So I went out last night, and it wasn’t so bad. I got back from the show at around 4pm, and had a nap as was feeling really tired. Hannah arrived at 7.30pm and was so excited, I didn’t really have the heart to tell her I wasn’t looking forward to it. Instead, I popped some food in the oven, got a few cans of red bull from the cupboard and started getting myself ready. Perhaps it was the red bull, perhaps it was the anxiety that has been growing all weeks, but my mood suddenly changed, until I was almost verging on mania. I was rushing about, screaming, singing and leaping on Hannah. I completely forgot about the food I had been cooking for myself, and forgot that I was hungry. I didn’t care if I didn’t look good, all I could think of was going out, and being a whore. Yes, you read that right, being a whore. I knew I wasn’t going to drink, but the same two phrases were running through my head, over and over again; “Once a whore, always a whore” and “If I’m going to be a whore, I might as well dress like one”. I happened to be talking to my friend Phil on Skype during this period (chat not cam) and looking back on the conversation now, it is obvious he was very suprised about the things I was saying about myself.
I have no idea why I suddenly started thinking like this. I don’t normally think of myself as a whore unless I am ‘down’, and I definately wasn’t down, in fact, I was the opposite. I found some clothes to wear, a long top, little denim shorts over jeans. Normally, I would obsess over what I was wearing, but right at that moment, I didn’t care less, anything would do, I just wanted to get out there. Sorted my hair, put some make up on, slipped into heels (this in itself is weird – I never wear heels, even if they were only kitten heels).
Just before 9pm we got in the car, and I drove us into Bristol; probably not the best idea, I was speeding like crazy despite knowing I had a flat tyre, and the rain by this point was torrential. Normally I am not this careless when someone else is the car with me (sometimes I hope for a tragic road traffic accident as it would solve a lot of problems for me) but I suppose my mind was clouded by the mania. When we arrived in Bristol, I realised with a stab of panic, I had no ID. In England, everyone is ID’d regardless of how old you are for entry into any club or bar. So, without blaming myself, or thinking nasty thoughts about how worthless I was (the normally train of thought if I fuck up) we just turned the car round, went home, I picked up my ID, and we drove back in lightening speed.
When we got to the bar, we queued up to get in, and although I was still feeling manic, I could feel it starting to subside. On the walk from the car to the bar, in the rain, Hannah and I had made plans to go clubbing on many more occasions, Bristol, Cardiff, Gloucester (all the cities close by), and to a theme park on Tuesday. Thinking now, I doubt very much whether these plans will be followed through but I guess she was enjoying going along with my mania.
As soon as we got into the club, my mania subsided and the anxiety kicked in. It was packed full with hot, sweaty, happy people, most of them drunk (as we had arrived mid-way through the night and most people by this time have been drinking for hours). I think I would have felt better if I was meeting people I knew, and was comfortable with, but as it was, it was all Hannahs friends, and they were all loud, lary and very drunk. Very quickly, despite being on the dancefloor with them, I felt out of place. I was determined I was going to at least have some sort of good time, so decided to just get over it, and started dancing, trying not to care whether or not I was dancing and being included on the group, or dancing on my own.
Quite a few blokes danced over to me and tried to start dancing with me, which is flattering, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch anyone. I can’t explain it. I didn’t feel like a whore any more, although I’m sure I would have done if I had been drinking. I didn’t want their sweaty hands anywhere on my body. I didn’t want to make eye contact and initiate anything, despite most men trying to catch my eye as I danced and walked around the bar.
Thankfully (and I know most people would have hated this but it worked out great for me) one of Hannahs friends wasn’t feeling well, and Hannah offered me up to give her a lift home. Depsite it being out of the way, it meant we could go home at 11pm, and she gave me petrol money (which I refused, but she insisted). After dropping her off, and Hannah, I got home and to be at just after 12.30pm.
I do feel good that I went out, and was relatively normal, although I’m not sure I had an entirely healthy start to the evening, I feel I turned it around, I was respectful to myself and to my body.