Serious stuff

The Incident

Something happened and I can’t make sense of it. I have tried and tried to remember, I have scraped the walls of my memory but no images, no logic stream, nothing comes that helps me say; yes, that is what happened. I cannot make sense of it at all.

Friday evening; My best friend and I were on a night out. “It’ll do you good to get out” she’d said. “A club, entertainment, a few drinks, a fundraising night for a good cause we both support.” I’d eaten dinner, dressed up, put on make up, high heels.  “You look gorgeous” she’d said when she called for me in the taxi.

The night was fun, music, laughter. We had a few glasses of wine each. Me being me, I’d also consumed a tube of cheese and sour cream potato crisps.  Off she went to talk to some people she hadn’t seen for a while. The place was jammed. I got up to dance in front of the stage with all the others who fancied a bop.

I flopped back down, panting, and people watched. Noticed a man lounging at the door. I thought he was staring over at me, although I didn’t recognise him.  Suddenly I felt a bit unwell.  I went to the loo and it was if the room darkened, as if someone dimmed the lights. I felt really weird. I felt as if my knees were buckling. Something was wrong. I remember taking out my ‘phone and trying to call my friend. I had the ‘phone in my hand, but somehow I couldn’t figure out how to use it. I could not make the connection between brain and hand. I tried and tried to think but I couldn’t figure it out.

She came looking for me and found me in the Ladies. I heard her speak but it was like I was under water – moving and listening underwater. She got a taxi and got me into it. Got me home.  In the garden, the legs went from under me. Up to my bedroom. Legs went again and I fell against the mirrored door of the wardrobe. Got into bed.  I still had the ‘phone in my hand.  

Next day; I eventually struggled up out of bed. My right hip was very badly bruised from falling without any ability to protect myself or cushion the fall.  The small toe on my right foot broken was broken – I knew from the pain. The wardrobe mirror wouldn’t have disgraced the Lady of Shallot. When I managed to make it downstairs, I found my glasses lying in mud in the garden, broken. I was in bits. Worst of all, I had no idea what had happened.  I didn’t have a hangover, which I would have had if I’d been that badly affected by the wine we’d drunk.

Over the course of a long night, 7 pm -12 pm, we’d each had 4 glasses of wine. I’d eaten dinner before I went out. I’d eaten snacks. I’d had glasses of water as well. She was perfectly ok at the end of the night, I wasn’t.

Over the week, I’ve talked about it. A work colleague told me himself and another guy had been in a bar, drinking cocktails. He woke up in hospital, broken collarbone and other injuries; he’d walked out under a car. His friend had made it back to their apartment, where he’d sat in front of the front door, key in hand, but couldn’t figure out how to connect the key to the door… My blood ran cold…

The hospital had told him (they took blood tests) that it was rohypnol…afterwards the police figured it was intended for the two girls at the next table.

I don’t know what happened to me that night. I know I went out, ate, drank, talked, danced…It never occurred to me to have myself tested, even if I had been in a fit enough state to do that. All I know is, I went out to enjoy myself and ended up bruised, upset and wondering what the hell had happened.

Bruises heal, broken toes heal, broken glass and broken glasses can be mended. I stood in the kitchen in desperate need of a hug. I wrapped my arms around myself and gave myself a hug as best I could, desperately wishing for a re-assuring , warm pair of arms around me… What else could I do? There was no one else to give me a hug. Well there was but hugs were not on the agenda.

Cooler heads and psychologists have since suggested that I was drugged (by accident or design) or might have suffered a neurological event. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to me that night. I set out looking good, feeling good. I will never know.

But in between see-sawing between awful scenarios, I know this; my friend was there, my Guardian Angel was there, I was ok.  And when I’m scraping the walls of my memory trying to remember what actually happened, I wrap my arms round myself and  comfort myself with the thought of what didn’t happen. Thank God.

I was with Blister 2, going over it all again. I don’t understand, I said. I’m going over and over it in my mind, but I don’t understand. Build a bridge and get over it, she said. It’s past. You’re ok. And so I have to get over the worry and the shame of not knowing what happened to me, and move on. I know I did nothing wrong, I feel it. But I will never know, never be able to make sense of it