The Lost Girl
The Lost Girl
Everyday, someone tortures themselves relentlessly; although they may or may not truly believe their anguish to be self-inflicted. Some, superb pretenders (even to themselves), consider themselves perfectly fine, and erect an elaborate façade of not having a care in the world. Others can distinguish that they are not okay, but meet difficulty in voicing their concerns. Loved ones who recognize their struggles, often do nothing. It seems that in most cases, people are fearful because they do not know how to help. This apprehension causes a mental paralysis, and they watch their loved one suffer because they are terrified of making it worse. In Dino Buzzati's "The Falling Girl", the nineteen year-old central character Marta falls off the top of a building, and slowly she passes by many wanting her to stop and talk. But she does not or can not stop, and no one attempts to save her as she slowly slips farther away. I once knew a girl like this; we danced together. Outwardly she played the part exceedingly well, keeping everything well hidden, but internally she struggled in secret silence for a long time. We were atypically alike, the three of us: around five foot, dark-haired, hyperkinetic, dramatic, extremely tiny, wild children. The three of us cultivated an incredibly close relationship over the eight years we danced together. We shared an intensely competitive relationship; all of us wanted to be perfect, to be the best. In "The Falling Girl", Buzzati speaks of " that consuming sorcery of the evening which provokes dreams of greatness and glory." I think each of us felt that to some extent. We aspired to be illustriously celebrated dancers so much that we focused solely on dancing and lost ourselves in our efforts. In Buzzati's story, Marta seems to feel as if she could not achieve the greatness which she sees all around her. She "hopelessly leaned out over the railing and let herself go." That is what happened to Julie. She appeared so
Everyday, someone tortures themselves relentlessly; although they may or may not truly believe their anguish to be self-inflicted. Some, superb pretenders (even to themselves), consider themselves perfectly fine, and erect an elaborate façade of not having a care in the world. Others can distinguish that they are not okay, but meet difficulty in voicing their concerns. Loved ones who recognize their struggles, often do nothing. It seems that in most cases, people are fearful because they do not know how to help. This apprehension causes a mental paralysis, and they watch their loved one suffer because they are terrified of making it worse. In Dino Buzzati's "The Falling Girl", the nineteen year-old central character Marta falls off the top of a building, and slowly she passes by many wanting her to stop and talk. But she does not or can not stop, and no one attempts to save her as she slowly slips farther away. I once knew a girl like this; we danced together. Outwardly she played the part exceedingly well, keeping everything well hidden, but internally she struggled in secret silence for a long time. We were atypically alike, the three of us: around five foot, dark-haired, hyperkinetic, dramatic, extremely tiny, wild children. The three of us cultivated an incredibly close relationship over the eight years we danced together. We shared an intensely competitive relationship; all of us wanted to be perfect, to be the best. In "The Falling Girl", Buzzati speaks of " that consuming sorcery of the evening which provokes dreams of greatness and glory." I think each of us felt that to some extent. We aspired to be illustriously celebrated dancers so much that we focused solely on dancing and lost ourselves in our efforts. In Buzzati's story, Marta seems to feel as if she could not achieve the greatness which she sees all around her. She "hopelessly leaned out over the railing and let herself go." That is what happened to Julie. She appeared so