PART TWO | What you don't know about me.

I entered a party stage of my life. No crazy drugs, just a whole lot of alcohol. Deep down I was excitedly awaiting every weekend to get wasted at another house party or out on the town. I thought I was doing it for fun and yeah maybe sometimes I was. But I would binge and now I understand I was drowning the previous years. I numbed the love I still carried with me and numbed the "Bub" buried deep down within.

Considering how much alcohol "Vodka Brides" could consume, I never had any major blackouts. Until one night, I got handed an espresso martini from a guy who was a friend of a friend that had been partying with us all night. He was also was a drug dealer. I woke up at 1pm the next day with my jeans around my thighs and another friend of a friend laying beside me. It took me over a week to come right from the spike. And many years longer on contemplation of my waking state. I like to believe what my friends told me was true "Don't worry nothing would have happened. He's a nice guy and would never do that".

Black out number two happened a few months later at a festival. I remember skulling straight vodka at around 4pm in the afternoon. Then to my absolute humility waking the next morning in a lounge room full of a friends family in who's home we were staying at. My eyes were extremely puffy from crying, a complete numbness in the brain and utter confusion as to how I ended up in a recliner with no recollection and a devastation that I'd missed a night of live music. Plus why had I cried so much? I could only remember having a great time. Humiliation continued when I heard stories of how fucked up I had acted that night, like a whole other person came out of me.

Black out number three happened again a few months after number two. It was grand final day and I had pre drinks at a friends house. We headed out and at some point we lost one another. I last remember leaning on the bar and a guy offering to buy me a drink.

I woke up the next day in a strange bed, strange house, complete stranger beside me and I was naked. I didn't feel like I was inside my own body. I asked him his name and I saw the hidden guilt beneath his face as he laughed at the fact I had no idea. I ask where we were and how I got there for him to again laugh then tell me he took my bank card out of my wallet to pay for the taxi he brought us home in. I was speechless. I had no recollection of any of the nights events beyond that bar. I didn't know if I was supposed to act like my current situation was normal or not. I was the one who got so drunk to accept drinks with no awareness from strangers, again. I was even most likely the one who got so drunk to reach this new re-occuring state of blacking out right? Surely I chose to get in the taxi and walk with my own too feet? Surely I got out and walked into his house with my own two feet. I was doing everything with what little power I hadn't depleted in myself to not accept the word rape in my mind.

My body I was struggling to associate with was confirming it all.

He was something else. I think back on that morning and can't fathom how I didn't get up and run. How did I not call everyone in my contact list to come and get me? When I woke he had my phone. He was going through my socials and sending pictures to a guy he knew of me beside him. He then got on top of me and attempted to have sex until I managed a sob in a frozen state and told him to stop and that I was serious about having no idea of who he was. He tried to persist and eventually got pissed off at the tears and stopped. I felt stranded. He offered to drive me home once we could get a lift back to his car. I still can't believe I felt that was my only way out of my situation. I was so ashamed. There I showered. I let my tears mould with the water, face into the shower head. Who had I become to find myself in this situation. I wanted to leave my skin. I couldn't scrub it hard enough, the bruises hurt and grazes on my back stung. My eye caught the bathroom door cracked open to see a phone camera. He was filming me in the shower. I told him to stop and he swore he was only checking to see if I was okay.

I recall sitting on his couch as we waited for his friend to finally give us a lift. He cooked me breakfast and for some reason I still managed to tell myself everything was okay. People joke about one night stands all the time. They always wake up in the movies not knowing their flings name. I got myself into this situation, it was my fault. I can't believe it now, but I didn't want to make him feel bad. I ate the toast I was gluten intolerant to. My body was already ruined anyways and food had always been a great suppresser.

I still felt intoxicated that afternoon. I met with a friend for some greasy chippies and I and he laughed off my "night". He knew off this guy, and told me he was going to have to disown me as a friend because yes… He could confirm my understanding that this guy was a "complete asshole". What a fool I was for this "one night stand".

He and one of my best girlfriends were the only people I spoke to of that night. I shed tears with a girlfriend who wasn't in the state at the time and expressed that I was shook. She assured me she was always there if I needed to talk. But I brushed it off and continued to make the situation not so bad. I'm sure it was fine and I somehow manage to bury it so deep I too started to believe my own "joke" of a night.