The Masquerade

Survivor. For me, a survivor is one who has lived through an event that could have been fatal, such as going to war and making it out alive. Or living through an earthquake that destroyed an entire city. Or surviving a shipwreck, like those few people found after the sinking of the Titanic. I am not a survivor. I am merely drowning slowly. Too slowly.< br="">

With a jolt, I wake up. Beneath my clammy skin my heart races. I glance at the illuminated clock. 4:30 am. Ugh. I sigh; another hour or so of sleep would be nice, but the idea of falling back to sleep sends a wave of fear through my body. In one swift movement I climb out of bed and gently pace across my bedroom floor so as not to wake my parents. I flick on the light and my eyes squint as they try to adjust to my surroundings.

Once again, the dream had felt so real. In the dream I was in my old house in New Hampshire, wandering the hallways. I stopped at my bedroom door, my mind willing me to open it, but a much larger force stopping me. The rest of the dream fades into darkness. I try to shake the uneasy feeling growing deep in my mind as I begin my daily routine of getting ready for school.

It’s Thursday – I had been good so far this week. Only 313 calories consumed on Monday, 426 on Tuesday (not such a great day) and 257 yesterday. Hopefully today I could continue my relatively good trend. Getting up early and leaving before my mother woke up would save me the breakfast and lunch grilling.

“Brielle, aren’t you going to eat breakfast?” she would ask.

“No, Mom, you know how it makes me feel sick eating so early.”

“Well, what about lunch, did you pack yourself one?”

“Nah, I’ll get something at school; gotta go or I’ll be late…” I would scoot out the door before any further inquiry could take place.

It is already getting light outside as I step out the back door into the mild May morning air. The birds have begun their morning chorus and a peace settles deep within me but quickly fades as I think about the day ahead. I silently go through the gate and climb into my Corsa. Pushing play on my iPod sends heavy metal music blasting into my car, pushing last night’s dream further and further out of my mind. With the noise numbing my mind, I set off to school.

§

I can see it in their eyes. That look of concern as I rattle off some excuse as to why I’m not eating lunch. I guess I’m beginning to run out of novel reasons. But today I go with, “I had a big breakfast, I’ll get something later.” They don’t seem convinced, but carry on talking about Amanda’s latest crush, Gavin. She sure does go through them. It seems only a couple months ago she was dating a guy she met at a local math event. I try to remain engaged in the conversation, but my mind seems to have a will of its own.

“Brie, Brie!”

A small poke on my arm and I jump back into reality.

“You were spacing out again,” Amanda tells me.

As if I didn’t already know. The feeling of just waking up is a telltale sign. That plus the dryness of my contacts. I don’t know why I space out so much, but I always have, so I’m not too concerned. Right now, I can’t handle the mundane conversation that’s taking place, so I retreat to the gym as I have my third period free. Once there I pound out my tension into the treadmill. My sheer self-hatred drives me on until my legs protest in pain.

Pain. That is what I crave, the pain of a starving stomach, or the deep muscle ache after pushing myself too far in the gym. Either way, it calms a much deeper pain.

§

I arrive home to an empty house. My mother and my stepfather, Charlie, must still be at work. I walk through the house doing my usual check of all closets and rooms, just making sure I am truly alone. As I open the last closet with a jerk, I release the air I’ve been holding in. With the satisfaction that there are no monsters in the closet, I go to my piano and turn it on - our house is too small for a real piano, an electronic one had to suffice. I can feel the darkness closing in on me. I’ve only eaten 145 calories today, but I still feel out of control. A ripple of panic runs through me. Playing the piano is one of the most effective ways to calm me down. I start playing the lullaby I’ve been writing. The notes resonate through the room, calming me from deep within. My hands fly over the keys, blending notes to make a beautiful sound. I close my eyes as I play and imagine myself far away, floating over the darkness in my life. However, as the last chord plays and the notes drift away, the darkness once again invades my mind. I rattle through the list of homework I need to do, trying in vain to distract myself from my own thoughts. Realizing most of my homework can wait until later, I decide to switch on the TV.

CSI. One of my favorites. There’s nothing quite like a decomposing body surrounded by a load of fake blood to take your mind off reality. Within a few minutes I’m thoroughly into the plot, trying to work out what I think happened before the CSI team does.

“Have you found the cause of death yet?” the head investigator asks the coroner.

“No not yet, but there are definite signs of rape.”

My mind freezes and begins to shut down. I can no longer feel the couch beneath me. The room fades and I am plunged into darkness. My body feels compressed and I can’t breathe. I try to call out, but no sound comes out. The sound of heavy breathing gushes into my ears. My body feels like it is on fire. Somewhere a door slams shut, wrenching my screaming body back into reality.