I still have not figured out what has happened. But at least some good news: Brady is moving into my apartment complex today. Apparently, he was in a different building in the apartment estate. It's awesome. I like hanging out with my friends during my free time, and Brady being in the same apartment complex makes it easier to do so.
The way the producers set us up is there are two apartment complexes in the apartment "estate." They're called the Dragon and the Ladybug. I'm in the Ladybug. Turns out there was a mistake and four kids were sent to the Dragon, so they moved Brady over. Sarah lives in Pittsburgh, so they didn't give her one, but she lives like an hour and a half from the dance studio. Oof.
I have to go to therapy for an hour in the morning before the team goes out for some FroYo today. I am not on speaking terms with my mother yet. Maybe another day. I wear a maroon long-sleeved top, cream-colored Hambledon pants, and brown boots. I wear my hair in half-up half-down space buns. I take my Fluoxetine and grab my stuffed animal. It is a stuffed llama. I got it when I was four, and it's gone through a lot with me.
We have to go to a 24-hour therapist's office about half an hour from our apartment. I have to go early in the morning, from eight to nine o'clock. All of my information has been transferred, and the thoughts are flooding my head on the drive.
The thoughts are scary to deal with. They're intrusive and they throw you off guard if you're not used to them. Even if you get used to them, you can still be thrown off-guard. They like to pick at you to the extent of the destruction of your brain. Their main objective is to get you back to the thoughts' comfy state. For me, it is hunched over a toilet, vomiting your undigested food.
The creepiest, and in my opinion, the worst part is that the thoughts are an exact replica of your voice. It's like you're saying these things to yourself. You are beating yourself down. But, they're better than they've been. They've happened more often because of the significant change in my life of starting back up dancing at the ALDC, Mom tells me. So I'm not too worried.
We quickly go to Starbucks for breakfast. I get a decaf unicorn frappuccino thingy and one of those egg and bacon cheese sandwiches. When we arrive at the therapist's office, I grip my Mom's hand in my right hand and clutch the stuffed llama to my chest with the other hand. My mom opens the glass door and there is a reception area.
It doesn't have the doctor smell I'm used to at my old therapist's office. It smells of that air freshener that you would get at Walmart. Febreze mixed with roses. It's refreshing, and I like the smell.
The walls are pale green, and the oak wood floors are a tawny brown color. Mom checks me in, and I am a little anxious. Nobody else is in the waiting room, so I sit in one of the sticky black leather chairs, my feet barely able to touch the floor. I take a sip of the drink.
"Lilly?" somebody calls out and I whip my head up from the ground, where I have been staring unknowingly. I get up from my chair and walk down a hallway that seems to go to the back of the building. The person leading us stops at a white door. She opens it, and a woman is sitting in a chair facing the left wall.
She has curly dyed blue hair and she had a buzz cut on one side. She had thick black glasses, a silver nose ring, and tattoos on her arms. She isn't wearing a medical jacket. She's wearing a long-sleeved pink sweater, dark blue flare jeans, and white tennis shoes. I notice the medical jacket hanging on the door as I cautiously walk in, so at least she graduated from medical school and isn't unqualified.
There's a gray couch on one side with a white fuzzy rug. Behind it is a dark oak wall filled with shelves of sensory toys for the kids who need those. The walls are white and white blinds are on the window. On the couch, there's a fluffy pale pink throw pillow and I sit down, putting the pillow on my lap, leaning on one of the arms of the couch.
"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.
We don't talk about anything dance-related. Dance controls our life 24/7 six, sometimes seven days a week, so whenever we have some free time, it is really fun. GiaNina and Brady carpool together, and they come next.
When Savannah and Hannah arrive, we go into the FroYo shop. I personally think that your frozen yogurt flavor and toppings say a lot about you. I personally get chocolate with gummy worms.
Once we get our FroYo, we sit down on a bench and dig in. I am not a fast eater, and even though nobody else is, I'm the slowest. Sarah and GiaNina get chocolate, Hannah and Savannah get strawberry, and Brady gets vanilla.
We do a lot of Tik Tok dances and memes, but since we can't post on social media about Dance Moms or reveal that we're in Pittsburgh, they are stored in our draft section. I can't wait until this season of Dance Moms airs, so we can upload all these Tik Tok videos.
Eventually, it's noon, and we have to break it off. Brady, GiaNina, and I carpool in Brady's mom's car. We are all a little sugar high and a little giddy. I think that the original stress of change is over. As long as Ms. Abby doesn't bully me this week, I think I'll be okay.
When we arrive at the apartment complex, we hop out of the car, and GiaNina and I say in unison, "Thank you!"
"Not a problem, girls! Have a good afternoon!" Ms. Farrar replies.
Brady and Ms. Farrar walk up the stairs because they live on the second floor, while GiaNina and I live on the third floor, so while they walk up the stairs, GiaNina and I are in the elevator, standing there. Our sugar highs have crashed.
My mind fills with concern, remembering that I am going to face my Mom once I enter the apartment. I look down at the metal floor, fidgeting my fingers.
"Hey, Lilly, you good?" GiaNina asks, making me whip my head in surprise.
"Oh, y-yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I just zoned out," I stutter, making a fake giggle at the end that is clearly not real.
GiaNina just shrugs it off, obviously seeing through me but choosing to not stick her head in, and we walk to our apartments that are just across from each other. GiaNina adjusts her cat ear headband as we wave goodbye to each other. I gulp as I take my key that I have and slowly unlock the door.
"Mom, I-" I begin to start before I realize she is reading a magazine on the living room couch.
She looks up at me and smiles, giving the customary, "Hi, Lilly," followed by, "How was FroYo with the team?"
As I walk over to the couch where Mom was sitting, I want to say, "It was fine." My thoughts are scattered, my brain trying to collect them and put them in order. But I can't.
"I-I-I-I" I stammer, my words buffering, my mind like a broken record player that is just playing the same one second of a song over and over again.
"I-I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not talking to you. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I-" my tears cut me off as I collapse onto the couch.
I feel like I am going backward. I always feel like I'm falling behind in my treatment. The doctors are saying otherwise, but I feel like I shouldn't be having all these breakdowns and be faking my emotions all the time. I should be normal.
"No, Lills. You shouldn't be sorry. I have to admit I was a little out of place, but I just don't want you to be a clown for the rest of your life. But you shouldn't be worried about your place in the team because of the way I act. You just have to worry about yourself, okay?"
I nod, my head lying in her lap. I hate not talking to her. We have such a strong relationship and bond. When you battle an illness, you really create a strong relationship with your support group. Dad is there in my support group, but he distanced himself when I was really sick. After all, he was afraid to see his sick daughter because he hates seeing his children in pain. Caden always tried and still tries to cheer me up with jokes. He always made me laugh during probably the worst moments in my life.
"I-I just feel like I'm going b-backward. Why do I ke-keep having the-these breakdowns?" I ask Mom, begging for an answer.
"Lilly, you're just going through a big change. Your doctor cleared you for this, and she wouldn't have cleared you if you weren't strong enough, and you weren't going to keep improving. And you're just in new circumstances with unfamiliar and familiar faces. It's okay, Lilly. It's okay," Mom reassures, playing with my hair gently.
She gives me a peck on the forehead and we watch The Princess Bride. It was a favorite in the Ketchman household. When I was 5, it was so magical, and it still is. When they battle evil, it reminds me of the fact that I battle the intrusive thoughts, and just like the movie, I win. Well, most of the time I win.
~~~~~