Chapter 1 THIS CLOSE Itâs all I wanted. The disgusting hairspray, the overdramatic mothers and daughters, the ballet costumes only made for a size zero, the unbearable, intense lights in your eyes and the ruthless competition for the lead role that lasted less than fifteen seconds, just to impress a group of people that could make or break your future. Sound fun? It was me. I loved it. Every minute of it. Performing allowed me to say all the things I couldn't say. The movement was beautiful, the music was uplifting and the dancers were inspiring. We all may have been competing for the best spots, but when one of us stepped on the stage none of that bullshit mattered. We were all so special. We could make the crowd stand on their toes. We had a gift not many people had and would kill to have. If I could go back, I would never take performing for granted again. When I was 16, dance was the only thing that brought me genuine joy. I loved the hairspray. The dramatic mothers were cringe worthy but hilarious. They acted as if they were the ones performing! The costumes were beautiful and I lived for the lights. They were like the sun glistening on my face. The minute they were turned on, my adrenaline did as well. The people I performed for, I adored. They held my future in their hands, they were my God. They gave me my gratification, criticism and hopefully a one-way ticket to a career in the Big Apple. The girls that I performed with, we had a bond no one would ever be able to understand. No one knew what we had been through the days leading up to a performance. We laughed, we cried, but we mostly cried, secretly knowing we were all competing against each other for the best parts. We would keep each-othersâ secrets just as fast as weâd stab you in the back for the lead role. The demanding workouts to the strenuous bar routines, the life of a professional dancer is unwarranted and I wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. It was my utopia just as much as it was my hell. At that time I thought this life would never slip away. How naive was I? I guess you could say I was asking for it. I was so close, but whereâs the fun in that? âBreak a leg!â my teachers screamed as I was entering the stage for what I had no idea would be last Nutcracker of my life. Unfortunately, with the agony I was going through, a broken leg would've been less painful. Days leading up to this performance were some the most torturous ones of my life. The pain my body was going through was excruciating and it was much deeper than the soreness I had diagnosed myself with earlier. It was internal as well as physical. I felt like I was having an out of body of experience. I wasnât myself. On days when we had rehearsals and I wasnât performing, I would cry my eyes out in the bathroom because the pain was so unbearable. Silently of course, so no one could hear. I would then proceed to pop some aspirin and hope to God I could get through the next six hours, only to proceed to do the same thing in my own house. My routine had become depressing and crippling. I couldn't eat, I couldnât sleep. I felt like I was being tormented by own body, if that makes sense, especially when I began to experience abnormal physical signs as well. The details are graphic so Iâll spare you. I began to think I should see a doctor but it was my junior year in high school. More importantly, it was my junior year in performing. The year everything could change for me. I had finally got a lead role in the Nutcracker. Scouts from Julliard, NYU, and the love of my life, Alvin Ailey, would all be there. I don't mean to sound completely predictable, but this was my moment. When I could be a part of something greater than myself. If that meant popping pill after pill and crying myself to sleep at night, so be it. I was losing sight of why I started dancing in the first place. I would constantly have to remind myself that I would see a doctor as soon as my performance was over. Itâs not like it could get any worse, right? What the hell did I know. Performance day had arrived and I thought that with all the excitement and nerves, my pain would magically go away, but as you all know by now, I'm not that lucky. The pain only intensified, and as you can imagine, I was running out of free moments to slip away to the bathroom. Meanwhile, it was time for me to show everyone was I made of. At that time, I didn't know what that was. The one thing I expected to be there for me that day was failing. My body was in agony. It was like I had no control over anything. No matter how many aspirin I took, the pain was still chronic. It felt like my skin was on fire. I could barely sit down, everything felt raw and sensitive. I could feel something wrong on the inside, too. The greatest day of my life turned out to be a day I couldn't wait to be done with. You gotta love the irony. Despite my constant need to pass out, I managed to perform. On the verge of throwing up every time I entered the stage, my passion outweighed my pain. I felt as if I had an obligation to perform for my family and friends, or they would me love me less. The logic is skewed, but it made sense in my mind. Everything I had worked for was leading up to this moment. I was going to finish what I started. I didnât want to let anyone down. But who was I letting down? My mother? My teacher? The girls? Just myself, for letting my agony go on for this long. The worse part was that I couldn't tell anyone. After the performance, I should have felt a wave a proudness and accomplishment, like all the dancers, but all I felt was relief and great deal of sadness because I didn't deserve adoration or a celebration. Something was wrong with me and it wasn't just going to go away. As days went on, and I had a small break from performing, I took this opportunity to see what the hell was going on. The pain increased and so did my need to finally tell my parents what was going on. Obviously there first instinct was what mine shouldâve been: the doctor. I was hesitant for obvious reasons. My luck was changing drastically, and you can imagine this was the last place I wanted to be. After everything I had been going through, sitting in the waiting room for those fifteen minutes was the most torturous. I had so many butterflies in my stomach, those butterflies had butterflies. I had a knot in my throat the size of a pear. I couldn't breathe. I knew I was getting bad news. You always know when youâre getting bad news. Either my life was ending or my career was. Either way, I would have given anything to not endure the next twenty minutes⊠or the next six years.
