeles, so this is exciting but terrifying. I have trained here a little in Season 7, but not much, so my memory is fuzzy.
"You ready?" Mom asks me.
I shrug my shoulders and bite my lip. It is terrifying. She pushes some hair out of my face that had fallen out of my ponytail, and I suddenly hear the mechanic sound of a wheelchair.
I whip around as I hear Ms. Abby announce, "Hello, everybody."
All the kids, I included, reply back to her, "Hi!"
I want to look scared, terrified instead of happy. My face is contorting to not what I felt like. I am in front of the same person that bullied me in the past. The same person that made me have this disease that I still have to take medicine for, a disease that will never go away. Instead of scowling, or my eyes looking like a deer in the headlights, I smile.
"Welcome to Pittsburgh!" she says as we clap and cheer.
I miss my dog and my dad, and my brother, and the house. But if I want to be a dancer, Ms. Abby would help me. But I wish to be back in Fayetteville with my family.
"You did it! You made it! Give yourselves a round of applause," she tells us, and I do so, clapping a small amount. Mom puts a hand on my shoulder.
I've been given the chance of a lifetime for a second time. She's been given a second chance at life. So have I. She says she's grateful to teach dance again. My hopes lift. Maybe she won't fat-shame me anymore. But my hopes are crushed within one second.
"Don't think... for one minute, that you have a permanent spot on the team," she says, with a sly grin on her face.
I tense up. As much as Ms. Abby tormented me in the last years, I need to be on her team to succeed as a dancer.
"Don't blow it. Understand?" she asks.
I nod my head hard. I've never let Ms. Abby down in the dancing region before, right? As long as I did everything I was supposed to do perfectly, she won't hurt me or kick me out.
She points to the pyramid and asks, "Do you know what this is?"
A chorus of yeses floods the room as Mom begins to rub my shoulder soothingly. I would almost always be on the bottom of the pyramid, and it's sad to think about. She tells us we are going to do it a little differently on our first day. No pyramid. I am relieved. I think I visibly loosen up.
She claims that we're all on the same playing field. But I know that's not true. I know that I'll either be favored more than the other kids since I've been on the team before or picked on more because she has higher expectations for me.
"Lilly, you are the only returning dancer. We're all starting fresh. You are the only one wearing an ALDC jacket. So, give me the jacket," Ms. Abby orders, motioning with her finger for me to come over to her.
Great, I'm being singled out. I fake a smile and take off my jacket. I walk over to Ms. Abby, giving her the jacket. I fiddle with my fingers when I walk back, looking at the ground, but quickly looking back up at Ms. Abby before she can scold me.
"This weekend, we are headed to Red Bank, New Jersey. We will attend the Starbound Talent Competition. Everybody is in the group routine. The title is... 'Broken Hearts'."
I smile. I know I will be able to put emotion into this number. I will be able to use the feeling of when my heart was broken when Ms. Abby started fat-shaming me.
She says that we have to dance as one. I don't know these people. They're strangers. How are we supposed to dance as one if we don't know each other?
"This week we also have two trios. This first trio is titled, 'The Favorite,' and it's Sarah, Lilly, and Pressley." Ms. Abby informs.
The Favorite. Am I being put in this group dance as a sign? Am I going to be one of Ms. Abby's favorites?
The second trio is a trio with GiaNina, Hannah, and Savannah called "Dance With The Devil." So it is the blondes against the brunettes. I feel bad for Brady. He does not get a trio.
"Now, the heart routine. I want blood. Moms, you need to find a way to put blood in the costume and for it to burst all over the costume," Ms. Abby states.
I bite my lip. The thoughts are coming back, reminding me of the time I threw up blood. It was, fortunately, a treatable stomach ulcer. How much of a wimp that made you look, Lilliana. I hate that the thoughts call me Lilliana. I'm not schizophrenic, but the thoughts are like a devil, and I'm like a marionette puppet in their little game, despite all the therapy and healing I've gone through. You never fully heal.
The pressure is put on me when she starts talking about Nationals. She talks about all the other thousands of kids that are just like us that look and dance just like us.
Then, she says the chilling words, "Everyone's replaceable."
It echoes in my head. I knew that it would be very hard to concentrate on the words jammed into my brain, but I would have to stay positive and try my best.
The moms are dismissed, and Ms. Abby lets us warm up a bit more with some jumping jacks. Mom waves to me as the moms walk to the viewing box.
After we are done warming up, Abby has a heart in her hand for our group routine. A human heart prop.
"As a performer, you put your heart out there every day. And I'm telling you, someday, someone is going to stab it, and you have to have tough enough skin that it doesn't bother you. That's what makes the stars," Ms. Abby states.
I would like to think I have tough skin. I've been through years of shaming, and an eating disorder. But the thoughts have broken through today, despite the medicine, and tells me that I'm weak. It sucks that I can't have another 10 milligrams until tomorrow.
We start practicing our routine. We are all lying down, and Brady walks through all of us. We do a bunch of acro moves. It's contemporary, so it is to flow and it is to move the audience with its meaningful music and meaningful moves that are to tell a story. Brady is the center of the dance, and I am nervous for him. If he isn't careful, he is going to be torn to shreds.
During our lunch and school work hour, I am with my mom in our car. I can't concentrate on my math, and I need to be alone because I feel a breakdown happening. The thoughts are repeating what Ms. Abby said. I put my head on the portable lap desk, groaning quietly. Throw up your lunch.
"Lilly, what's wrong?" Mom asks as the thoughts are yelling at me to throw up the lunch I had, and tears began to seep down onto my face.
"The thoughts, Mommy. They're back. They're back. They're saying that I need to throw up," I sputter, having a full breakdown, curling up into my Mom.
"Well, honey, I can't give you any more Fluoxetine, but I can give you some Venlafaxine. It might help a bit," Mom offers, to which I nod profusely.
I feel vomit come up instinctively and I manage to keep it down. She hands me half a tablet from her purse and I used some of my leftover sandwich crust to eat it.
"I'm scared, Mom. I don't want Ms. Abby to shame me again. I feel ungrateful that I don't feel happier about this opportunity, but I can't. I can't," I confess, melting into my Mom, who's playing with my hair to try to distract me. It's not working.
"Don't feel bad, sweetheart. You have baggage that nobody else has. You just need to try your best," Mom tells me, and I believe her.
The thoughts die down by the end of the hour, and I finish enough schoolwork that I won't be overwhelmed when we go back to the apartment.
"Just come to me if they come back, okay?" my Mom asks me, stroking my hair as we walk in.
I nod and walk to the area to talk to the other kids. I take an immediate liking to Brady. He's nice and doesn't treat me like I am a baby. I know the other kids mean no harm, but I am on the team for a reason.
My face is still a little flushed and I guess Sarah notices, because she asks me, "Lilly, your face is red. You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just a little hot," I lie, and luckily the team believes it.
I have always been good at lying. Lying whether I was okay or not. Lying about why I was in the bathroom for so long. Lying about whether Ms. Abby's comments hurt me so much.
I'm practicing my trio with Sarah and Pressley. They are super nice. All of the kids are super nice. It's an acro trio, and Mom doesn't like that I wasn't able to show off other dance styles. I am a little annoyed but kept it to myself because I still love acro.
I hear arguing at the box. Sarah and I keep glancing over there, concerned, often losing focus. But we get to a good starting place, and then we are sent home for the day. Hugs, numbers, and goodbyes are exchanged as we go to our apartment complexes. Coincidentally, GiaNina and I live in the same apartment complex, so we have dinner at my place.
We talk about dance and school. She's three years older than me, and her favorite style of dance is lyrical. She's also very outgoing. Her mom and my mom seem to get along relatively well. We finish our school work together as our moms have a glass of wine. Ms. Paolantonio likes to state facts a lot. And talk about GiaNina a lot.
"I'll never understand why our moms like wine so much," GiaNina states, making me giggle.
"It's because Ms. Abby is crazy. You haven't seen the mean side of her yet," I reply, making us laugh.
It feels good to laugh for once and for me to forget about my troubles. The thoughts are for once, letting me have a break and letting me enjoy myself. I thought that I would cave tonight and throw up my dinner, but having a friend to laugh with helps a bit, especially when you aren't being shamed by your thoughts.
Eventually, the Paolantonio's have to leave. The thoughts come back, but taking a shower helps clear my thoughts. I have to get some good rest, but I check my Instagram quickly before I brush my teeth. Nothing new.
I change into some pajamas before Mom tucks me into bed. It may seem childish, but after having your family and your safety is taken away from you for a week while battling an illness, it helped me feel more secure once I returned home.
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