Three alarms go off simultaneously, scaring the crap out of us. We all start hysterically laughing after we shut off the awful sounding combinations of the alarms. Mom gets up too and starts the coffee pot.
They're going back to their houses to get changed and eat their breakfast, but Hannah still brushes out her hair and I quickly cover up my cuts. We walk into the main room, pretending like everything is okay and I didn't have a near meltdown last night over a slice of pizza.
"Everything went okay, kiddos?" Mom asks us.
"Everything went fine. It was really fun," Hannah covers up, giving me a wink that goes unnoticed by Mom.
I smile at her, grateful that she covered up that little incident. I push some hair out of my face before I hug them goodbye. I quickly change into some black dance clothes and a ponytail, and even though it's only 6:00, Mom hands me an Ensure and a Venlafaxine.
"We gotta leave in ten minutes. Ms. Abby wants everybody early. And heads up, Ms. Abby gave me some information. Your solo is in a straitjacket," Moms reveals and I freeze.
The flashbacks start coming back and I start shaking and start to feel really dizzy. I stumble onto the couch and curl up, trying my best not to cry. I swallow the Venlafaxine. You're lucky to have a solo, Lilliana. Stop crying and bitching and moaning. It's not going to do anything useful.
"I can't pull you out. You have to win against Elliana. I think the best thing to do is to suck it up and do the solo. Now come on, you can have your meltdown in the car. Let's go," Mom says and she corralls me out to the car.
"Mom, please," I whisper in the car, but she just ignores me.
Why doesn't Mom care about the fact that this is going to be traumatizing for me. What if I have a panic attack during rehersal or onstage? What happens then? All the flashbacks are coming back from the time that I spent in a straitjacket. That was totally illegal and totally traumatizing. It made me hate hospitals, and when I walk into the studio, still shaking, I see Ms. Abby holding a straitjacket.
"Lilly, you and your Mom go put it on and tell me how it feels. It's going to be used for your solo," Ms. Abby tells me.
"Is it real?" I timidly ask, my breath shortening.
"Yes. Now go put it on," Ms. Abby yells and we rush into the bathroom.
I start sobbing as Mom looks up how to put a straitjacket. She glares at me to stop, but I can't. Stop being such a crybaby, Lilliana. Your mother is just going to get annoyed at you and she's going to yell at you.
"I understand this is hard but think of it like this. You're getting over your fear. I don't like that you have half a body, but there's nothing we can do about it, can we?" Mom asks, and I nod.
Mom gives me a hug and gives me a tissue before I start getting strapped into the straitjacket. I cry out sometimes in either pain or emotional distress. When I look into the mirror, all I see is my nine-year-old bulimic self.
"You're gonna rock this Lilly-bug," Mom whispers and I smile.
This thing makes me so hot and sweaty. I walk into Studio A, nearly falling a bit due to lack of balance. I see Ms. Yolanda talking to Elliana in the dancer's den and cameras around them. I ignore it and walk into Studio A.
"How does it fit?" Ms. Abby asks and I fake a smile.
"Tight, but I think I can make it work," I reply, my foot shaking a bit in anxiety.
"Good, now go change back and we're gonna start filming," Ms. Abby says and I run as fast as I can out of the studio.
"Get me out, get me out, get me out," I whisper to Mom who rushes to get me out of there.
"You did it, though. Now go with the rest of the group, c'mon," Mom urges me on and I hurriedly join the other kids.
I walk back into the studio, this time with the other kids and we go to where Ms. Abby is stationed.
"Lilly, Ellie, do you understand the... magnitude of what's happening? You are competing in Pittsburgh. I own a business here. So we could go to the competition and leave with... 200, 300 new students. If they all wanna be like you. JoJo's gonna be in the audience, so... be... brilliant. Alright, I'm starting with Lilly," Ms. Abby says and the other kids, bar Sarah and Elliana, who stay in the studio.
Ms. Abby hands me the straitjacket, and I put it on, keeping my arms untied. It just feels like a normal shirt. Still, the room is slowly morphing into the solitary confinement room. I force myself to pay attention to Ms. Abby's words. I look like a scared puppy.
"Lilly, you're doing a straitjacket routine because it was one of JoJo's most memorable routines. Whatever JoJo did, you need to be a hundred times better than she ever was. She got to use her hands. But your arms will be restrained the entire time you're on stage. So you're escaping the insane asylum," Ms. Abby says and I cringe at her words as I let her tie me up and I sit in front of her wheelchair.
"You're hearing these voices in your head all the time and they're just coming after you. And they're making you crazy," Ms. Abby explains, and all I can think about are the urges screaming like banshees in my head.
Nurse Charlotte is going to find you, Lilliana. She's gonna find you. The flashbacks are running in my mind like a movie. Nurse Charlotte's gonna find you, LIlliana. That sentence plays around fifty times in my head.
"Your mom is making me crazy this week," Ms. Abby remarks and I can't help but giggle.
"So I need to see really crazy on your face. Ahhh! That's what you need to be like. All right, let's do this," Ms. Abby says and I get on my back.
Once I get over the first wave of panic, I kinda realize this is sort of a dream role for me. I get to do a lot of acting. My hands are tied up and this is a really inaccurate, but interesting story.
The person I'm staring at in the mirror isn't Lilly. What is reflecting in the mirror is a psycho schizophrenic. But a psycho doesn't dance. A psycho doesn't have to do a penché into a roll without the use of their hands or risk falling if she bobbles on one move. After I do a good enough job for Ms. Abby, she dismisses me and I run.
"Please get me out of this," I beg to the other girls and Brady.
Hannah and Pressley manage to get me out of the straitjacket and I immediately start chugging a water bottle to repress the panic I was feeling in the studio. I'm finally free. A wave of relief and water washes through me as I start to do a bit of schoolwork before lunch.
I only have 50 calories. So for lunch, I eat a single baby carrot. They already have pretty big suspicions on me, so I don't really care at this point. I realize that they're too scared to tell any adult right now, so it doesn't really matter anymore.
"Kids, you're dismissed! Remember, no packing!" Ms. Abby says as we finish up lunch.
"Short day, eh?" Gia comments out loud, and we shrug.
"Mom said that we're gonna be able to camp out on the roof with blanket forts and tents and fairy lights tomorrow instead of a hotel. It's gonna be really cool," Hannah says and we all light up.
"Those are so fun!" Elliana squeals and we all laugh.
We all split up into the cars and Mom looks very stressed.
"So, how are you coping with the straitjacket solo?" Mom asks as we start to leave the studio.
"I kind of just roll with the punches, I guess. It's really scary mentally more than physically, though," I mention, and Mom smiles.
"Well, you're doing great. Do you want me to get anything else for dinner or just a salad?" Mom asks me.
"Just a salad. My stomach isn't up for something heavy," I say, and Mom nods as we merge onto the highway.
That's still too many calories, but I only have to omit about 40% of the salad so I can fit into the calorie limit. When we get home, Mom goes out to get some salads. I rush to the bathroom to look at myself. My stomach actually is a little flatter than my ribs. I get a rush of happiness. You're still so fat, Lilliana. No matter how flat your stomach is, it will never be enough.
I manage to finish up the schoolwork I have to do by the time Mom comes home with the salad mix. I grab a smaller serving than usual and eat it all so it doesn't look like I'm restricting. Approximately 35 calories. I don't like it when the number isn't exact, but it'll have to do.
Then I take my shower. My weight: 62.8. So close to sixty pounds. I grab the razor outside of the phone case and take it into the shower. It's becoming a bit rusty with blood. But at least the coping mechanism is working. All the stress and relief rolls off as the blood burns my skin and washes down the drain. Only four tiny ones though. They look like puncture wounds on my wrist.
I put a bandaid on my wrist. I'm glad I cut them so close together that I need one bandaid. I decide to wear my unicorn onesie. It's comfy and soft. But even the comfiness can't contain the fear and panic and tears.
~~~~~