Une Fleure Fanée

Week 10 Part 5 (Thursday)

     I'm standing in a dark room. I can see a sliver of light coming from a window that is two inches wide. Even though the light is minimal, it illuminates a small patch of the room. I'm in a tattered black and gold dress, my hair in pigtails. I look like I'm eight. Where am I? I recognize this place.

     The window is too high, so I feel around for the door or any type of exit. I finally find a wooden door, so I immediately tug on the knob and scream for help. The door won't budge until a great force comes on the other side, knocking me down and making me scream in shock.

     There is a tall black figure, like a pitch-black man. He has no facial features or anything. I don't know where I am, or why, but I need to get out.

     I whimper, making a desperate plea "Who are you? I want to go back to my friends."

     A distorted, demonic voice comes out of the figure, shouting, "How dare you to think of leaving! If you leave, you will never be skinny and pretty. You will always be that short, fat dancer that doesn't deserve to be on the team. You can never leave!"

     I look at them, petrified. What are they talking about? Something suddenly clicks in my head. This scary figure, this man is the intrusive thoughts. I remember this place now. This is where my brain was locked when I had bulimia. Now, I guess I'm getting locked in it again.

     "Fine. I'll stay," I whine, crawling to a corner, the one near the window.

     "Good girl, Lilliana. This is going to be painful. But it'll be worth it," they mutter before slamming the door.

~~~~~

       What happened? I walk up in a sweat. My throat seems fine, so I guess I haven't been yelling. Wait, am I in the dark room? I quickly search for my phone and it illuminates when I turn on the flashlight feature. My heart is pounding as I scan the room and I notice my stuffed llama on the floor. I'm in my apartment bedroom.

     I sigh in relief, all of my fear and adrenaline leaving my body. I look at the time. 4:59 am. I turn off my alarm so I don't give myself a scare and I walk over to the dresser. I see something hanging from one of the knobs and a sticky note.

     Dear Lilly,

     Ms. Abby wants you to wear your leotard today at dance.

     Love you, Mom

     Maybe this won't be as bad as I think. I slip out of my pajamas and into the leotard. Oh God, there are even cutouts for the hip area. Good thing I don't cut there. I anxiously pace around. I don't want to look at myself in the mirror. You're going to look so fat and ugly in the mirror, Lilliana.

     I have to cover up my scars anyway. I slowly make my way to the bathroom and I close my eyes as I turn on the bathroom light. Come on, Lilly. You can do this. I open my eyes and I see the fattest, ugliest being standing in front of me.

     Ms. Abby is punishing you, Lilliana. And for good reason. You need to accept the fate that until you lose the last .4 pounds, you're going to be fat. You barely have a thigh gap, your hips are way too wide, you can barely grab under your ribs when you suck in your horrendously big stomach. You aren't anything like Sarah or Hannah or Ellie or Gia or Pressley or Brady. You are so much worse, Lilliana. You are a disgusting, fat, slutty, brat who will never be perfect!

    I can't break down. Cutting wouldn't be wise despite the overwhelming urge to do so. I have to wear this for the entire day. I hate the way I look at this. I feel depressed and angry and hurt, and- just like nothing matters anymore at the same time.