Why Halloween is No Longer Joyful


I was in grade eleven, and sixteen years old. A very close friend of mine was having a small Halloween party and, naturally, I was excited to go. There were maybe twenty people there, no more, nothing big. At the time, I was not someone who went to parties, drank much, or really did anything “rebellious”. You could say I was very innocent, in all the ways you might think. So my mum thought this would be a good “scene” for me so that I could begin in the “party scene” slowly. My best friends were all going (three of them) so she knew I`d be safe and that nothing would happen. My mum dropped me off early to get ready with my friends beforehand and help setup. There was a boy my age going that I had a “thing” with (high school slang for seeing each other), so I made sure I looked nice. People started arriving around 10 p.m., and we were drinking, having fun – everything was all fine and dandy. I had had some shots and was now sharing the Four Loko with “The Boy”, but I wasn’t drunk (I’m a heavyweight drinker). The night was going on and soon enough I was kissing The Boy, pretty happy because, after all, I was into him. He took my hand and we went together into a small powder room that was approximately 4 by 8 feet square. I was okay until he locked the door. From then things escalated quickly with him taking both of our shirts off. I remember looking into the mirror and seeing his bare back flexing as he was trying to get into my pants. He put his hands down them and as I said no, he continued. It was my first experience of sexual contact in any form except kissing. But as I saw his 6’4’’ body moving in the mirror there was nothing to be done. I had no control over the situation or my own body. Once he was finished with me, I knew he was expecting something in return, but by the grace of God someone knocked at the door needing to go to the washroom. I threw my clothes on and left quickly, not giving The Boy a second glance. I went to my friends and continued the night as if nothing happened. Later, sleeping in my friend’s room as The Boy “crashed” downstairs with his friends, I locked the door where we slept, not actually sleeping. I know this isn’t the most terrible thing ever done to a woman, but it was done. Everyone described him as a nice guy, a gentle giant. My close friends said that it was just because he had been drinking. So, as they told me to do, I continued seeing him for two more months until one person finally told me that it would be socially acceptable to end things with him. Afterwards, I was shamed by all of his friends for “breaking his heart”, apparently he had cried. I stayed friends with him, though a crowd of people repeatedly yelled “bitch” at me in the hallway for ending things. What else could I have done? He was the victim of heartbreak, and I was the heartbreaker. It has been over a year now. After high school he ended up going to the same college as me. So the socially-forced friendship had to continue, and I had enough bullying issues to handle, without considering this situation.

As I’m typing this I don’t know how to describe this feeling. I guess I don’t really know what I`m feeling. I have diagnosed clinical depression and extreme anxiety disorder, so part of me just doesn’t want to feel anything about the situation. Part of me knows it could easily throw me into another panic attack or mental breakdown at any moment, so, until now, I have never even relayed the whole story. I don’t understand why it affects me. I really don’t. No one knows me enough to truly understand what that night did. But at the same time I feel absolutely terrible because I know so many people have gone through so much worse and, yet, I still feel like this. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. I know I should forget about it, but it’s just that I still have to give him a hug every time I see him.