A Mix Of Worlds

The Outsider

TW: Depression, anxiety, eating disorders, mentions of possible suicide

There are some days when just eating an apple makes me sick. Other days, I can choke down a bowl of lettuce, maybe two. And if I'm really starving, I'll have a boiled egg too. Nothing sugary, nothing with carbs.

No one notices, of course. No one cares. They push me to be better, stronger, but they don't see how each step kills me, tugs me to the brink of self-loathing and kicks me off. I can't do this anymore. I can't dance, knowing that with every step, the passion and joy leaks out of me until I am nothing but a broken shell.

Dieting helps. It keeps me grounded, proving that I can lose weight, I can pass the audition for the Academy, I can, I can, I can. Yet, when I look in the mirror, the reflection distorts the skinny girl inside into a bloated, messed-up monster. A monster that fails, a monster that is hopeless. But I can't lose this fight with my body. I will keep going until I am accepted, until my ballet lessons have paid off, until I can see my parents again and know for a fact that they are proud of me.

I want them to see how far I have come, how strong I am — how, even when anxiety takes over and I am suffering, I study hard, dance harder, for them to see that I am a fighter, and not just their silver-tongued, spoiled daughter.

Sometimes, I wonder if it's useless. I've dyed my black locks auburn, pierced my ears, danced and danced and danced until my feet are bleeding all over the carpet, but I am still nothing to them. Still the outsider. Still the unpopular, unnoticed girl, stained with the memories of the past and the aches of the present.

Today, I force myself to eat three pieces of lettuce, one tomato and two eggs because my governess is sitting at the dinner table with me. She doesn't care, either. I am merely a way for her to make money. After she leaves, I get up, head to the bathroom and throw up the contents of my stomach. Wiping my teary eyes, I wait a moment to recollect myself. I feel nothing, now. The constant ache in my stomach is no more than a slight sting; I do not even feel disgusted after vomiting. It has become a habit, a means to an end.

I dance tonight, until my toenails are shredded and bloody, until the moon's luminescent glow begins to wane. I dance until I am crying. Until I tumble into bed, wracked with tears that will no longer come. I don't know if I will wake up in the morning. I don't know if I want to. Maybe, when my governess arrives at dawn, she'll see a sleeping angel, delicate in the morning light. Maybe she'll see nothing but blood and ashes.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading this! I know it's not a short story, but it's a little something that I wrote for school, and I'm quite proud of it XD