I loved dancing. I still do. Dance got me out of my head. Learning choreography was all encompassing and the “normal” noise in my head was, finally, quiet. Being at the barre at the beginning of class brought a comfort. I got to escape in the movement. Each dance I choreographed was auto-biographical. A page ripped from my journal and brought to life. But no one knew it. I’ve never had any problems dancing a solo, but my palms start to sweat and my heart beat races at the mere thought of having to do an oral presentation. Dancing was my passion.
Injuries and the eating disorder have taken dance away from me. I get to a class maybe once a year. Maybe. And it hurts. There are some dance programs, both live and on TV, that I can’t bring myself to watch. It just reminds me of what could have been. And that hurts.
I had the best dream the other night, but it turned into a nightmare once I woke up. I had just been accepted into the main company where I had been part of the second company years ago. I remember feeling so happy in the dream. I was trying to figure out how I could manage work, school, and rehearsals. The warm-ups cleared my mind of the time management issue and I could feel the stresses of the day just melt away. Everything felt to good. But then I woke up. I was reminded that I was NOT part of the main company and that my involvement in the second company was but a glimmer in the fog of long ago.
I hate not dancing. And I want it back