Everyone around me is in constant motion, much like the waves roiling and knots coiling inside me. I so badly want to join in on the excitement. I want to enjoy the moment. But no matter how many times I repeat that I should calm down and enjoy myself, I can do nothing but try to breathe. This is your last performance. You only get to perform this set once. Your family came all this way to see you. Your friends are right here. Moments like these don’t last forever. Stop ruining it.
Breathe in, breathe out. It’s all I can do.
My anxiety is a fickle being, but when she shows up, she stays. The days leading up to today, she came in waves, gently lapping at the edges of my brain only to crash down on me the moment I tried to sleep. I could do nothing but run through the moves in my head one dance at a time—sometimes multiple dances at a time—over and over. The repetition was the only thing keeping my tightening chest and racing thoughts from worsening. Eventually, my brain became simply too exhausted to do anything anymore, but once unconscious, the stress enveloped my dreams.
The past few days, the waves lapped at the edges of my brain, but today she is a tsunami crashing on all sides.
And yet, all of that stress can’t compare to how I’m feeling right now. The past few days, the waves lapped at the edges of my brain, but today she is a tsunami crashing on all sides. My stomach is wrapped in intense knots and my chest is just as tight. My body is so tense I can barely feel it anymore. How is it that I can feel pain echoing through every part of my body, and yet I can’t feel my body at all? My numbness worries me—what if my muscle memory fails me too? But maybe it’s only fair that my muscles go on strike with how much tension they’re under.
Despite my fear of forgetting, I don’t try to practice the moves. I know from experience that trying to do anything in this state only makes the fear of messing up worse. I am trapped in this strange limbo of desperately needing to do something and not being able to do anything at all. Which means I just…sit. So, I sit and stare at a wall.
Finally, they announce our turn and I can’t breathe. The one thing I was focusing on and now I can’t even do that. What if I throw up? Trip? Completely and utterly make a fool of myself? Oh my god, I don’t know the first move. And then, the music starts.
She picks me up by my arms and twirls me across the stage, settling the anxious waves below. Low tides and moonlit, still waters.
The music starts, and every cell in my body is focused on moving. The jarring stage lights make it difficult to see anything more than a dark blob in front of me, but I can feel the audience’s gaze caress me. They are watching me. For the next few minutes, I am their performer and they are my audience. Their attention makes my confidence blossom and she is stronger than my anxiety. She picks me up by my arms and twirls me across the stage, settling the anxious waves below. Low tides and moonlit, still waters. Soon, I’m floating across the song’s wavelengths, gliding from note to note, telling my audience a story of love and loss with each micro movement.
I allow myself a small smile. Energy flows through me to the tips of my fingers as I stretch them outward. I watch my fingers spread and my arms extend, fully in touch with my body. Constant movement of my body, but stillness in my mind. I am performing for them. I am performing for me. This moment, this feeling of showing people something I love through doing something I love. This moment is everything. Nothing else matters. I hope this moment lasts forever…or until I get sick of it. I hope I never get sick of this. I pour every fiber of my being into the last few beats of the song. My energy is draining, but I push its limits.
And then, it ends.
The waves subside, and not even the calm waters remain. Just an empty shore and space for my regrets.
Friends and family gather around me when it’s over. The anxiety drifts off only for fatigue to take her place. The waves subside, and not even the calm waters remain. Just an empty shore and space for my regrets. How I could’ve performed better. How I should’ve enjoyed this morning. How sad I am that it’s all over.
Fighting fatigue, I cling to the elation of being on stage. Desperately grasping for the energy and joy as they slip further away. Everyone’s voices buzz in and out of my ears, making me wish for the music again. My body and mind still remember the caress of the audience’s gaze. I wrap that touch around me to ward off everything else.
In my fragile bubble I dream of dancing on stage again.
