Graceful Creatures

Everyone has a vicious side, everyone at one point has seen red because there is this mean streak in us all. Even the family dog will snap at the hand that feeds them if left forgotten and hungry for too long. We all have a breaking point, all of us. Anger is the only emotion that most of the time isn't forgiven easily or at all. You can burn bridges with your tongue if you are not careful and demonstrating physical harm during times of anger can cause moral suicide to your character. We are taught to suppress this emotion but the more you swallow your toxic words and hold back your physical actions they tend to start to seep through during moments that they shouldn't. Screaming at the television during a politicians speech who has opposing views, tossing your middle finger up in traffic at the person who cut you off, snapping at the poor cashier at the grocery store, or throwing your cellphone across the room after a heated argument. These moments are the gateway moments that lead up to the regurgitation of all that anger you've been swallowing. Quite frankly, I don't feel like swallowing my rage much longer. There is nothing more overrated than happiness, but I'll happily strike a match to burn some bridges. I think I can manage finding comfort in the chaos, especially when I am the chaos.

There is an actual pianist in class today. He is mediocre, but a lot better than the classical playlist our Ballet Mistress Ms. Acosta has chosen to play for the last three months. Ms. Acosta has the most beautiful white and silver hair that is always in the most perfect bun, her eyes are glacier blue but sunken and almost resting on her high cheek bones. She has a lot of youth left in her still but shes wrinkled, the reasoning behind it I think is because she is so bitter "Vivienne, I thought we talked about this." Ms. Acosta preaches to me as she fixes a fly-away coming from my less than perfect high bun and fastens it in with one of my many bobby pins. "The walls in this room are made of mirrors Vivienne, can you choose one to use before class begins next time? Everyone, take ten minutes." I see her in my peripheral vision glaring at me from behind in the mirror. I bow my head down, close my eyes to escape for a moment as I comb through my hair with both hands. The thing about Capezio Ballet shoes is they make not one sound when you walk in them, so you never know when Ms. Acosta is behind you in class taking critical judgement on your form, balance, technique, and apparently "Vivienne! Open your eyes please and use a mirror." our hair placement."While you're at it re-tie your ribbons the proper way."

In the ten minutes given to the class for a break I fantasized possible ways I could murder Ms. Acosta— this has been a recurring thought lately. One of my favorite scenarios I keep playing over in my head recently is to arrive to school early in the morning the day that the old Steinway and Sons Piano is to be restrung, borrow a wire cutter from the stage crew and cut a single unnoticeable steel piano string. Ms. Acosta goes into the studio early to stretch, I would go in before her checking the weak spots in the floor boards that creak, so I could choreograph a silent trail from the entry way to the spot in the studio where she does her centre practice. The lights will be off besides the one she puts on herself like a spotlight. Maybe she does that for nostalgic reasons, to remember a time when people actually wanted to see her on stage. The rest of the room will be dark, I'll be lurking in the pitch black corner with my pointe shoes on and the ribbons perfectly tied, adjust the grip in my black leather gloves and silently I'll follow the trail I choreographed to be sure not to make a sound. Then, as soon as I am behind her and shes in the middle of the Arabesque pose, I'll quickly wrap the long steel piano wire around her neck a total of three times pulling as hard as I can while pushing my foot between her shoulder blades. I will be sure to look in the mirror this time but at both of our reflections as her perched icy blue eyes fade of whatever life she had left in them and mine gleaming while overcome with intoxicating joy. Oh, it’s just a vengeful fantasy, for now.

I've always felt like my reality was distorted. Ever since I can remember, I've always day dreamed but in a different way than most people. Most of our fellow humans can snap back into reality if someone starts communicating with them abruptly or a loud noise interrupts their thought process, not me. I can pretend I am holding a conversation with you without even a polite slight head nod and knowing I need to come out of this trance but it almost doesn't feel like I have a choice. It feels devious like someone inside of me is putting me on pause while they make me focus on other things. For an example, how the girl in class with the eating disorders rib cage is now visible through her Merlot colored leotard. Her hair must be falling out due to lack of nutrients at a rapid pace because she sheds all down her back and shoulders during class. I wonder what her shower drain at home looks like? I wonder if she has a boyfriend? I wonder what her family is like? I wonder if she cries at night before going to sleep? I wonder what traumatic life experiences she has had that brought her to this point? I wonder if she knows how noticeable her issues are to everyone around us? I wonder if my issues are noticeable to everyone around us?

I was diagnosed this year, a few days after my nineteenth birthday with a dissociative disorder called depersonalization. It's as if I lose time almost because I am not here in this reality, I am in the one I am creating in my own head-space. Time escapes me, so do important moments I should be present for which later become warped memories in flashes. During these times I am thinking about the past or the future or about something I read online earlier that was triggered by things in actual reality and once again the moment happening in the present is gone. Its a vicious inceptual cycle, which tends to happen frequently when I am stressed and being a nineteen year old at one of the most praised preforming arts and liberal studies Colleges in America, along side the most talented people I’ve ever met, is quite demanding.

The train is late today it is usually me and the same few people every morning but this morning I am alone. I check my phone to see if I am the one that is actually late, I am not. It’s a cold, damp, and a very eerie morning. Maybe the others decided to skip class today? I forgot my headphones, so I am stuck listening to the wind blowing the wet leaves around the pavement, in the next second it feels as if everything pauses for a moment. I close my eyes and inhale the cold fresh air, I open my eyes and look to my left to see if I can see the trains headlights but to my surprise there is a women standing there devilishly staring at me about ten feet away. Her hair is so dark it’s almost blue, olive complexion, her facial features are sharp, and enormous wide set eyes that are fixated on me. I don’t know how I didn’t see her before because she’s dressed in a bright chartreuse trench pea coat. “Hello, oh I am sorry I didn’t mean to scare you! I was just wondering if I could I sit here with you? This seems like the only bench out here that isn’t wet.” she says hastily as she proceeds to take a seat seeming to not care if I had an answer to her question. “Yes, of course. Let me move my—.” she picks up my bag and sets it on the dry spot under the bench and without missing a beat she says “I wonder what is taking so long with the train? I’m glad we are the only ones waiting here today. I get really nauseous because the liberal studies crowd smell like stale beer and patchouli oil in the morning, and I also want a window seat.” I feel myself dissociating and disconnecting because I am paying attention to the train lights in a distance behind her head, she pauses hoping for that social prize of laughter after making a snarky joke about the common situation we are both in. I snap back into this reality and give her a slight chuckle along with a “Yes, I can’t stand the smell of patchouli either.” She smiles because she received the reaction she was hoping for and then turns her head to stare off to the left also seeing sight of the train approaching. Her dark hair is caught up in the wind as she turns to me slowly with a smile and rests her hand over mine “You've been having some very morbid thoughts lately, haven’t you?” everything starts to echo and I hear the train coming closer but now I am just fixated on her dark eyes. I cant speak, I can't snap out of it this time, she leans into me and softly says "It's okay my love, this feeling you're having right now, that feeling is powerful. You have something inside of yourself and I am here to show you exactly how to release it, if you will. Be present, that is the way to control it for now." I come out of my trance and suddenly I am on the train with no recollection of getting aboard, looking out of the window at her standing there like a statue staring at me with her hands in her pockets with the same wicked smile as before. The train departs, she fades away as the train heads towards school still in a statuesque position and I am stuck feeling unhinged and anxious.

[Continued in Part 2]