After my terrible two-part experience with the psycho, I gave up on all things related to “fun”. So basically, I gave up on love, sex, alcohol, and drugs. There was no escape this time. I would have to deal with my feelings the way I least wanted to do it: with no distractions.
It got so bad that my friends began to actually worry about me. That kind of sucked, to be honest. It sucked because my passing on alcohol was the reason they finally noticed I was going through a horrible situation. That said a lot about my lifestyle. So now, not only did I have to deal with my emotional mess, but with my tendency to drink beyond what’s healthy. Given my last experience, it was probably not a bad idea anyway.
About two months after my checking myself into an emotional rehab of sorts, I finally felt like I was doing slightly better. Or at least, I felt like I could begin drinking again without making a complete fool of myself or getting raped in my search for external validation, and what a best opportunity to celebrate my newfound love for all things alcohol than Halloween.
Although, to be fair, it was not necessarily my fault. Not this time anyway.
I decided to dress up as Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls because two girlfriends wanted to do it and I couldn’t bother thinking of something else. So I put on a dress, white leggings, a blonde wig, and slightly died when I noticed I looked so much better than my friends. I thought it would not be that much of a problem because I was going to a party with a bunch of friends and, honestly, this is Montreal so this was not the gayest thing Montrealers had seen.
Apparently, however I still caught the eyes of plenty of straight men, not because of my being a drag queen, but because I actually looked hot according to them. One of my best friends, for example, got completely wasted and went to tell other friends that he wanted to start a petition to have me cross-dressing more often. Of course I wasn’t meant to hear that, and of course I also wasn’t meant to hear another friend agreeing to that and adding that he had been controlling himself all night to not grab my ass. Things went south from there.
I know that this sounds like I’m bragging, but I’m honestly not. First of all, they are straight, so this whole conversation is too mind-boggling to me. Like, I know sexual orientation is not a black-or-white thing, but I know my friends and they are pretty straight, or so I thought.
Secondly, the things they were saying and joking about were very demeaning. I decided to stop drinking at that moment in case I were to find myself in a potential fight-or-flight situation later that night. That brings me to my next point: why would I have to be the one worried about how things could turn out?
Well, I guess the most obvious reason is because I don’t fantasize about my straight friends gangbanging me. However, it’s not only the fact that that would not be one of the highlights of my life, the real problem is that I am actually worrying about it happening.
Why do I feel like I am the one responsible for enabling or avoiding such a scenario? I should have been allowed to continue enjoying myself without that thought stuck in the back of my head.
As the night went on, my friends were too drunk and disappeared, so I found myself alone in a party full of strangers. After getting hit on really badly in the bathroom by a drunken guy twice my height, I decided that maybe it was time for me to leave. I didn’t even manage to cross the room when one stranger held me by the waist and grabbed my ass before letting me go.
Is this what women go through everyday of their lives? Because it fucking sucked. Big time.