Why I Quit Ballet

I keep getting bombarded with this question respectively, since I've opened up about quitting Ballet. And this is my answer.

     On Wednesday June 1st, 2016, I informed my mother that I wanted to resign ballet. I had practiced explaining my feelings to my bathroom mirror just minutes before. But when she asked my 'Why?', I choked up.
     I told her and others that found out the surface of a Mariana Trench of reasons. Studies, stress, social relationships. I yearned so desperately to explain the constant fear of being yelled at and criticized repeatedly. Being pushed more into a planet of doubts, insecurities, and negativity. Crossing my fingers everyday, in hopes that the man who constantly screeched at me to be his definition of perfect without explaining how to do so, would not be in my presence.
     I kept trying to push myself to stay until my graduating year of high school, when I could be set free without judgement or a petty excuse. But I couldn't even stomach the thought.
     I can't take another nightmare of being thought of negatively in everyone's eyes, shouted at that I couldn't do something correctly. I would have 'dreams' of frustratingly attempting a ridiculous move that he had conjured in his mind that he had reworked from last year's winning piece. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't move a muscle. I stood there, watching as he slithered towards me, breathing in a breath that he would say would be wasted on me moments later. I would wake up with a tear-stained pillow, and dried streaks that tightened as I moved the muscles on my face. Heaving at the thought that I would have to face him once more just sixteen hours later. Except this time, I wouldn't wake up to my dark bedroom and my pillow.
     I'm tired of lining up to be looked at, and seeing discouraged faces when a costume doesn't fit because it is nowhere near my actual size. I see girls having to have their costumes pinned in, while mine gets taken out. And later on, he walks through the door to lecture us body weight, and I see him coincidentally look at me.
     Shaming me, yet wanting me to stay. Telling me to get out, yet my money becomes a part of his paycheck.
     I'm tired of going, and repeating the same process every single season. In my hour long gap between getting home from school, and getting back in the car again, I winced as every minute passed. Sometimes, I would stare at the clock, as it ticked closer to when I would be forced to put on the ill-looking tights, and the body-shaming leotard, or else I would be late to class.
     He would tell me to be artistic with my interpretations of choreography, then after I do just that he would taunt and lecture me on how it's not his definition of 'correct'.
     And I'm done. I'm through. I quit.
     Judge me however you want Sir, but I feel blessed that I will never be forced to see your face again. In a year's time I went from showing up hours early to a class, to dreading each ticking move on the clock in my bedroom. In an environment where I was told that 'It's okay to make mistakes', ironically enough became the setting for my first panic attack. And you know why? Because you walked in and glanced at me just as I had made a petty mistake. Then you furiously walked out, later yelling at your wife, who worked so hard on actual original choreography, even under your pressure.
     Your 'business' is broken sir, and you have broken my love and my passion for the art. Now when I hear the word 'ballet' these thoughts come storming back, and I feel like i am spiraling infinitely until someone brings me back to reality.
     What kind of logic have you made up Sir? Scaring souls to stay, saying you're a kind person, and that you wouldn't want anyone else as a boss when people have admitted to being scared of you. Disrespecting the ones who pay. Expecting perfection without explanation. How must I achieve so? How does this logic categorize yourself as a teacher?
     Sir, I'm done being your puppet to play and taunt with. You say I'm safe, respected, and should feel comfortable here. Well that's quite hypocritical since you've done the opposite. Cause I think I'll pass on your constant screeching this year. I'm done with paying for something I don't want to hear.
     For something I'm supposed to cherish and love, I feel quite the opposite and Sir I'm done. So thanks I guess, for ruining and haunting my dreams, thoughts, and judgement of my body. This has no longer become just a 'hobby'.
     I dont' care anymore, and I'm not afraid to admit that Sir, you are the reason I quit.