I've been trying to get it out of my head but I can't, and I don't know what's bothering me either, other than the fact that I've gone soft and resent the reminder.
The golf tournament was a close approximation of the hell I remember where I wasn't a person. Since I was manning the "hole-in-one" booth, 141 golfers assumed I was "service" but acted the way I remember high school boys acting, not the way anyone I currently chose to spend time with would ever treat anyone. Not anyone.
It was made clear to me that I was inferior, regardless of who I was, what I do, anything, based on the fact that they assumed that they had more money than I do.
Someone offered me a joint, I was naive enough to toke on it, it was laced with cocaine and the come-down was worse than anything I remember because I wasn't ready for it, had never planned to take it again.
Every single man, with the exception of possibly two or three who were "above" that sort of behaviour, propositioned me somehow, money for blowjobs, are handjobs a part of the service, etc... "If I get it within ten yards of the hole, will you be my date tonight?" etc.
Every woman in the world gets hit on by her share of unwanteds, I remember working a deli counter and being indignant at the obscenities offered to me in the name of wealth.
I didn't remember it being this bad, though, I didn't remember men getting this drunk, I never believed that the people I went to high school with stayed that juvenile and despicable so many years later.
No one I've ever worked with has ever behaved towards me that way, yet these were all obviously the sort of corporate executives that I've spent the last few years believing were people. Alright, Leon behaved that way, and I reacted with fury, but can you imagine a golf course filled with nothing but Leons?
So I broke. I got home exhausted, too emotionally drained to take David out on the town like I'd promised and he was painfully disappointed and I had no words to explain myself. We spent an hour up on the roof staring at the lights and all I could think was "that cluster over there looks like Lyon, that one like Paris" avoiding looking at the Oratory or at downtown, I didn't want to be in Montreal. I didn't want to be anywhere I knew anyone.
I wanted to be numb, gone, I wanted blood and things I could believe in.
I barely had the strength to stay on the roof, and sex was an escape, not a heavenly experience last night. It was violent, at my urging, there was blood and it panicked David and he doesn't want to do it again tonight and the thoughts in my head seemed foreign. I wanted my pain to be justified. I was hoping that my love would hurt me and make everything in my head consistent. I committed a crime against him there and have no way of even explaining that it was in my head, let alone apologizing for it. That part of me isn't supposed to exist anymore in this life.
That hurts more than I have words for, all of it does. My brain is still frozen from yesterday, my actions all day have been autonomic. Finding my passport, fiddling with my computer, studying object oriented theory.
Reaching out to people even in e-mail was difficult... I'm still not me inside my head.
My home needs cleaning but it doesn't feel like my home right now, doesn't feel safe, and I don't know why.
I've been through shit like yesterday before, but I was going so soft, depending on David's affection, on the civility of my friends, on what I had somehow convinced myself (though I should know better simply from raw experience) that productive adults could not to be capable of.
I have cried with my bartender friends at the louts that they have to flash their breasts to for tips. I was wearing John's oversized golf shirt, my cleavage was in question, let alone visible.
Why was I so weak, why did I take it so hard, what right do I have to even complain about it...?
No one touched me, even, nothing.
I have nothing to complain about, yet yesterday opened the door to ghosts that I had so perfectly managed to suppress as I slowly tore away the layers around my heart. Why do I have to ignore pain to allow myself to care? I don't like that I was doing that.
Now I want to run away, go numb, be senseless. I want to go into survival mode, drink and write and refuse to dream of a better future. It's bullshit, and I'll never stop trying to fix this, but I'm furious that I let it hurt me when it means nothing.
Nothing.
I'm just a little hungover, very tired, and very stressed.
David is leaving for two weeks this weekend, and I won't have time to see him before then. Tonight it's the band, and for once I'm hating the band for so many things, for making him upset because the drummer refused to play on my roof and opened all sorts of other worries for David, for taking him away from me for one more night, for making him feel helpless when I was getting so close to teaching him to reach for what he wants.
The parade was a success in that sense -- he left it with the knowledge that too few people understand -- coolness is entirely an illusion, if thousands of people will drool over you and think you a god simply for being a meter further towards the center than they are... Then anyone can be a god if they want to.
But so many things remain broken. Paris is still far away, I'm running out of luxury money, I still want to go to turkey with cf.
And yesterday I let high school boys shake my resolve because I wasn't expecting them. How truly pathetic when everything they symbolize is nothing at all.
A lesson learned, though. Trying to be too human and somehow blocking out the world is just as bad as trying not to be at all and hating all of it.
But how to balance... Has always been my problem.