Palms are sweaty. Knees trembling, unable to carry my weight. My stomach is doing backflips.
I close my eyes, exhale. It’s good to be nervous.
But I’m not nervous: I’m terrified.
The doors open, a crack of light intrudes the dark elevator. My calm has been broken. Terror clamps back onto me as I recoil back into the walls of the elevator: my final sanctuary. I resist as I am forced into the bright, harsh light of the dressing room. I am bombarded with advice as my prep team work, I try to remember, but my head is filled with death. I try to stay focused, but I feel dizzy and lethargic. My hair is wrenched back into a pigtail as I am wrenched back into the reality of my situation. Keep calm.
I am going to be sick.
I am marched down a hallway, the white harsh…
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