Skeleton Girl

This is basically my autobiography of ballet, anorexia, death, and depression.

A four year old girl stands in the center of the room, surrounded by smiling faces. Her matted blonde hair sticks out around her head in an abstract fashion, and her jade eyes are twinkling with content. Pink tulle froths around her waist as she prances happily around her entourage of teddy bears, and her guest of honour: Mummy. She watches her prima ballerina perform a ballet of childhood, rushed movements that dilute into hazy memories. Her chestnut eyes are large and forgiving, and her rosy lips smile a genuine smile.

A child sits on a rug in front of the TV. Her legs extend from both hips in a straight line, her feet are pointed. Her blonde hair is scraped into a tight bun, and her vivid green eyes are fixated on the screen looming above her. She admires the beauty of the dancers; although they are simply grey shadows on a black stage, they're so beautifully elegant, and their technique is immaculate. "You'll dance like that one day." Says a brown eyed woman, lounging on the sofa. "I'm sure of it. I'll be watching you and I'll be so proud!"

A lanky teenager sits anxiously outside a firm mahogany door. Paper is stuck to her black leotard, but the corners are starting to peel. She can feel her feet slowly growing moist with blood as her ankles are suffocated by pink ribbon. Girls in black flit about nervously, some stretching, some chatting. But she stays still. She shakes with fear, yet she is still. A number is read off, and she is sheparded into a mirrored room with a flock of girls in black. And in September, she is surrounded by some of that same flock, although very few. She wears black everyday, her hair in a bun, but her jade eyes are still the same. She is separated from her mother, but she tells herself it's worth it.

A thin bramble of bones confronts herself in the mirror. "You're too fat." Says skeleton girl, snarling at her reflection. Her blonde bun is shrinking slowly, but her emerald eyes still seem to protrude from the deep grooves in which they were set. "Don't beat yourself up." Someone says. "You look fine." But Skeleton Girl didn't believe him. She didn't believe even when the room slowly dimmed and blackness flooded in through every corner. She felt herself falling, but she was paralysed, she couldn't move her brittle limbs. So Skeleton Girl tumbled to the ground, nothing but a pile of rubble.

She woke up draped in green. Ocean green. It smelled like a medicine cabinet. High pitched beeps resonated through the air. Chestnut eyes gazed at her, shimmering with tears. Skeleton Girl didn't talk. She had chosen her own fate. An ambulance carted her to a mental institution, where she danced delicately around the subject of school. It was told to her when she was on the phone.

She had been kicked out of her ballet school.

Skeleton Girl trudged from city to suburbia, where she learned to loathe herself even more. Her mother tried to make her happy, but even Skeleton Girl knew that this was a facade. At her old school, people were interested, but she was not. When she left the safety of a class, she would hibernate in a bathroom stall, and cry until her eyes were crimson. Almost as crimson as the stripes that traced along her arms.

Skeleton Girl still danced. Although the doctors had warned her to avoid ballet, she would perform her daily work outs while secluded in her bedroom. Occasionally, she would sit with her pointe shoes in hand, mourning for the girl she used to be. The dancer she used to be. The crimson stripes climbed higher on her brittle arms. Slowly, her bones became stronger as Skeleton Girl gained weight. Eventually, she rejoined her ballet classes. The teachers were very tentative around her, and were careful not to make corrections that could trigger her self starvation.

Skeleton Girl is dressed in black again. She clutches a froth of pink in her hands, and her hair is matted. Tears well in her eyes, as a box is lowered into the ground. Her mother's chestnut eyes have rolled back into her skull, and she will never be seen again. Skeleton Girl has felt overwhelmingly empty since the collision. And this is the end. Her mother, whom she loves, is dead. She has lost both ballet and her mother. But doesn't cry. She can't process the information, Mum can't be dead. But she is. And internally, so is Skeleton Girl.

That same evening, Skeleton Girl is draped in oceanic green. A long slit in her arm has been sewn up, but she wishes it wasn't. The beeps sound methodically around her, and she is lost.

An ambulance carts her to a mental institution, where her heart is slowly mended. Bit by bit, patches of a fragile soul are pieced together, and her determination is restored. She is allowed to return to ballet, and this is the happiest she has ever been. After being discharged, she moves to the city. She is dressed in black and sitting still. Her number is called out, and she is sheparded into a mirrored room with a flock of girls in black.

And she is accepted.

Two years later, Skeleton Girl is a soloist with a prestigious ballet company. Tomorrow, she leaves for her tour of Europe, but she has one final goodbye to make. Skeleton Girl stands in front of a shaped stone. She wears a pink tutu that she has borrowed from the costume room, and pointe shoes on her feet. Her hair hangs around her face in matted clumps, and her jade eyes sparkle with content as she dances. Her mother was watching her, and she was proud.

Author's Note

My true story, please tell me what you think.

Reviews

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It takes a brave heart to bare the soul. The colors of the eyes capture the readers interest allowing us to feel your world. Sad but true...yes...yet healing and hope.