I'm so much more tired and slow waking up, my alarm ringing in my ear for ten seconds because I can barely get myself to move to get the alarm. I crumple to the ground trying to stand up. I'm so pale and tired and really weak. At least I have 150 calories today.
I clutch onto the bed and pull myself up. Get it together, Lilly. I force myself to stand up and fall to my dresser. I grab a black sports bra, pin it up, a camo ALDC hoodie, and black leggings, pinning the leggings too. I stumble to the bathroom and lean against the counter.
I very carefully put a ponytail in my hair, adding the black elastic, and put two Lilly K clips to hide the hair loss. I go to my cuts. Red, white, and purple lines cover my wrist. All contained in a little box. After those are covered, and I make sure that the vein is visible, I move on. The cuts are so pretty, Lilliana. But it's yours. Cover them.
I do my skincare, and my makeup. I take my meds, and I enter the main room. Another ¼ cup of dry Cheerios. Yummy. Man, these days feel like they're flying by, but they also feel so long. I'm already on my thirteen week of hell!
Mom is way too preoccupied with her phone to notice I barely ate any breakfast. I sigh sadly. When will she notice? Will she notice? She's a damn eating disorder therapist. The irony is very comical.
"Had breakfast?" Mom asks, and I nod.
"Let's go. We're going with Ashley and Pressley, and Brady, so find Ashley's car," Mom reports, grabbing her purse.
I run and grab my dance bag and shoes, but I still feel slow. Like I'm moving in slo-mo with next to no energy. I put on my shoes, and grab my phone, and I can barely keep up with my mother on the walk to the elevator. How am I going to dance today? Oh, God.
The elevator ride is so fast. I need to get my speed under control. Maybe on my next eating day, I put some electrolytes in. It may waste 90 calories, but it may make me have energy. Or eat straight-up caffeine. Coffee's a fear food. Maybe just an espresso shot.
"Pressley and Brady are already in the car, let's go," Mom says, annoyed, forcing me to run.
I feel myself slowly picking up energy as I run to the car, but I'm still slow and have low energy as we find Ashley's car. I climb over Pressley to the middle row. Mom gets in the passenger seat and we're ready.
"Two days 'till competition, kiddos. How do you like the group dance?" Ashley asks, getting out of the parking garage.
"I'm glad Hannah is the lead. I want to see what she's capable of," I say, and Mom doesn't look too happy.
"Yeah? Well I think that's wonderful that you believe so much in Hannah, Lilly," Ms. Ashley says and I feel happy; validation is my kryptonite.
Pressley and Brady are very chipper and excited, and of course, start to have a jam session in the car, so I have to sing along. This will either deplete my energy, or it will raise the energy. If it's a pop song, raise it. If it's a sad ballad, deplete.
7 Rings by Ariana Grande. An upbeat absolute killer of a song. It may be six in the morning, but we're screaming it at the top of our lungs like the lunatics we are. Pressley starts recording, and I keep my energy up, my heart rate raising. Sounds weird, but I feel a little more energetic like I'm high on adrenaline.
"That was so fun!" Brady exclaims, trying to catch his breath.
"Not for my earbuds," Mom says, and I feel a little bad, but we keep jamming out, living our best lives, honestly.
Before I know it, we're here. And honestly, the jam session keeps me in a positive state for what is going to be a horrible day. You shouldn't be happy, Lilliana. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve to be happy.
"Everybody straight to Studio A!" Ms. Gianna yells right as we walk in, and I run to the dancer's den, tossing my bag into one of the compartments.
"Okay, since we aren't filming the group dance, I want Sarah and Pressley to stay, everybody else to work on the group dance in Studio B with Ms. Gianna, and I'll work with Hannah and Elliana after lunch," Ms. Abby instructs, and now we all run to Studio B so Sarah can get filmed.
Out of breath, we work on the group dance. Brady and I have a lift, but with Sarah not there to catch me, we have to get Ms. Gianna to catch me, which is a little less scary. Ms. Gianna is around the same height as Sarah, so it works out.
"Hannah, I think you're shining through. I can tell you're working hard. Let's run it from the top one more time before you guys can do some school before lunch," Ms. Gianna compliments, and I can see Hannah's smile creep up on her face.
We run it through, and it needs some work, but we're doing pretty good. I'm more confident in this than I have been for the past month and a half when we were losing. Nothing too dangerous like Bermuda Triangle, nothing sensitive like Widows or Hazing, and nothing without a lead like Body and Soul.
"Okay, I think that is good. Everybody go do school," Ms. Gianna orders, and we run out of there.
"This is such a cool dance!" Gia exclaims as we walk to the dancer's den.
"I know right!" Elliana says back.
I have twelve English lessons left. It's already been an hour, and we have one more before lunch. Then we have Elliana's and Hannah's solos, and then home. If we're spending two hours on each solo, I can do ten English lessons, and I have twelve, which I can save for the bus tomorrow. Perfect. Pressley comes back. She must be Elliana's understudy.
"Is anybody almost graduating soon?" Elliana asks.
"I will by tomorrow, I think," I answer.
"Wow," Brady mutters.
"Homeschool, man. You learn at your own pace," I say, starting my one out of twelve remaining lessons.
"Yeah, I guess so," he chuckles as I get back to my English.
I hear the mom's arguing up like usual, Yolanda getting annoyed that Sarah is getting so much time on his solo when Elliana will get her time next after lunch, Michelle crying about Sarah enjoying her solo.
I just stay focused, which is a little easier since I did eat today. Two more English lessons later, and it's lunchtime. The apple is 62 calories. If I eat this, I have sixty-three calories for dinner. Good enough. I eat the apple. My salad goes to Pressley, and my granola bar goes to Sarah.
We still have to do school until Hannah and Ellie are done. Gia and Ellie go into the room, so I guess Gia is an understudy. Does that mean I'll be Hannah's? How will... the sizes work. I'm a half foot shorter than her. Meh.
If I have to go in with Hannah for the first hour, I'll have four English lessons left instead of two. I'll do the two that I may be missing after dance so I only have to do it on the bus to Cleveland.
And sure enough, four English lessons left, Ms. Gianna calls Hannah and I in. Ms. Abby explains what I already inferred. I'm her understudy if anything goes wrong. I stay in the back and Ms. Abby doesn't even acknowledge me as Hannah works on her solo.
It's finally the choreography she deserves. It's Abby choreography, not toned-down choreography. Not that jazz crud. It's like her unicorn solo, but better. More intense. It's a Hannah dance.
Ms. Abby adds some acro moves to my version just in case because of course, I have to have acro. Why do I always have to have acro? She gives you acro because it's the only style that your little body can even do adequately, Lilliana. Maybe another week. After the hour, I'm dismissed while Hannah keeps dancing. Two more English lessons and we're done.
"I have two hours of school left, and I graduate," I tell Pressley.
"I'm close to finishing math, but I don't understand how you finished history, social studies, and most of English," Pressley chimes in.
"I've been doing this since I was seven. It's a lot of practice. I think Ellie is close to graduating too," I answer, and Brady, Pressley, and I hop back into the car.
"Well, dancers know the most that practice makes perfect," Brady chips in, buckling his seat belts.
"Are you going to finish those four extra courses, Lils?" Pressley asks.
"Two tonight. My brain needs a break from English, though. My eyes are starting to go double," I joke, but nobody gets it.
"So, kids, remember to pack tonight. You may be out of practice, so I just wanted to remind you three," Ashley reminds us, starting up the car.
"Thank you," the three of us all say in unison, going onto our respective devices.
Savannah posted. She must be having a good time at Radix. Maybe I'll get to compete there sometime. Are you kidding, Lilliana? You may not even make it to Nationals, let alone next season!
I might be able to if I recover, but recovery takes months, and when I was in bulimia recovery, I couldn't dance for four months, and even when I could, it was an hour a week for the next month. I only did one solo that year for Camperina Ballet School.
I didn't technically lose any weight that time, just didn't gain any. This time, I've lost around twenty-seven pounds, twenty-six point nine to be exact. It would take years to dance again. And then my flexibility and my muscles would be gone. So honestly, it's better to just keep going.
Lost in my train of thought, we suddenly arrive at our apartment complex. I'm kind of happy to go to Cleveland. The UK taught me that I like traveling, and I've been in Pittsburgh for four months. Even though I've been back for four days, it feels like four years.
I walk up the stairs. I need a bit more exercise than two hours of dance. Four flights of stairs should do the trick. Out of breath, I stumble to my apartment and immediately go to the living room. I should tackle my hour of school.
"Mom, I'm almost going to graduate! I'm going to do two English classes today and two of them tomorrow, and then, I'm finished!" I exclaim, booting up my English work.
"That's awesome Lilly! We can sign you up for more classes this week then!" Mom cheers, hugging me.
"Make sure to get that A! I'm going to pack, and I expect you to do the same once you're done with school," Mom remarks, heading to her room.
I'm getting so sick of English. It's just reading and answering and writing and reading and answering and writing. So repetitive. It's just tiring and such a headache. A legitimate migraine.
My grade goes back down to 92%, but that's okay. It's not a bad grade, just not used to my 96s or above. Oh well. Time to pack. Of course, we're going out to dinner, so if there's a salad, I'm "eating" that. I'm starving myself on Saturday and Friday
I pick out a dress for dinner, a bunch of ALDC merch, and some pajamas. I pack up all of my makeup and most of my hair, along with a Ziploc bag with medicine and some other odds and ends.
Now we have dinner. Salads. 51 calories. Perfect. The total amount of calories: 148. Cutting it close! At least it is under my calorie limit. I've had worse days. Time to take my shower. And to weigh myself for the final time this week.
Did I lose any weight? Beep. 52.7 pounds. Ugh. I need to lose more weight. I reluctantly throw up my food, all of my lunch and dinner coming up. I guess the Cheerios are too late. I weigh myself again. 52.5 pounds. Perfect. At this rate, I'll be losing weight quickly!
Four cuts in the shower. Double what I did yesterday. I'm going to go for that euphoric high that I had Tuesday. I cut deep into my skin, and I feel a lot of pain. I want to scream in pain, but soon, that euphoric high hits.
It's beautiful. It tingles, and while I slowly sit down in the shower, it's like a warm hug. This isn't good for me. No mentally stable person does this. Nobody should ever do this. It's pain beyond belief, but it's so addictive.
Eventually, I start to see whirly shapes and colors, everything spinning around. The blood is stinging and it's painful, but I love it. The blackout is coming. I close my eyes and slump over, making sure my wrists are under the water.
Five minutes later, everything's all over. Damn it. This isn't healthy. This is toxic, and I know that I'm going to be caught eventually. But as long as that day isn't today, I'm safe. These are deep! I can almost see my muscles! And did I almost cut an artery? If I cut these, my dancing career and quite possibly, my life is over. This was a bad idea.
I disinfect my cuts and gauze them up, coloring the gauze red to match my venetian red sleep shorts and black cami top, a carmine red dragon on it. I hate the way my arms look, but I'm just sleeping by myself. Nobody is looking at me tonight.
I'm so tired. I brush my teeth and my hair and stumble back to my bedroom, immediately collapsing onto my bed. I hope these cuts don't show through the foundation. I cut my wrist on my Mom's razor. I hope I can still dance.
~~~~~