Feeling Inferior

Inferiority; knowing you’re not as good, useless, hopeless, and the one who has to pretend that it’s okay. It’s such a horrible feeling, isn’t it?

This feeling of inferiority struck me on Friday night. It had been arranged that some of my friends and I would attend a “Rave” in London. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends, but there are some situations I don’t find myself comfortable around them. The idea of being around them, whilst they are drunk and care-free, and I, sensible and sober, it wasn’t one I was holding too high on my agenda.

I had to make the best out of a bad situation… I had already paid for my ticket. There was no backing out now.

I stepped into the club, and instantly felt that it was going to be a night that I wouldn’t want to remember. There was no atmosphere, the music (to put it bluntly), was verging only slightly better than dismal, and the people… Rarely do I ever feel so out-of-place.

Everyone was so young! Granted, it was a 16+ event (I would much rather go out to a proper club night, but none of my friends are of age yet). Okay, it’s only a two-year difference, but still. There’s such a difference, and one I cannot stand to be stuck in.

That wasn’t the worst bit though. The worst thing about the people, was that it was 99% heterosexuals. Never, have I felt so insecure around a collection of straight people. I’m not a particularly “up-front” person as it is, but simply just trying to “find” someone when you’re stuck in “Straight-land”, is utterly horrible. It’s near impossible to tell who is and who isn’t gay as it is; but when pretty much every single other girl (other than myself) seems to be getting off with a boy (they’re sixteen, they still are only boys), it’s unnerving.

That’s not to say I don’t like heterosexuals, but it’s an odd place to find yourself in. All the boys know that they can go and snog, or grope pretty much all of the girls there, and all the girls know they can do pretty much the same with boys, and I’m just there thinking “When is it going to be my turn?!?!” – that’s unnerving.

What I think really made a bad night worse, was having a friend (who is bisexual), playing the “Number Game”.

Yeah, I didn’t know what it was until Friday either. A game whereby a group of friends try and snog as many people as possible on the night.

No, I didn’t join in.

But… I did have to hear a running commentary on how many people my bisexual friend had snogged. Sometimes I was even taken as a witness – the last thing I really want to see is her and her tongue shoved down a spotty-faced adolescent boy.

It gets better though, once she had found a girl, right in the middle of one of my favourite songs, she took hold of me, stopped me dancing, and shouted in my ear that she had got with a girl.

FUCK YOU! (Is what I thought)

Apart from the fact that I don’t care about her crappy game, more importantly, I don’t need it shouted in my ear that once again she’s managed to “pull” or whatever, and I haven’t. Seriously, why does she think I need more reminding about how shit and desolate my love life is, without her making it worse.

In all, I think there was about fifteen-hundred people there that night, and I have never felt so lonely in my life.

I literally spent seven hours, dancing, or at least trying to dance to the crap that was being pumped out of the speakers, hoping that no-one would ask me if I was enjoying myself… For I feared that the reaction would spark some sort of emotional break-down.

The only person there who bothered speaking to me (beyond my group of friends), was the gay man behind the bar. Maybe he sensed how lost I must’ve felt in such a bizarre environment.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had been able to take myself out-side, sit and ponder to myself for a bit. Away from the people, away from the crap music, away from her. But I couldn’t, once you went outside, it was a no return policy. And seeing as I was stuck in the middle of London, at half three in the morning, with no knowledge on how to get home, it was a dead-end situation.

So now I make a promise to myself:

“I shall never go out to one of those stupid raves, I will only go to proper nightclubs (and if possible gay clubs), and in the event of “her” informing me of crap whilst I’m trying to make the best out of terrible situation, that I have no need, or desire to know, she’ll be told to fuck off imminently.”

My life honestly has to get better than this!

x