Citalopram Stories No 4. – The Party

When we walked through the door, we being me, Alice, Sam, a group of girls I’d never met and a girl who looked just like Natalie but wasn’t Natalie, the lights hit us hard. They’d been strung up around the wooden beams violently thrusting through the ceiling. The music was incredibly loud, invasive almost. I didn’t recognise the house at all but I knew it belonged to Steph and Kyle.

In the open space the front door lead to, there was about five people, all sat on hardwood floors, passing a joint round and smoking cigarettes, chatting incessantly about something drastically important that they wouldn’t remember tomorrow morning. The house was a labyrinth, a maze of rooms all comprising of bathrooms, lounging areas or bedrooms, all filled with people I didn’t know that were partying and enjoying themselves. As I looked around I realised everyone I had come with was now gone, lost somewhere in the house, doing and taking and having and loving every minute of it.

I tried to get in the spirit, going into the back garden that was filled with friends, acquaintances and complete strangers, mingling with as many people as possible but I couldn’t get comfortable. I felt like the punch line to a joke that was being told just before I got to the next group of people, my paranoia likely visible in my movements, this putting others on edge, the whole thought process spiralling into a sickly cycle that I was already falling down before I knew what was happening. I had a mental image of the grass opening up, my feet losing their way and an odd force slowly pulling me in with sluggish attraction as my fingernails ripped at the soil and I shouted up to the partygoers but none of them could hear me.

Every drink I started managed to end up somewhere else before I could finish it and I was finding myself more and more exasperated with every passing minute. I couldn’t take anything or slip into any vibes and I wanted to lash out at anyone I saw, any cunt stranger who happened to be looking my way when I couldn’t find something to drink. I hated them all; it’s a horrible feeling, when I can feel the hate seething through me, my veins filled with viscous bile that threatens to rupture from me. I delighted myself at the idea of my liquids spewing from my wrists all over the guests as they vomited into their drinks.

In the early morning I found myself on their living room floor, their being Steph and Kyle, unable to move properly, so occupied of sleep I was almost comatose. They were laughing at me, not in a horrific way, but one that still cut, still made me feel unpleasant and betrayed. Everyone had gone. It was just us. I could hear their laughter echoing around the wooden beams.

I woke up to five more years of Tory government.

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