I look around as my alarm goes off. I'm still here. There's still a bandage on my left wrist. My scars are getting paler on the right. But more importantly, I'm stuck another day in this hellhole. I force myself to drag my feet out of bed so I can work on my wrists without Mom finding out.
I didn't cut it too deep last night. Five marks all collecting into one point on my arm, almost like a star. They're pale pink against my skin. I examine both of my wrists. One only has three cuts, my right wrist. The other one has five.
I throw away the bandage, hiding the blood-soaked gauze under a bunch of other trash. I press the concealer and foundation hard against my skin, making sure the small lines aren't visible.
I look in the mirror and suck in my stomach so much I can grab my ribcage. Eventually, I'll be able to do this without sucking in my stomach. I just need to lose around seven more pounds. You'll never be skinny enough for that, Lilliana. You're always gonna be fat and ugly.
I choose a gray and navy blue cropped ALDC sweatshirt hoodie, black leggings, and black sneakers. Why is there even a hoodie if we're not allowed to wear it? I put my hair in a high ponytail. I also take my medicine and I put on skincare and makeup.
Ensures have become practically my breakfast because we are always running late. But I never drink them. So I'm basically skipping breakfast, which is great. I don't think about the flavor I'm picking. I pick a chocolate one out of the blue and set it on the counter.
"Lilly, we're going alone today," Mom informs me.
I don't say anything back. Don't you dare eat today, Lilliana. You're so fat. You don't deserve food. I grab the Ensure back from the counter, along with my dance bag, water bottle without electrolytes this time, and shoes and head out the door.
It feels so weird but also so nice to be alone in the car. I don't feel like talking to people today anyway. I also get to stretch out and take up three seats in the car except one. You're so short, Lilliana. You can't even take up a single seat.
I'm never going to be a professional dancer if I'm this short. Not only am I short by nature, but eating disorders stunt your growth. But even that is not enough motivation to seek out help for my current behavior. I'd rather be skinny and beautiful than tall.
When we get in there, I'm ushered into Studio B where Pressley, GiaNina, and Hannah are already there. I wave hello, but they don't wave back. Nobody likes you, Lilliana. Everybody hates you. I walk over to join their semi-circle to hear what they're talking about, but a producer, Mr. Bryan, calls me over.
"Lilly, I'm just letting you know, I just want you to know, if something doesn't happen involving you in the next couple of weeks, you're going to be on probation. You haven't been in the spotlight in the next couple of weeks, and you haven't stirred any drama. If something doesn't happen, you may not be here much longer" Mr. Bryan threatens.
I nod and walk away before he can see the terror in my eyes. Before the cameras can catch up with me. I've gotten yelled at by producers before, threatening me with, "You're going to leave." So why does this one make me fear so much about getting cut? You're such a crybaby, Lilliana. Do something dramatic in the next week or two. It's seriously not that hard.
I walk back to the semi-circle but there's a fight breaking out between Gia and Press. I quickly get out of the room. I don't want to see two of my friends fighting. But Sarah forces me into there to talk with the girls about Elliana. Ellie isn't here. Why are we gossiping about her?
I don't like this at all. The worst thing that's happened so far with Ellie is that Ellie and Gia are always kinda hanging out unless Mom forces me to go over to Ellie's house. And that's what they have a problem with. People should be able to hang out with friends. But Press says something that takes it too far.
"It separates us. It's you and Ellie and then everybody else," Press explains and Gia starts crying.
"Well, then talk to Ellie and say 'I want to sit next to her.' Stop blaming it on me that we're friends. It's annoying. I hate being accused for everything I do. I'm friends with Elliana and I'm happy I am," GiaNina screams at Pressley and I inch away from the semi-circle.
"The only reason I'm getting upset and frustrated is because we were such good friends in the beginning, and now that Elliana's here, you don't even talk to me. You act like I don't even exist and you ignore me. Then, when Elliana's gone, you want to be my best friend again. And that's not a true friend to me, if I'm gonna be completely honest," Pressley tries to reason with GiaNina.
I can't take this anymore. I stare at the wall, trying to tune out the conversation. It works. I'm just stuck alone with my thoughts. It's a good couple of minutes until Sarah shakes me.
"Lilly! Ms. Abby wants us in Studio A! Come on!" she tells me and I quickly get up, my head spinning a bit.
I don't want to think about the argument. I don't care if I'm on semi-probation, I don't want to get involved with the drama. If I want to be saved, I want to be the cause of the drama, not just a side character. Hopefully, I'll get a solo that makes everybody jealous. You're not good enough for a solo, Lilliana. You lost your last one. Elliana still isn't here. But Ms. Yolanda is here. Why?
"Good morning. Where is your daughter?" Ms. Abby asks.
"She is not here. She can dance, but she just can't dance during school hours," Ms. Yolanda informs Ms. Abby.
"Just figure it out!" Ms. Abby yells before returning to us, the children.
"All right, onto the pyramid. At the bottom of the pyramid... Gia-a-Ni-na. GiaNina, you were off in the timing," Ms. Abby explains.
"I asked them backstage, uh, to clarify the counts, I counted out the counts, they said yes, go to the other side. So I don't know if it was a miscommunication or if they wanted me not to do it right," GiaNina tells Ms. Abby and everybody's jaws drop to the floor and multiple onomatopoeic exclamations and many disgusted comments by the mothers are made.
"I know that I was wrong; I'll admit that I was wrong. And I'm sorry it might have cost us the win, but I don't know," Gia finishes and Ms. Abby is thoroughly amused.
"To me, it looks like this team is falling apart," Ms. Yolanda comments before Pressley interjects.
"We would never, ever, want to mess up," Pressley promises, trying to prove at least her innocence.
You should have spoken up, Lilliana. You're the reason Gia did the wrong counts. Ms. Abby, wanting this whole conundrum to be over, tired with this dysfunctional team that she's created, still finds a way to make us seem dumb.
"I don't think any of your kids are that smart to figure that out on how we can screw everybody up and make her look bad," Ms. Abby says.
You're so dumb, Lilliana. Even Ms. Abby thinks that. Ms. Abby never lies. Well, we didn't even plot against her, at least, I didn't plot against her.
"She doesn't need to get blamed every week from these moms," Ms. Joanne comments before Ms. Ashley starts arguing.
It's barely been the beginning of pyramid, and there have been at least three arguments, three burns on people, and at least one child trying not to break down crying from all the stress. We are so dysfunctional.
"Alright, well all of this... arguing, is why we're not winning as a team, and you're not dancing as a team. Moving on, next we have... Lilliana," Ms. Abby calls out.
I bite my lip in pain as she says my full name. I definitely thought I would be on top, but I guess I'm on the bottom. You're not good enough for this team, Lilliana. She should just knock your headshot off and kick you off the team.
"Lilly, brilliant performance one week, not so brilliant the next," Ms. Abby tells me, blunt and quick, not wanting to spend much time on mine since I really didn't do anything bad or good that was noteworthy.
"Next, Pressley. You did well; you did what you were given. But I want you to take what you're given to the next level. And on the second row... Sarah. Sarah, you have been consistent. You don't draw attention in a negative light, but I need to see you draw more attention in a positive light," Ms. Abby tells Pressley and Sarah, both seeming pleased with their rankings.
"Next, we have Hannah. You exceeded my expectations. At the top of the pyramid... Elliana. Too bad she's not here. Tell her I expected no less than a victory from her," Ms. Abby informs and Ms. Yolanda is the only one who claps.
There's no big celebration for Ellie. Why would there be one if she isn't here? I want to clap, but Mom gives me a look that makes my happiness for Elliana fade. Ms. Abby doesn't clap either. She just goes straight into the competition information.
"This week, we are going to Canton, Ohio, attending Drop The Beat. GiaNina, you're performing a duet with Elliana," Ms. Abby reveals and Gia looks really happy, her eyes widen, and a big grin from ear to ear on her face.
"You will be portraying the character of Judge Judy. You will be Judge Gia. Elliana will resume the role of the strangler," Ms. Abby finishes and everybody laughs.
"Lilly, you are also doing a duet with Pressley. There are no gimmicks. No ways to hide the feet. It's a pretty lyrical. It's called, 'Light Into The Darkness.' It's about the light, Lilly, being forced to follow the darkness, Pressley. The light doesn't want to go but is lured in. The light is convinced," Ms. Abby informs me and Press.
The duet is too relatable. I keep being sucked into the intrusive thoughts. I don't want to be here, I want to be normal, but I'm lured in constantly. At least I can use that as fuel and use it to feed my emotions.
"The group dance is called, 'Blue Bloods.' You are privileged to be here at the Abby Lee Dance Company. And sometimes, I think, when working with you, that this is the epitome, this is it. 'I made it. I don't have to work hard anymore.' I don't understand two losses in a row. Are we really going to give Brady that much credit? Or Savannah? 'Cause that's what it looks like now.
Even though we have Elliana, who is MIA, we have another kid who is here today. She has a solo this week, and she is not in the group routine. Our guest dancer will swing Elliana in the group dance. She will stand in her spot, she will block her spacing," Ms. Abby reveals.
"Well, Abby, that is great and everything, um, but you are gonna be taking that time away from your team that's standing right here. I'm not quite sure why that makes sense," Ms. Yolanda comments the obvious.
"I don't know how it's any of your damn business. Your kid's not even here to learn from me. Ladies, you are dismissed, girls warm-up for your acro and gym tumbling class. Kamryn and Elliana, come in here!" Ms. Abby yells so that the dancer's den can hear.
You're so spoiled, Lilliana. You don't work hard enough. As I'm about to cry, the same girl who was here yesterday, Kamryn Smith walks in, along with Elliana. The photoshoot must've been a cover story. She must be our guest dancer. We all greet her, giving her hugs and she warms up with us.
"So was the photoshoot a lie?" Hannah asks Kamryn, and Kamryn nods.
"Yeah, the producers didn't want the moms knowing it was me. I don't understand how it worked," she giggles, and we all giggle back.
She seems so happy and chipper. She has no idea what working with Ms. Abby is like. A poor little girl. I remember when I was her age. I wasn't bulimic for most of it, I was so happy. And then I worked with Ms. Abby for two years and all of my happiness faded away. I thought I got it back.
"Change of plans. Go eat some lunch and then return. Keep your bodies warm!" Ms. Abby shouts and we all go to the dancer's den.
Mom packed me a salad. Easy to fake. I slosh it around, picking at it, any behavior that makes up the idea that I'm eating. The fork doesn't even come in contact with my mouth.
"Girls! Set up the mats and let's work!" Ms. Abby yells, and we quickly set up mats so we don't get hurt.
Me and Sarah are, of course, more advanced than the rest. Pressley is up there, but she needs more leg flexibility. Kamryn is really good at acro too, about where I was when I was seven, maybe six. Of course, I'm a rare case.
After acro and gym is jazz. Kamryn is super excited. Jazz isn't my favorite, but it's sassy, and I can be really sassy on stage. It's really advanced, and even I have a hard time keeping up. But Kamryn shines, immediately catching our attention.
"You're really good at jazz, you know," Gia tells Kamryn, trying to be nice to her.
"Thanks. It's my favorite," Kamryn says, taking a sip of her water bottle before moving onto our last class of the day, and my personal least favorite: technique/legs and feet.
"Lilly and Pressley, fix those feet! They look like claws," Ms. Abby yells throughout the lesson at me and Pressley and we're nearly in tears by the end of it.
You're so fat, Lilliana. Your feet would be good if you were skinny and beautiful. But you're fat and ugly and disgusting. You shouldn't even be on this team. I don't want to cry until we get home and I'm in my room. The car ride is silent. I don't want to talk to anybody, even my Mom. I know I should be grateful for this opportunity, but I just want to go home where I could tell somebody what's going on without national television knowing. Why won't Mom notice?
I stay in my room to do my schoolwork until dinner, trying to process what happened in pyramid. I'm pretty upset at GiaNina. She threw us under the bus for a mistake that she made. I didn't even speak to her, and I am blamed. You should've spoken up and told her the counts, Lilliana. It's your fault. I'm so stupid for not helping my teammate.
I want to cut so bad. But the shower won't catch the blood. The tingle goes through my body. It's sharp and lingers until I cut, almost as painful as the cuts are. I cave in halfway through my math. This is like an addiction. I cut myself in my room on my left wrist once. It'll keep them away for now. Good girl, Lilliana. The blood is good. The cuts make you more ugly, though.
I pull down my sleeve to make sure the small amount of blood gushing out doesn't touch my cropped hoodie so it doesn't create stains. If Mom saw the blood, this whole bubble of control that I surround myself with will come crashing down. I quickly grab a bandage, put it over the cut, and pull my hoodie over it.
"Lilly! Dinner!" Mom calls out and I sluggishly make my way to the dining table, afraid about dinner.
It's another salad. Thank God. Caesar salad, but still, something I can mess around with. Normally, Mom is on her phone and talking to Dad or the producers or just looking at the news. That makes dinner easy to fake. But tonight, she wants to be present at dinner for once. On my fasting day!
"Lilly, you haven't touched your salad. Did something happen at dance? Did someone say something about your body?" Mom asks me, taking a bite of her salad.
I understand she's trying to help. But the fact that she singles out my body just makes me more self-conscious and I just want to scream and yell and then have a breakdown and tell her everything and just... be in a place where it's okay to not be okay.
"No, no, everything went fine at dance. I just... my stomach, it's just acting up," I lie, trying to sound casual.
"Alright. Well, eat two bites and you can go to bed early," Mom orders, and I try not to show the sudden shock and fear I'm feeling on my face.
It's just two bites of the salad, Lilly. It won't kill you. You can't eat, Lilliana. One bite of the salad turns into two. And then an entire salad. I slowly pick up my fork and my teeth crunch on some lettuce. I start to get nauseous immediately. I slowly chew on the lettuce but my upset stomach takes over.
Bile fills my mouth and I run to the bathroom, managing to lock the door before I throw up in the toilet. Good girl, Lilliana. Good girl. You can't eat to gain more weight when you have so much more to lose. Mom doesn't like me throwing up regardless of any eating disorder. At least I'm actually not feeling well, so I'm not lying anymore.
I didn't swallow the salad, so luckily, I avoid the consequence of calories and becoming fat. I flush the toilet, and I don't look in the mirror. I don't want to see my fat body. Mom is waiting for me outside the door.
"Am I still gonna dance?" I ask her, the realization setting in that my exercise for the day may be taken away from me.
"The producers already put you on probation, so you need to be there in case the drama stirs. You don't have to eat any dinner, just take a shower and go to sleep. Hopefully, you'll feel better in the morning," Mom says and I nod.
Why does Mom care about fame more than me? I immediately go to my room and slip my razor in my sleeve before returning to the bathroom to shower. The sound of the shower water hitting the tile camouflages the beep of the scale when I step onto it. 67 pounds even. That's not enough.
After washing my hair, I slide down the wall of the shower with my razor. The scars have turned into a pale pink and white combo and most of them run flush with my skin. My skin is already pale, but they're even whiter than my skin color.
In the fetal position, I extend my right arm so I can see where to cut. Tears spring in my eyes as blood starts trickling out from six different spots. Two on my right wrist, and four on my left wrist. I wait until my arms stop bleeding to get out of the shower. I don't have to put on bandages if they aren't bleeding. Good girl, Lilliana. You're so much happier when you see the liquid crimson on your skin.
One does reopen on my bad wrist, the left one, though, from the friction of my unicorn onesie against my skin. I put another JoJo Siwa bandaid on it. Hidden by the onesie, I brush my hair and teeth, avoiding eye contact with the mirror. I feel so depressed, but the euphoria I get from cutting myself trumps the depression, making it fade away with the intrusive thoughts.
I don't cry in my bed. I just stare at the blank wall that my bed is pushed against. Lost. I don't want to kill myself, at least, not tonight. But I don't want to wake up the next morning at all.
~~~~~