Eight-thirty, I feel a tap on my shoulder. The headache is still a little present, but Ms. Ashley's Advil helped. Pressley is looming over, and I let out a yelp of shock. She jumps back and I sit up, giggling a bit.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," we whisper at the same time.
"Jinx!" I giggle, rubbing my eyes and taking off the covers.
"I let you sleep in a bit, we have to leave in an hour, and your mom told me to tell you to take your medicine," Pressley tells me, and I get up out of bed reluctantly.
She's already dressed and ready. I should probably do the same. I grab my tie-dye outfit and go to the bathroom. I put on a blue tie-dye sunflower crop top from Urban Outfitters, some black lettuce-edge shorts from Forever 21, a pair of blowfish tie-dye sneakers from Rackroom Shoes, and tie-dye earrings and a tie-dye bandana, both from Claire's.
As I brush out my greasy hair, washing it with some water from a water bottle, I notice more hair is in my hairbrush than before. A lot more. I grip my hair and a small clump comes out. I know my hair has become thinner, but now it's falling out.
Now you don't have anything to save you, Lilliana. Your hair was your only pretty asset and now it's gone. My eyes well up with tears, but this is stupid to cry about. I calm myself down enough to put my hair up in pigtails behind my bandana and switch out my pink fluffy case to a tie-dye case.
I take my medication, the two pills going down my throat. I put on some normal makeup so I don't kill anybody with more tie-dye. I look like an 80s glow-in-the-dark rave in a nuclear reactor already.
My cuts are quickly covered in foundation, and then I exit the bathroom. The Great British Baking Show is playing. The contestants are making Baked Cheesecakes. Pressley and I pack up our suitcases as we're watching them finish up their cheesecakes.
"Lilly, your legs are bruised. Why are they getting so bruised?" Pressley asks, looking at my legs in horror.
I look at my legs. Green and purple bruises cover my legs like scales on a snake. I examine them. They're tender and painful to the touch.
"I'm going to cover these with makeup," I mutter quickly before running to the bathroom to apply makeup.
It's no different than covering up my cuts, just foundation, concealer, powder, done. It's harder to cover the back of my legs, but eventually, I get it done.
"Are they good?" I ask Pressley, turning around so she can see all my legs.
"They're good, but you may want to touch them up before Body and Soul, though. Luckily, other than solos, that's the only dancing we're doing today, so it's simple," Pressley reports.
I groan. Why couldn't we have done King of Queens instead? Pressley gives me a sympathetic look as I finish packing up my suitcase. You're going to look so fat in the leotard, Lilliana. Don't wear it. I have to wear it. I can't fake being sick again. By the time we finish, we have ten minutes to relax and finish watching the contestants create croquembouches.
As soon as we turn off the remote, Mom yells, "Pressley! Lilly! Time to go! Say goodbye to the hotel because we have to get on the minibus!"
I sigh. Today we have the show in Birmingham, then we have the show in Bristol tomorrow, then on Saturday, we have the show in London. Then we have Easter, which Ms. Abby said not to pack day clothes for, for some reason. It was nice to have a break and stay in one location for once, but I guess we're on the move again.
I grab my suitcase and I roll it out of our tiny room, out of the hotel room, into the hallway, and the elevator. Pressley whips out her phone and we do an ugly face selfie for Snapchat as we go down to the lobby.
Everybody there except Brady is here. The giant banana plush from yesterday isn't here. I sit down next to Sarah, who's having a protein bar. She offers me some, but I decline. I can't eat anything more than 250 calories, and that's saved for dinner.
All of a sudden, Brady arrives with the banana plush. We all cheer for the banana plush as he leads us out to the minibus. I sit next to Pressley again and Gia gets the banana plush. Pressley and I crackdown on the semi-final. The bus ride is three hours, so we'll be able to finish the season and the first episode of season three.
Everybody else seems to fall asleep on the bus ride, but Press and I are obsessed with the finale. Eventually, Joanne Wheatley wins season two with her petit fours display, and we're onto the third.
As Pressley changes the season to the third season, I look over at Gia. Gia looks kind of... odd, sleeping with the banana plush. Everybody else is still asleep, even two hours into the bus ride. The mothers are not talking. The only thing I have for auditory stimulation is the Great British Baking Show.
This has to be the most boring bus ride. Luckily, we arrive at our hotel and our venue right as Natasha gets eliminated. Ms. Abby and Ms. Gianna are waiting outside for us. Pressley and I shake everybody awake, being a little bit annoying.
"Ok! We're up! We're up!" Hannah yells, laughing along with me as I keep shaking her shoulders.
I eventually force myself to tear my hands off her shoulders and we all get out to greet Ms. Abby and Ms. Gianna. We look like blinding hippies in our tie-dye attire, but Ms. Abby smiles and snaps a photo.
"Hello everybody! I'm very excited about this Birmingham meet and greet! Remember, be kind to everybody and be professional!" Ms. Abby curtly reminds us.
Our first task of the day is to get Ms. Abby up the stairs of the establishment. All the kids, including myself, watch, but when Ms. Abby starts cursing Brady and I go on the hunt for a ramp, maybe on the side. Miraculously, there's one on the side. Brady and I run back, and Ms. Abby isn't even one stair up.
"We found- a- ramp on- the side," I pant, gasping for air, pointing to the side.
"Thank you! Why can't they just be in the front?" Ms. Abby mutters as she wheels to the front.
A minute or two later, Ms. Abby is up the stairs and goes through the door. Task one, done. The second one, find the ballroom with all the chairs. We roam up and down the hallways, finding multiple ballrooms. Other staff members from the hotel keep helping us, but we can't find it.
"I found it!" Sarah and Ms. Michelle shout, and we all start shouting, "Marco!" until we find them.
Sure enough, there are 350 gray folding chairs smack dab in the middle of the ballroom. We all high-five Sarah and Ms. Michelle to congratulate them. Ms. Abby high0fives Sarah, but not Ms. Michelle. There must still be a grudge between them.
The second task accomplished. Now the third: put on some ALDC merch and the... ugh... red leotards. At least the red lace won't show in the photos. I grab the smallest sweatshirt and pair of leggings and head to the bathroom stall.
I want to throw up so bad, but I don't have anything in my system to throw up. I put my red lace leotard on, and I don't dare to look at myself in the mirror. I just slip on my ALDC sweatshirt. There. Everything is covered up.
The third task, done. Next, put on a happy smile. I practice them in the mirror of the bathroom as Gia walks out of her stall.
"Why are you doing that?" Gia questions, sipping water out of her water bottle.
"I'm practicing for the meet-and-greet. It's not natural anymore, I guess," I mutter, and I keep smiling.
Gia frowns, hugs me, and leaves. I immediately start bawling as he leaves, effectively ruining my mascara. The tingle in my wrist comes out and all I want to do is slice my wrists open. I still keep practicing smiling even though black streaks are going down my face. You should just kill yourself, Lilliana.
Maybe the thoughts are right. Life is meaningless. I have nothing to live for. My family is a continent away. I only feel when I dance, and I barely do that. We're all going to die eventually, so what does it matter that I cap mine off a couple of months in advance? I'm either going to die from an eating disorder or suicide anyway.
I can't kill myself right now, though. Ms. Abby would deem it unprofessional. I wipe away the mascara with a makeup wipe, replacing it with some fresh mascara. My eyes are a bit pink and bloodshot, but it's okay. I'm mentally stable enough to perform.
Task four complete. Task five. Smile autonomously three hundred fifty times. I'm in between Gia and Pressley this time. The line has already started, and it starts with Mackenzie, so I'm the third.
It's quick: greet, smile, snap, goodbye, repeat. I haven't had a mental breakdown in less than fifteen minutes, wanting to kill myself. I'm just a happy, sunshiney, role model to young girls and boys. You'll never be a role model if they find out about your eating disorder in the past, Lilliana. Mothers won't want their children to watch you and you'll be a disgrace to your family.
Gia keeps side-eyeing me, like she's disgusted, and confused, and worried all at the same time. Greet, smile, snap, goodbye. I mean, it's not like; greet, smile, snap, goodbye; she didn't see me; greet, smile, snap, goodbye; on the verge of a mental breakdown.
This goes on for another two hours before we finally get through everybody. Somebody got us a bunch of British food. I'll probably try it, but then I'll spit it out. Task five is done. Task six: perform Body and Soul. Brady starts getting ready for his PTSD solo as we all strip our sweatshirts and leggings off to reveal our leotards.
After about ten minutes later, Ms. Abby wheels in to grab us. Brady wishes us good luck as normal and we go to the ballroom. I hope I don't slip. The floors are harder than normal. It's way different than an auditorium stage.
Luckily, no casualties or fatalities are made as our sassy jazz dance makes the crowd go berserk. I smile, bow, and wave as we exit the stage. Task six, done. Now onto task seven. Perform the Strait Escape solo on a hard ballroom floor.
"Lilly, since you are going to be rolling on the floor with a straitjacket, and it is a hard ballroom, we're going to be putting down some mats," Ms. Abby tells me, and Ms. Joanne looks mad.
"Why are you just putting them down for her? What about Gia? Hell, what about the rest of the kids?" Ms. Joanne complains, and Ms. Abby rolls her eyes.
"Because when your kid trips on the stage, she'll have her arms to save her, and Lilly's. I'll put down mats for your kid when Gia can get a perfect score without two of her limbs! Now, Brady, I need you out there. Gia at bay," Ms. Abby yells.
I let out a heavy sigh once the heavy verbal tussle is over. I feel sort of bad that I'm the only one getting mats, but hey, that's life. Brady goes, then Gia, Sarah, Hannah, then Pressley, and I'm the finale.
The blue mats are a shocking contrast to the white ballroom floor, but needless to say, it helps. It's so much more comfortable than the ballroom floor, and it gives me a little extra bounce so I'm not so bouncy in my leaps myself.
I get a lot of applause and then boom. It's done. I was the closing act, I did well, and now it's over. Everybody congratulates me on a good solo and now we're in the process of cleaning up. Task eight, clean up.
Gia and I find our bathroom again and I can tell she's keeping an eye on me even through the stalls. I put back on my tie-dye outfit. It's comfier than a straitjacket and some briefs. I don't like how some of my legs are still uncovered and a bit of my stomach, but I have to wear it. A small clump of hair falls out when I put it back in my bandana, but Gia doesn't notice it.
We walk back looking like kids in a sleepaway camp with our tie-dye, and we help put away our makeup and our supplies before helping disassemble our meet and greet signs. Once that is all done and handled with, we put our luggage back in the minibus, say goodbye to Ms. Gianna and Ms. Abby, and walk back to the hotel so we can get our room key.
Pressley and I are sharing again, but at least we don't have to share with our mothers. We have slightly bigger twin beds, but way better than the tiny bunk beds Blackpool had. Right as we settle in our hotel room, Gia sends a text to meet her in the lobby.
"Time to spit out British candy," I mutter to myself as I take the stairs instead of the elevator to the lobby. Hannah is already there. Brady and Sarah arrive moments after Press and I do.
"We have Jaffa Cakes, Cadbury chocolate, Walker's prawn cocktail chips, raspberry Jammie Dodgers, these Ribena drinks, and Mars bars. So I say, we all just rotate and see which ones we like? I mean, there's enough for all of us," Gia suggests, and everybody nods.
I first have the Jaffa cakes. Chocolate orange cakes. They're such tiny amounts of food, if I throw it up, I'll probably only eat seventy-five calories. Jaffa cakes are 8/10. Next, I have the Ribena black currant drink. I nearly spit it out, it's so disgusting. -2/10.
Then I get the raspberry Jammie Dodgers. A little too sweet for my taste, but not bad. 6/10. After I get Cadbury chocolate, which is way more chocolatey than American chocolate. 7/10. Then there are Walker's prawn cocktail chips. Surprisingly really good. 9/10.
Finally, there are Mars Bars. They are nut-free Snickers. They're okay, so I guess 5/10. I like the prawn chips the most, but now I have to throw everything up. I excuse myself to the bathroom and I look through the bottom of the stalls. Empty. Perfect.
I snatch the one the farthest from the door and I immediately throw them up. I start to panic while I'm doing so. I can't count the calories. I can't get an exact amount. I guess I'll have to eyeball it. 75 calories.
I look in the mirror once I finish throwing up. My teeth are turning a bit yellow again. Dang, it. It's not noticeable unless you stare, though. I wash my hands and ring them out with a paper towel before exiting the bathroom.
"Hey, Lilly, the moms came down to ask us what we wanted from Chick-Fil-A. We ordered you a four-piece with a fruit cup. Hope that's okay," Hannah reveals as I sit back down.
"That's fine. Thanks," I reply, sitting on Hannah's lap.
"I can't wait to swim after though!" Gia gushes, and everybody else agrees.
Ugh, swimsuits. Luckily, my one-piece is washed, so I can wear that to the pool. Maybe I'll have some fun instead of just treading water. We sit around chatting about how we'll be back on the show on Tuesday and we guess what the solos will be.
"Probably Hannah, Pressley, and maybe Elliana," Gia guesses.
"Nah, it's just going to be Press and Ellie," Hannah corrects.
"Why don't you believe in yourself, Hannah? Ms. Abby is going to give you a solo. And if not this following week, then the next following week, I promise," Gia says, hugging Hannah, I squished in between them.
I make a Grumpy Cat face as they finish their hug and as soon as they see me, they start laughing, and squeal, "Oh my God! Could you even breathe? I'm so sorry!"
I laugh weakly, claiming, "It's okay."
"Food's here!" Ms. Tricia shouts as they come in with bags of food. The smell is heavenly, but I'm just having a fruit cup.
Everybody chows down on their food, careful not to get it on the lobby couches and chairs. Meanwhile, I pick at my fruit cup, taking a good ten minutes to eat my apples, blueberries, strawberries, and oranges.
Once I'm done with that, I slowly pick at my chicken nuggets, nibbling on them, eventually finishing two before everybody else finishes. I pocket the other two, throwing them away. 50 calories for the fruit cup and sixty-four calories for the nuggets. 114 calories for the day. Not bad.
"Ok, so you guys have twenty minutes to be down by the pool because it closes at eight," Mom reports, looking at her phone.
Immediately, we all fall into panic as we all rush to the elevator, eager to get to the pool. I'm excited to wear a one-piece for once. It's so much better than the two-piece Mom forced me to wear. I complained about it before, but now I see it's a way more optimal choice.
Pressley comes out wearing an olive green dragon print wrap swimsuit bikini. Mine is my hot pink tropical print swimsuit. We brush each other's hair and I stay behind to add some spray-on antiperspirant to my wrists. Layers and layers and layers of antiperspirant to make sure the foundation stays intact for the twenty minutes we're at the pool.
We clash into Hannah and Gia waiting for the elevators. They're wearing the robes that we got with the hotel. Pressley and I decided to just go in our swimsuits. We threw modesty out the window. It doesn't matter a lot, though, because we're the only ones in the elevator.
The pool is on the top floor, right before the roof. Sarah and Brady are there already, and so are all of the moms. I front flip in the pool and we all start splashing each other. I run out of energy within thirty seconds and mainly lounge around, watching the other kids splash around, only joining in for a couple of minutes when they acknowledge me.
I don't have a lot of fun, but the fun isn't an emotion I truly feel. I can say I had fun without anybody batting an eye, but I'm always in the realm of emotionless and at the same time nearly having a mental disorder.
Eventually, the pool begins to close and Pressley and I take some towels down to the room, running to our room so we don't get the hotel floors too wet. Pressley goes to change first, getting the chlorine out of her system. I look down at my wrists. Somehow, the antiperspirant was very persistent, and it stayed on.
Pressley returns with a fox and mushroom graphic t-set. A white t-shirt and dark green shorts. I pull out a grey long-sleeve shirt and matching shorts with bananas dotted all over. I rush to the bathroom and immediately start cutting myself five times.
I want to weigh myself, but I can't. I don't have enough energy to swim around with my friends. I'm too weak to not need mats on the ballroom floor. The same three people keep calling me too fat on social media, and I feel like I'm too annoying if I ask for help. Five reasons, five cuts.
The blood drips down the shower, stinging against the hot water for the first time in three days. My hair is falling out more and more in the shower, and it is so thin. My skin is so pale and dry, my lips are cracked and painful. Ugh. It's worth it to lose weight. It doesn't translate a lot on camera.
I hear our TV show playing as I brush my hair and teeth, but I have to wrap my hands in gauze. My wrists are covered by my banana shirt, so it's like I just haven't cut myself five times. I sit on my bed as I watch British people bake bread.
It's a nice distraction from the small stinging pain in both my wrists, but unfortunately, the distraction is over as soon as Peter is eliminated. I turn off the lights as Press turns off the television. Now everything is dark.
I stumble back to my bed and immediately just collapse, falling asleep right as my head hits the pillow. I'm so tired of just existing, and masking as a normal person to the moms. I can't live like this for much longer, but I have to so I can be skinny.
~~~~~