A couple years ago I went to a party with my partner and her friends. It was attended by people with whom they went to high school.
I can’t remember if I picked up the drink because I thought it was mine, or if I drank it because I didn’t bring enough of my own. Whichever it was, within a short amount of time I began acting very strange. We left the party and after an erratic trip home, I passed out.
My (former) partner and I loved telling this story - which is to say I loved hearing her tell it (she was always the better story teller). We thought I had accidentally had a drink with ecstasy. “Who would put ecstasy in their own drink?” We wondered. Whatever, it was silly that I accidentally took ecstasy and the results were fodder for funny stories.
Retelling the story recently to two friends of mine, one of them pointed out that the way I acted seemed an awful lot like someone who had been “roofied”. “Who would put ecstasy in their own drink?” She asked. “Wasn’t the cup unattended?” The more we discussed, the more we became convinced this was what happened. After all, no one we told the story to had ever heard of someone taking ecstasy by dissolving it into their drink..
Now a silly memory - one of our favourites - has become a horrific reminder of how cruel, how depraved, how evil human beings can be. This means, at that party, there was a rapist. This means, at that party, someone brought drugs for the purpose of rape. This means, at that party, a girl was supposed to be a victim. In all probability I interacted with a rapist, and his potential victim. At that party was the love of my life and her best friend. How am I to know one of them weren’t the intended victim?
This has smacked me in the face. I know the statistics, I know the danger, and yet I never think that I could possibly be around a rapist when I’m out and about. Call it innocence, call it ignorance, call it naive, I guess I always just want to believe humans are better than they actually are.
One night, at a party, I drugged myself by pure happenstance, keeping someone from being the victim of an abhorrent excuse for a human. There’s a slight feeling of relief, knowing I’d rather be drugged than someone else, but there’s a great deal of rage that I am unsure how to process.
What a strange and sad world we live in.