Welcome to Duchess's Castle

Discovery

When I was a child, I would have never expected to become who I have become. My dream was to be a prima ballerina. I owned the prettiest baby pink tutu, a nude leotard, and rose gold pointe shoes. I went to ballet practice everyday, my instructor even considered me her star pupil. My ciseaux was phenomenal, I maintained perfect poise, my pointe was beyond impeccable. I never cared how much my feet bled, it never bothered me. I was focused, if I could perfect myself into a mere image of Misty Danielle, I would have known that I could die happy. I never gave a shit about fame, I just wanted to do what I loved.  I wanted to be the best ballerina I've ever seen.

"Ballet is for rich pricks, there's no point in wasting time. You will never become one of them based off of something so senseless. If you keep this up, no man will ever marry you. A skeleton of a girl like you."

That is what my father told me prior to my last recital. That is how my father felt about my dreams.

As I would get ready for practice every evening, my father would look at me in disgust. He would watch me wrap my feet, customize my leotard, watch me harshly bend my shoes for the perfect fit. Each time he scoffed, and when he thought I was sleeping he'd speak to my mother harshly, arguing why we should waste money on ballet when I would never prosper into one of the greats.  When I turned 12 my mother decided to take me out of ballet, confirming how she must have felt the same.

Twelve was an interesting year for me. I began seventh grade at my cruddy middle school, I was lucky to get my first period in December- something I had disdain for. I didn't want to become a woman- I was nowhere near ready. I barely knew what menstruation was, my mother never told me about it and what I knew of it was from other girls my age; girls who pretended to have theirs mixed in with girls who actually did. I was living in complete naivety, especially since my mother passed away in September from a car wreck. Reporters said she died instantly from impact, that the EMT's did everything they could do to save her... That her head had gone through the steering wheel causing her brain fragments to scatter throughout the vehicle... If you couldn't guess, the funeral was closed casket. When I experienced my first period I thought I was dying, I never knew so much blood could come from one person, I never noticed how much blood could stand out in the snow.  Twelve could best be described as the year when my life was shattered, twelve was the year where I had longed for exclusion.  I didn't care about maintaining friendships, I didn't long to be popular, I didn't want to be social, I desired privacy. I pined for tranquility. I don't believe I've ever experienced such a lonely year in my life. Without my mother I felt I had become nothing, no one to be valued. My father pretended as if I didn't exist, and when he acknowledged my existence it was always followed by petty criticisms.

After twelve I was quiet. Nearly mute. I understood that life would never be the same, life without ballet was empty, life without my mother was insanity. My mother had her flaws, she was a push over, if you raised your voice towards her she would do whatever you asked. She always had dinner ready on the table for my father even after he previously harassed her the morning prior. However, my mother was sweet. Sweeter than honey, sweeter than watermelon on a hot summer day. She did the best she could with me, she helped me with homework, pushed for me to continue ballet and always explained that it was healthy for a young girl to have something active to do that she loved. Most importantly, she fought for me. When my father had something negative to say she eagerly had a retort for him. My mother swore on her grave that ballet would always be my world, she wouldn't allow anyone to take it away from me,  not even my own father.

My mother is a liar.