Monday, March 03, 2014

A Spiral Spinning Apart

What an evening. What a weekend.

Thursday was Noah's birthday. As he pointed out, it was the first birthday in years where he wasn't absolutely miserable and regretting everything about his life. I was pretty happy about that, and pretty happy to participate in that happiness. The celebration that night was for "family only," meaning that there was maybe 10-15 people there instead of upwards of 20.

Among others, it was wonderful to see Emma, who came to visit Noah for the weekend. She looked so pretty and feminine with her delicate features and flowing layers and brilliant smile. It reminded me of my old style before I began riding my bicycle around as much, with the mermaid skirts and the long loose tops and scarves, layers of flowing beauty.

The next evening, and the next party, was a different experience. From the beginning, like last time things went awry, the energy was funny-feeling and strange. Although in the last year there has only been one really one person who has been ridiculously drunk and flaily and passing out everywhere (surprise: Ananda), this party had no fewer than 3 of them (and perhaps more I'm forgetting), so it seemed that whichever room you entered, there was someone being over-the-top drunk. Karl sat on the coffee table, on top of the powdered ARAs, no less, scattering them to the floor. Gary flailed around and finally passed out in the middle of the corridor in and out of Noah's room, half on the bed. Later, he peed in the fridge.

And then there was Zed. Usually a calm cuddly large dog, he had apparently snuck into a room momentarily where some powdered drugs had been upended and lost into the ether of the floor, and sniffled around. Next thing I know, he's panting and moaning and squeaking (in a frankly heartwrenching way) as he sits awkwardly in place, trying to climb into his owner's lap. James explained what happened and I suddenly realized that the dog wasn't just shuffling, he was humping! Humping the air, and trying to hump James. James kept joking that at least the dog was going after him, but I kept seeing him sprawl and get closer to Isla, still humping, and she was obviously VERY uncomfortable about it.

Isla was visiting from the boonies of West Sechelt, still newly a nonsmoker. I had a date with Lucy, and her with a couple of ciders. Later she explained that her very first acid experience, and the reason she has been forever cautious about it, ended with her waking up on the floor to being pinned underneath a large humping dog.

Who'd have guessed?

Time moved funny though; for the most part it crawled, but every time we went out somewhere to take a walk (Isla was surprisingly energetic!), time seemed to hop ahead and everyone seemed to get exponentially more inebriated, while we stayed the same. I decided that time was moving slowly and I wasn't caught up in the whirling energy of the evening, so I took another hit of acid and continued my evening.

Time's turtlelike advance added to the disorienting weird energy of the evening. Even the music seemed to reflect the mood, with what seemed like hours of unmelodic rhythms of drum and bass, DJed by the usually smooth Terry. It put me on edge. Also, I lost my backpack, with all my essentials including my party favours and cozy comfy warm change of clothes. That set me on edge from the very beginning, and I'd stop to search every once in a while.

Casey was very drunk very early and acting out some of my worst saddrunkInga memories, except insecure where Inga might be rebellious and scornful. I had no patience for Inga in that mode, but we had years of sisterhood to fall back on, instead of mere days of friendship. Casey interpreted any lack of compassion on my part as rejection. She kept freaking out over Gus and whether or not he was into her, but all in drunk over-dramatic generalizations, grabbing my arm to tell me "Oh my GOD Sayata, the worst possible thing EVER has just happened to meeeeee. He HATES me!!!!!!!" and later even exclaiming that she was worthless and had nothing desirable or of value in her body and her self.

That last one was a breaking point for me; I was already kind of stressed and on edge, and have a hard time focusing. I kept trying to connect to my place of endless flow of compassion, and struggling for once. Thankfully Erik was there, and stepped in passionately to defend her against herself and argue the case of her beauty. I was grateful, because I'd said my piece about my opinion of her gorgeousness. Beyond that, I had little patience to argue with her insecure blackout drunk self, especially when she quite possibly would remember nothing of this in the morning.

I kept trying to slip away to find peace, but each room I went into felt uncomfortable and crowded with drunk people. I saw Jack here and there, laughing, caught up in the flow of people. I saw Erik once or twice in passing, and he paused to touch me in a loving way, and it felt very comforting. I tried to convey my weird feelings, and asked half-jokingly, half-pleadingly, if there was somewhere we could find to be alone. He told me that he didn't know of anywhere that he could be free to give me the quality of attention he'd like to. I think he missed my mild distress.

We kept being parted by the flood of people, especially as I increasingly began to run away from individuals who kept trying to get my attention and ask for opinion/advice/involvement/reassurance/etc. We'd be separated because Erik would be drawn into the role I'd run away from, as I acknowledged my own inability to contribute meaningfully or cope mentally and tried to escape.

Isla and I touched base on the vibe of the party that we were feeling. Off-kilter? Definitely. Liking it? Definitely not. But we were both feeling in the perfect place to be around our friends, energetic and social and talkative. So we elected to duke it out a while longer. I knew I was going to be up all night from the acid and was afraid of being home alone and high and social as everyone else was sleepy and going to bed.

Finally I found a quiet corner by the laundry room, and made that home base for a while. Noah found me there and touched my shoulders, and we chatted quietly and I felt tension in my spine ease. He suggested I pull Erik aside for a quiet few minutes. It was a good idea, except that I hadn't seen him in hours.

Soon afterwards, I went into the living room and saw Emma? dancing, and tapped my toes to the beat--and found that dancing was the perfect occupation for my restless feet. I spun and twirled and stepped and let my body act out the disjointed pressure in my head, turning the drum and bass from chaotic input to relief-filled output. I danced and danced, skating on my socks, soon with the whole living room floor to myself. I twirled out a flailing variation on my ballerina dance, until I was mildly out of breath--and then danced more, giggling to myself, as I felt the acid trickling in. The tension eased out of me. I could handle this.

And then Casey grabbed me and pulled me aside for the umpteenth time. I steeled myself for another tearful Gus moment, flinching in my mind. I was so sure of she'd say that it took me a few moments to comprehend the words actually coming out of her mouth. My good friend Crash, another member of the house where the party was being held, had grabbed her jaw, pulled her forcibly towards him, and shoved his tongue into her mouth. She had clearly said no, and tried to fight him off, but was unable to--and nobody in the room had intervened or spoken up.

My stuttering brain tried to take this in. Her words spun in me, chasing each other around my whirling head, as I struggled to find some way to process this. Perhaps she had drunkenly misunderstood the situation, or perhaps I had misheard the name. Crash, of all people? He's 10 years older and I not only respect his opinion greatly but generally respect his choices and character/situation evaluations, finding them very similar to mine. Also, I'd had months to observe, get to know, and ultimately develop respect for him--and only a few days of Casey, with her spending most of that time upset, dramatic, or drunk.

My already distorted and distended brain started yelling DOES NOT COMPUTE! DOES NOT COMPUTE! and shutting down. Meanwhile, seemingly distressed by my lack of immediate supportive response, she continued to babble, growing steadily more extreme, and tears began to pour down her face. "Why did nobody do anything? Am I a slut?" she asked. "Did I deserve this? Was I asking for this? Should I just pack up all my things right now and leave, hit the road?"

Her words spurred me to immediate automatic response. "No." I said. "You did not deserve this, nobody deserves--" but my mind was still struggling and words don't always work so well on acid. My mouth, on automatic, wanted to comfort her but shied away from lying--and I still didn't know the truth, forcing me to try again, "if it did happen the way you say, then that's not okay--" My words and sentences stumbled against each other, falling flat between us. I settled for just putting my arm around her in comfort, and building a little energetic comforting wall between us and the party flowing around us. Except that I was melting inside into discordant pieces and I'm sure she was picking that up.

I'm not sure how I disentangled myself from her but I found myself moving through the party, reeling. I knew I'd have to talk to different people and sort it out, but I knew I couldn't talk to anyone in the state I was in; my mind shied away from the whole topic, unable to think, unable to turn it over in my head and rearrange the pieces I had to make it make sense, to explain what had happened, why Crash had done such a thing and how it could have been okay with everyone else, why the party was still going on like nothing had happened.

The one clear thought that rose in my head was that I'd already been teetering on the edge and this was the last thing I'd needed. Probably not a constructive thought to surface because with my short term memory evaporating my brain latched onto that thought. I'd see glimpses of Crash or Noah or Casey again and flinch away from dealing with the situation and sorting things out. I'd see Jack, smiling and glassy-eyed, caught up in the whirlwind of the party.

I felt afraid to approach Jack, too. At first I told myself that it was because I didn't want to disturb his enjoyment of the party, since he has such a hard time convincing himself to be social. I realize now that I was afraid that once he found out just what a bad state I was in, not only would I have to explain what was going on in detail (which my mind was still shying away from explaining to myself) but he'd be freaked out/concerned/confused/worried and therefore completely unable to handle the social party aspect of the situation, and I would feel pressure on myself to help him and support him and ease his way.

But there was someone everywhere, and nowhere to just be alone for a few minutes. Every room was full of dangerous thought. Finally I came out of Noah's room to see Erik, his rounded facial features clear and handsome, with a fresh shave stark against his dark wavy hair. He looked at me inquisitively, his usual calm intelligent-eyed self, the very picture of a comforting stable force amongst the chaotic drunken melee. I hadn't seen him for hours, and rushed the few feet towards him, burying my head for a moment in his chest. I lifted my head and we had a brief conversation with our eyes where I made no effort to hide my urgency and upset, and then his face turned to a thundercloud as I collapsed into tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I heard, underlying, Who did this to you? Where can I direct my anger?

I tried to speak up and stumbled over my words. Someone pushed past me and I felt crowded. I grabbed his hand, led him through the house and wove through people face-down, making no eye contact, as if I was at a crowded show. I pulled him into the quiet corner and opened my mouth. Nothing came out. The kitchen filled with Casey and some boys. I tensed up, afraid that they'd see us. He grabbed my hand and pulled me unseen into Chris' nook, protected by a curtain of blankets.

I gave up on trying to hold it together and sobbed. He tried to ask me again what was wrong and I managed to squeak out that I was too high to talk. So he wrapped his arms around me and spoke nothings about it being okay and being there for me. My world narrowed to his chest and my tears and I cried for what felt like a lifetime. As I was trapped in my own mind, unable to think, unable to process, another part of my mind was listening to Casey and the boys right next to us, talking about the roast and meat. I recognized Jack and Dylan's voices in the group. She was explaining that she loves meat, and loves the taste of it, but it makes her ill. They spoke about how delicious it was, teasing her about being vegetarian and *almost* encouraging her to try it. She in turn began to crave it and tease them that she was gonna eat it and that she'd feel really shitty the next day.

I heard them teasingly telling her it'd be fine and encouraging her to eat it. The part of me that was listening started chanting no! no! no! I knew she might be okay with organic high-quality meat, but the roast was standard conventional beef, and pretty much the worst meat for her to cheat with other than processed. It struck me that if any one of those boys knew what I knew about her candida sickness and how shitty she would feel if she ate that meat, they would be discouraging her instead of encouraging her. And in her blackout state, what she needed was not a push out of the box but a firm hand to snatch it out of her grip and say no.

"I'm eating it!" she cried. "It tastes sooooo goooood. I'm gonna feel SO horrible tomorrow!!!"

The active part of my mind couldn't disentangle itself from the part that was collapsing in on itself over and over, and my mouth-brain connection was clearly nonfunctional. I looked at Erik helplessly, unsure if he was even hearing the conversation or whether he was entirely focused on me. Our eyes met and I realized that he looked upset now, too. Murderous, in fact. I absorbed the murderous-helpless-upset look and then it melted and he was the one who collapsed into tears, and I held him.

At this point I was freaking out a little, and for a different reason. I realized just how deeply my meltdown had upset Erik, and abruptly remembered that he was probably wasted too (he just hold himself together so much better than the flails). I abruptly regretted choosing to lose myself in his arms, but felt confused and stuck to my choice--I needed support, and he had offered it.

Of course my memory of this is a bit murky with all of the intensity of emotion flowing through me. Just noting.

I surfaced and even smiled a brief second chuckle over a flash of a silly thought passing through my head, and then got caught in a loop of trying to get up, explain, say I had to pee, and exclaim "she can't eat the meat!" at the same time, only getting out that last. Erik looked confused, and I felt frustrated but still couldn't talk to explain what was going on. In fact, my short term memory was so nonexistent that I had forgotten exactly what had sent me into this loop of crazy--but I did know I couldn't face interacting with them, and I had to pee, and I couldn't even speak loudly without them hearing, and to get to the bathroom I'd have to cross the kitchen and pass them... and Casey, wasted, probably wouldn't understand I was upset.

"I have to pee," I said, and laughed at the ridiculousness of my plight. I got up and tiptoed to the door to outside, and opened it, only to find mounds of garbage and cans blocking the usually-clear veranda. Of course. Why not? Everything else had gone wrong. I closed the door, turning back to Erik only to see him emerging through the curtain, presumably to stop Casey eating the meat?

I said a mental Fuck it, and tiptoed, socked, through the trash to hop until I could find a place to squat. I almost tipped and steadied myself with my hand, then contemplated my situation. I was still trapped in that corner, unless I went around the outside and re-entered the front door without those in the kitchen seeing. I did that, and then my memory hazes until I remember re-finding Erik and cuddling on his lap in the big chair, facing into the empty music corner, still crying a bit. I looked up to the striking image of those clear features in a thundercloud, his arms crossed over me, his mouth set in a hard line.

Regret tumbled over and through me again, nearly sending me full-blown into another meltdown. I still wasn't together enough to explain. "I'm sorry," I squeaked out from my tumbling brain. He eyed me. "I'll take that," he responded. "This is kind of a buzzkill."

I started to crumble, and then flipped to anger. I'd tried to handle things on my own for hours before I'd fallen over the edge and melted down. The inside of my head was going crazy, and he had plenty of parties and plenty of good times, and I'd interrupted one of them with a genuine crisis. How dare he be mad at ME for being upset?

Then I realized the silliness of being upset at him for essentially accepting an apology I'd offered him. No more words were spoken though because just then Casey came stumbling up to us, oblivious to the tension and the expressions on our faces.

"Erikkkkkk," she cried. "Why'd you let me eat that meat?!? I feel terrible!! My gut hurts so much!!" She was so pointed about it that I questioned whether she was sincere or just drunk. Erik raised an eyebrow and responded, his tone still clipped.

"Well, Casey. You still have the option of removing it from your gut by vomiting."

"Nooooooooo," she drawled. "It's getting digested, and it hurts, it's punishing me." She switched gears. "Erikkkkkkkkkkk, come out for a smoke with me. I need to tell you about how terrible my life is."

I couldn't take this and jumped off Erik's lap, stumbling blindly away for anywhere. More haziness. Eventually I found Isla and she called her phone so we could find my backpack. It turned out to be right near my vape. I grabbed it, thinking I might go home, and ended up setting it up instead to benefit from, as Isla put it, that comforting blue glow.

Ah, Isla. When she finally found me in Noah's room, she hugged me and told me not to worry, she'd come home with me whenever I was ready and not until then. "Tonight, I'm taking care of you for once," she told me. In her words I thought about it and couldn't remember a single time in all of our 4-5 years of friendship that I had gotten too inebriated and needed to be taken care of.

I collapsed into tears again. Isla didn't ask what was wrong, simply put aside everything going on for her and held me to her breasts. My world disappeared again, and I sobbed, heedless of the others in the room watching and more still who might come in.

After I'd calmed down, told several people I didn't want to talk about it, and leaned my head against the vape tower, sitting in the middle of the corridor to Noah's room.

Off to work. Will finish this later. It's turning into quite the long story...

Love and harmony.

--
The power of context - Why someone does something. Why I badtripped, why Allen kissed her, why she flipped out, why Erik flipped out.

The context on Allen's side:

Later, even my quiet corner began to feel disbalanced as I noticed the mold on the back of the door and realized I could smell rotting vegetables from the laundry room.