the swimtest

what i let them steal (from me)

i was chatting. someone asked:
“when did you and ana first hook-up?”

i paused.
(chest tightened)
breathe.
i thought about childhood
(inhaler)
the illusion of control
the vain attempts to break my mother (an ana out of control)
i drifted.
flashbacks.
breathe.
moments.
moments long ago.

was it ballet?
was it me?
was it mom?
was it he?
the him that loved me (while he was pretending to be with
mom)?

breathe.
(you can handle this)
breathe.

flashback.

suddenly, it fell.
the barrier
i
held so long

i friended ana at 3, when i friended ballet
but, only later did she become
my very closest friend
breathe

together, we had control
(it came together)

so beautiful
so strong
i trusted them
I put my faith in
their beauty
their strength
i let them in
i let them take me
to places
i’d never known
so beautiful
so strong

both of them, lean and long
strong
in control
bold
beautiful
everything I could ever want
(the source of all my pain)

i danced
i danced hard
i did everything that was asked of me
i did everything I was told
i lived
in the studio
i lived
to dance

so beautiful
so strong

stretching
every inch of my body
stretching
each atom
of my soul

someone asked:
when i became friends with ana?
and i realized…

"what i let them steal from me..."

“who?” they asked
“ana and my mom's ex-bf (the beautiful abuser).”

together.
they stole everything from me.

they stole my body.
they stole my feelings.
they stole
BALLET

“breathe”
and
i
let
them
steal
it

i let them steal
all that I loved
i let them steal
all my work

i let them steal
the “me”
from
me

SUDDENLY

i realized
i had potential
i had a chance
to be
better
than average
better
than good
better
than most

maybe
just
maybe
i might have joined with
some of
the best

i realized
ana kept me from becoming
the dancer i could have been

i as so lucky
the best teachers
the best classes
the right bones
the right frame
the right muscle (potentially)
the right drive
the right face and hair and breasts and bones
i had the turnout (which i worked for)
i had the determination (which i paid for)
i had the attitude (which a cultivated)
i had the city (where the opportunities begin)
i had
everything you need
to
compete

but…
i let them steal it all from me

ANA insisted
i endure each class void of the fuel necessary to excel
ANA insisted
muscle was the enemy, preventing me from growing stronger
ANA insisted
pain was my goal, ensuring constant discomfort

how can you achieve
when you are always light-headed?
how can you win
when you are always jittery, shaky, and weak?

as hard as I worked
as determined as i lived
i could never find
that extra 10 percent that separates the good
from
the elite.
that extra 10 percent takes you from class to a company

“breathe.”
i sobbed.

“i let them steal from me.”
“i let them steal it all from me.”

i
was
weak.


what i let them steal.


© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes

exerchat

INT. LIVING ROOM - ARIANA'S MOTHER'S UPPER WEST SIDE APT - NIGHT

ARIANA is reclining in her mother's lounge chair, typing furiously on her Macbook Pro.

The CAMERA alternates between a medium shot of her thin, ravaged figure and close-ups of her lcd screen. The veins in her hands seem to pulse as she types.

CLOSE ON:

LAPTOP SCREEN. It reads:

Tuesday
10:39pm
ariana

sssssssssssssooooooo light-headed
wtf
wtf
wtf
wtf was i
thinking
10:00-11:30 AM Int Ballet d'Amboise
1:00- 2:30 PM Int Adv Ballet O'Brien
2:30- 4:00 PM Int Ballet Lockwood
4:30- 6:00 PM Adv Int Ballet Tressor
6:15- 7:45 PM Beg Int Ballet Filipov
nine-hour
super-session
wtf was I thinking?
heck yeah
headache
back
neck
feeeeeeeeeet
scream
f*ck
begged the last two teachers
to let me stay
begged
and begged
and begged
“please.”
“i need more. So much more”
“please.”
they knew
they knew
me
like
them
years before
anger
anger
anger
pain
no
choice
it hurt
to stand
still
it hurt
to stand.

it hurt
to sleep.

i chose

to
dance.

i chose
to
dance.
omg
why?

© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved

exer-chat (the next day)

INT. LIVING ROOM - HER MOTHER’S UPPER WEST SIDE APARTMENT - NIGHT
ariana is leaning back in a lounge chair, doing reverses, legs extended, toes pointed, in sets of 25 while chatting with belle-ana on the macbook pro perched precariously atop her burning abs. sweating, she alternates with floor stretches.

The CAMERA alternates between a medium shot of her languid figure and close-ups of her lcd screen.

CLOSE ON:

LAPTOP SCREEN. It reads:

Wednesday
11:41pm
ariana

3 ballet classes in a row today
omg
wtf was i thinking
why did I think I could take 5 classes in a row after being in Ithaca for 3 months taking half-ass two-a-days?
what was I thinking? 10 hours straight.
arggggggg
wow

11:42pm
belle-ana

hmmmm. Sounds tough.

11:42pm
ariana

sore is not even an understatement
i am 100% bipolar.
people like me used to go straight to the hospital
i switch between totally manic and perfectionist to completely depressed
daily
hourly
daily
constantly
have you read "an unquiet mind?"

(Could not connect to Facebook Chat at this time.)
fb chat is f*cked


ARIANA INTENSIFIES THE REVERSES, AS SHE CHATS.

CLOSE ON:

Ariana’s face, straining with pain and sweat and anger.


12:33am
ariana

i am ssssssssoooo dizzy right now
I’m going to do 1000 reverses
while chatting

12:45am
ariana

i swear i felt my abs reach back into my spine

and i want them to stay there.

12:46am
belle-ana

please lie down. i'm worried

12:46am
ariana

hugging each vertebrae
hugging them
a love lock
no
i want more.
wow
wow
i feel strong
so fucking strong
he can't hurt me
he can't touch me
i have control
more
sorry

belle-ana?

12:49am
belle-ana

it's okay.

it's good to let it out

12:49am
ariana

i am almost out of breath
i want more burn
(can i post this to the slam?)
exerchat?
omg
wow
i am so
fucked
up
wow

i just want to feel
so strong
so super-ripped.
i have great abs.
i want superhero abs.
i want to be able to take stomach punches and fight back.

I want to be

Strong

BLACK OUT

© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved

baby ballerina

so, so young
it started
pre-ballet at three

oh, the tutus
the tights so pink
hiding beneath
the crinoline so large

baby ballerina
the barre
so high
madame
so stern
Russian
angry
driven to
perfection

baby ballerina
so slender
so pliant
an easy target for domination

the joy, the joy
the belonging
the other pretty girls

“mama?”
“mama?”
“can I have another class?”
her mother? resplendent.
aglow with pride
“of course, my dear. I know it’s fun.”

in her mind, the mother purred, “ballet is in your bloodline. ballet, your birthright. you will do what I could not.”

and so she did.

baby ballerina
heir to the teaching of balanchine’s ballets russe
heir to a bloodline of obsession
heir to a bloodline of control

oh, baby ballerina
no idea of the intensity
the journey that lay ahead
the pain.
the degradation.
the fear.
rejection.
ecstasy.
elation.

she could not
know
the power of a body shaped by 10,000 class-hours.
she could not know
the audacity of countless teachers and masters, madames, and moms, whose scrutiny produced something far worse than any pain.
she could not know
the obsession of body, of constant motion and, ultimately, unrelenting, unforgiving, unforgiven, stretching beyond
the
pain

the cappuccino/cigarette diet
splits in every door jamb
stretching in every cab
a tummy tucked tight to her spine
every moment
every day

she could not
know the intensity of this compact

and, finally, rejection
unparallel
finis
to every dream


baby ballerina

her heart pounding
in the powder pink of her capezio
barely three
she knew enough to fear
running swiftly to the awaiting town car
awash in tears

“what’s wrong, mon petite framboise?”
“mama. i want to dance.”
“mama. I want to dance.”
so pretty. so fragile. so strong beneath the pink.

her mother, wiping away her tears, “oh, mon petite chou chou.”
(her mother knew.)
sensitive as a medium.

our baby ballerina
heir to
the teaching of balanchine’s ballets russe
heir to
a bloodline of obsession
heir to
a bloodline of control
heir to
a life of ecstasy
heir to
a life built of pain

baby ballerina dreamed
she danced
she preened
she screamed
with pleasure

she dreamed
in pain.

baby ballerina
dancing still
(today)

© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved

ana walked. alone.

alone, she walked.
shivering.
the cold beseeching
her.

the cold.
unbound by the limits of flesh.
unbound by the limits of time.
unbound by the limits of kinesthesia.
unbound.

ana steeled herself.
thick black tights.
her ex-father’s sweater.
a school scarf.
an extra-long puffy coat.
riding boots.

the sky, pregnant with the idea of snow.
so cold.
icy cobalt grey.

the cold cut through ana like a scalpel.
her flesh burning with a thousand cuts of icy pain.
ana walked.
alone.

© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved

more

once again
ana awoke
in pain
nearly a decade of privation
a life lived in total control
driven
to achieve
grades
glances
accolades

the Aggrandizement of
perfection

once again
ana awoke
her joints swollen by her quest
to dance
to control
to own a body
not her own

“we write of pain
of desolation”
her companion spoke from so great distance
an origin unknown
“we write of struggle
of defiant strength.
for in our hearts we are so weak”

ana did not cry
she wrote
“i’m so torn.”
“why?”
“it hurts so much.”
“what?’
“everything. my bones. my heart. my head. my heart.”
“oh, poor little thing. we’re here for you. we’re here.”
“i know. i know. i just…”
“what, hon? what?”
“i just want to be… not… so… alone.”
“yes. i know.”
“i want…
the pain
to stop.”
“it’s okay. breathe.”
“i can’t. breathe. i can’t think. i can’t.”
“what would make it better? right now.”
“idk.”
“something. something warm? a hot cocoa?”
“no.”
“what?”
“i can’t say.”
“it’s okay. i’m here for you. what would make it better?”
“i…”
“ana. what?”
“i
can’t
say.”
“you can tell me anything. anything. what would make it better? in this moment?”
“a kiss.”
“oh, darling. oh…”
“i need. a kiss.”
“x”

ana wiped the wetness from her eyes.
she said it.
at least in part
her true desires
she did not impart

but, in that moment
ana awoke
ana knew she wanted more
and came to realize
ana craved affection
ana wanted

more

(for our friend who disappeared)

© 2009 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved

bird bones

bird bones

Saturday, December 6, 2008 at 10:12am | Edit Note | Delete

breakable
bitty
bird bones
little ana complained
teeny tiny joints
wracked with pain
the cold slicing through
her
tights
slicing through
her brain
the cold
the core of
neverending blame

breakable
bitty
bird bones
tethered to her shame
little ana
complained
“strength?”
no more
“anger?”
all day
teeny tiny joints
wracked with pain

breakable
bitty
bird bones
whose fault
but her own

little ana
screamed

© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved

ana-nymity

anonymous
ana-nymity

you reduced me to tears
today

our conversation started as usual
“hey”
“hey”
“feeling better”
“still sick”
“oh, honey”
“bronchitis.”
“oh, no.”
“yup. on antibiotics, again. steroids, again.”
“poor thing.”

and so it went.

from casual chit-chat
hot cocoa/moca
menus
meals
nagging discomforts
weights
measures
desires
desolation

then
you drew me out
then
you opened
me
and
then

i, ana, admitted to you my darkest secrets.
i, ana, opened my heart to you.
i, ana, came to understand “why ana.”

you made me feel so safe.

you made me
feel
i
was
not
alone.

i cried
no
i sobbed
in the privacy of my room
with no one watching
I let go of
a decade of shame
a decade of anger
a decade lost
to
ana

you were there
for me
you let me sob
you let me scream
you knew
(i think)
HOW
i
felt
BUT
you could NOT see
my anger
my snot
my tears
my shame

you

could NOT
judge

my face
my body
my ana
you could only see
my words
and the emotion they contained
across a million miles of fiberoptic cyberspace
through my words
you learned my darkest, most occluded
secret
the epicenter of my pain
you
did not judge
you
did not give in
you
drew from me
that which
i
refused to see

breathe
“honey”
“breathe”

you brought me back
and thus

i, ana
am more grateful than you can ever know
i, ana
discovered more i knew possible

covered
in snot
and sweat
and tears
wanting
to scream
to cut
to let flow my blood

you
stood strong

you
drew me out

you
opened
me

i, ana
am more grateful than you can ever know

as the chat grew longer
and louder
and deeper
I admitted to myself that which I was afraid of

I admitted
to you
that which frightened me most
no friend (in flesh)
knows what you know
no friend (in flesh)
could ever know
what I gave to you

I, ana
am more grateful than you will ever know

you, in turn
felt a kindred spirit
you, in turn
found a partner
in sharing
in baring
our innermost
thoughts
feelings
desires
hopes

you, in turn
wanted more than imagining

you
wanted to see the face
behind the words

i, ana
am more grateful than you will ever know
you
wanted to know me even more

BUT
what I shared
came from a place
so deep, so occluded,
so ashamed
only because there is no face to place my words

ana-nymity
allows me
to speak
without fear
ana-nymity
allows me
to connect outside my shell
ana-nymity
allows me to be me
unjudged

some of us
are willing
to expose ourselves openly
to bare our thoughts in baring our bodies to the world
some of us
need validation
visually
some of us thrive on comparison
to those, i stand in awe
your strength steels me to trudge on

and
i, ana
am more grateful
than
you
will
ever know
for
i
trust
you will accept
that
my ananymity allows me to be more expressive
than
pixels could ever allow
my ananymity
provides safety
a safe place
to discover
who I am
and who I can become

i
ana
am
more
grateful
than
i
have ever
known

© 2008 by ariana sexton-hughes. all rights reserved.

the cold

ana shivered.
the cold sliced through her skin like a scalpel on ER.
ana was strong.
pain was her bffl.
she drew strength from her pain.
she drew strength from her capacity to endure.
she drew strength from her pain.
for a time, she drew strength from the cold.
for a time, she felt so alive
every gust of wind cut through her layers of down and cotton and wool and lycra.
every gust thrust the into her like icy shards of shrapnel.
this was a cold so difficult to endure.
her skin stretched taut against her bones. so fragile. so strong.
but
it cold not protect her from the icy stings of this strange, mystical cold.
ana shivered.
her bones ached.
her joints ached.
her will
tested
ana was so strong, so cold.
in a moment
it came to her
a fearsome jolt of strength
a realization
in that moment
so strong
so willing
in that moment
she let go
her resistance fell
she let the wind cut through
she let the wind flow
through
every inch of
her body
the wind
the wind
the wind
no resistance
no pain
no resistance
no endurance
only
the will
the desire
the strength
to let go
the
wind
it flowed
through every inch
every cell
every strand
of her, oh, so delicate
ana
dna
unafraid
undaunted
unafraid
so strong
in defeating her resistance
in allowing the cold to flow through her
ana gained a new power
ana no longer shivered
ana no longer feared
ana leaped
ana smiled
ana ran
ana
so strong
ana
no longer so cold

© 2008-2009 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved