You're backstage and shaking because you're so nervous; there's nothing you can do to stay still. As you pace around and try to convince yourself that you've practiced enough and that you're ready, all you can do is think about how nervous you are.

And then you step on stage. You look out into the audience of faceless shadows and you wait for your cue to begin, whether it's music or another person's voice. Once you've started, there's no stopping you--there are no thoughts running through your head besides those of "smile" or the corrections that your teacher most recently gave you.

The only thing you're aware of is the energy that you receive from the audience and the ways you can feed off of them and their reactions. The music pulses through your veins and you gaze into the dark space before you, only brought on by the bright lights above you.

You're suddenly unaware of the makeup you caked on your face, of the fake eyelashes that feel like caterpillars. You no longer notice how itchy your costume is or how much your right hamstring hurts or how irritating the bobby pin digging into your head is. You forget about the nerves, about the pressure, about the judges or the fact you're being videotaped.

After what seems like seconds, you exit the stage, the only real reminder that you just performed is the air forcing itself in and out of your lungs at high speed. Once you see the other people--either that you were performing alongside or that were waiting backstage waiting for their turns--you come back down to earth, and suddenly you realize you don't know what's just happened.

You can vaguely remember the lights shining bright in your eyes, waiting for the music to begin, and walking off. Strangely enough, you can't recall much about anything in between walking on and off the stage, unless something went terribly, terribly wrong and pulled you out of your state of euphoria before you exited the spotlight.

Eventually, you come to terms with the fact that, in a sense, you leave your body when you perform--when muscle memory takes over and the adrenaline blocks any real thought. It's a strange feeling, but it's a good one: it's an escape.