I was at a festival and now I’m back

This morning I woke up screaming.

My body swung forwards and I felt someone’s hair brush against my face, wild unruly hair and a hideous face full of shadows…. and what woke my up was my voice creaking out some noise and then the fears dropped away one by one, it was my hair, my face… my scream… and I’m awake.

I’m awake and it’s tuesday. I have today to pack and go home to see my mother. I don’t want to leave. I’m in love with England. I don’t want to go.

Yesterday I got back from the festival I was at for 3 and a bit days, and my mental condition still has a long way to go before public transport and eating vegetables can be handled.

I wanted to recount my adventures in a linear fashion but I don’t think that will be happening. The pieces are still swilling around. But Friday, anyway. That’s about ready to digest, I think.

Friday we arrived- my bottle of Jagermeister, lovingly decanted into a plastic bottle, was seized at the gates. No spirits sorry. My eyes welled up… but… but.. I brought it from Italy, it was my best friend. The security guard looked honestly regretful and apologised a few times. But it was ok, we still had a lot of other alcohol. My friend’s massive suitcase wasn’t searched at all. So in total, my friends and I still had 16 beers, 4 litres of cider, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of amaretto, and shit, I think that was it. But I wasn’t too worried because I knew I’d be sick of warm beer anyway towards the end and would be happy enough to pay for a cold expensive one in a cup. Anyway. I was going to stick to the alcohol, I haven’t done any class A’s in a long time, maybe 2 years? And I was going to manage a festival with just my pent up social energy and the tendency to be a messy enough drunk anyway.

We were introduced to our dealer- really nice guy, we hung out with him for most of the festival.

Everyone was buying MDMA. I wasn’t swayed.

Five minutes passed. I saw Ed, the dealer, and blurted out do you have any left? Yeah, of course… sure.

I proudly exchanged my money for a gram.

Drank some cider. Took some MDMA. Had some lovely fun at the campsite. I didn’t shut up for one second, but the frequency of my chatter seemed to fall slightly short of annoying. I had the odd paranoid swing of holy crap these people want me to go away and shut the hell up, but the ego always rises to the top, and I’d swing right back to hell yeah I am the conversation master.

We had a civillised lunch of avocados and hummus on brown soda bread and tomatoes and drank amaretto with freshly squeezed lemon juice. We had brought so much useless shit but that first lunch was amazing. After that first day, all I ate was two bananas and a half pack of doritos aka. razor blades to destroy your mouth.

Yeah, you’ll be happy to know my stomach is looking super flat if also extremely bruised.

Anyway, we made our way down to the festival and met up with a lot of hippies. My friend is friends with a lot of freaking hippies, but I was in a good friendly mood so it was ok. I wasn’t really feeling the mdma yet, or maybe I was, but I took some more anyway. I got a little paranoid so I put it inside my knickers, in the crotch. I actually lost my drugs at a festival four years ago in this exact manner, but this time I thought they can’t fall out, I’m wearing tights.

Oh I actually looked quite nice on the first day. I was really pale but had very red lipstick on and was wearing a black dress with a lace back, on back to front so you could see my bra. It sounds a bit skanky but to be honest everyone looked insane and slutty and the bra just sort of blended in with the dress.

Anyway, we went for a little dance as I began to feel slightly more upbeat than usual. This was my cue to take some more drugs. The music was cool, kind of gypsy circus music, really really fun to dance to. It was fantastic for stomping around in circles and the nearly falling over because I’m drunk movements were easy to incorporate into dancing. I danced a lot.

I’ve actually never danced that much in my life. I danced in the queue for the toilets. I danced at the bar, I danced from a sitting position while we sat and had conversations with strangers about masturbation, life, the universe, and nothing.

We went to the toilets… at this stage, they no longer induced retching. They were much filthier than at first, but then I had been pure and untarnished and I had to gag myself with a scented baby wipe to make it through the ordeal without puking. Later (it was around 5pm at this point) I was able to pull down my tights, pee, and dance at the same time.

And it was a long pee. And midway through the pee, I realise where I had been keeping my drugs.

And I can’t stop peeing. And I know they have fallen into a portaloo. Oh fuck.

I continue peeing, and almost in tears, look down. On top of a pyramid of shit and toilet paper, right on top of some pee-soaked toilet paper, is my little plastic baggie rolled up.

I don’t falter, I pick it out, wipe down with some baby wipes and leave the portaloo. I proceed to announce to everyone nearby that I just put my arm down a portaloo. One girl gives me a shitload of hand sanitizer and I clean my hands and the bag.

And back to party. Woooohoooooo!

And then there is a gap in my photos, we shifted from 5pm full on daylight, to the middle of the night.

My friends tell me I was seen leaving with some old man, but I don’t remember that. I do remember the next stage which was me hanging out by some portaloos, lying on the (probably soggy and gross) grass, and making a new friend. Yay!

She was a really pretty, really cool girl. And we spent the next few hours kissing and embracing all over the festival.

She was bi, and I explained that I actually wasn’t bi, but it didn’t really matter. She kept telling me I was beautiful and incredible. I was really surprised because she seemed way out of my league. I was really happy. I gave her some of my drugs and we went to a tent with music, sat in the middle of the dance floor and made out some more. She promised to teach me to play the guitar.

Then it got cold, very cold, and the tent was closing. We left to go to her tent. We bumped into my friend on the way, who looked completely and utterly mangled. Her face was drenched in sweat, her jaw was locked in fear, and her eyes were darting about. It dawned on me that my face might be in a similar state. I promised to meet her later, but all I wanted to do was get back to this girl’s tent and see what another girl’s boobs were like.

We found her tent and she was sharing it with two guys. One of them was a little bitchy to me, I don’t know if I imagined that but I felt quite unwelcome. She gave me a jumper and we kissed some more, and fell asleep. I woke up entwined in a girl’s arms and not really knowing how that had come to pass. I was cold and the tent felt damp and hard.

We sat outside the tent, completely destroyed and not talking. The sun came out. I was confused, what was the etiquette involved here? Should I act like nothing happened? Should we still be kissing? I didn’t know. It would have been the same with a guy, really. I waited for some sort of signal from her but she probably thought I was all freaked out, having swung the other way for the night.

I decided that while the sun was out, I should get back to my campsite. I remembered how bitterly cold it had been before and wanted to get back to my lovely jacket and sleeping bag. I said something along the lines that and she said ok cool, and I walked off, feeling like I had just behaved in the entirely wrong way but not knowing what alternative there was. I was also plagued with the fear that in the light of day, I looked like morticia adams. I’m very pale, and the night before it probably looked cool and burlesque-y.

In the cold harsh morning light I was sure I must have looked a disgusting junkie.

I realised in horror that I had lost my swiss army knife and my silver jacket.

But rooting in my handbag, I discovered a knuckle duster, and I had also gained a lovely jumper.

Oh my god a squirrel is in my friend’s garden! I’m in the kitchen and it just went by outside. Ok back to the story.

I got back to my campsite feeling horrific. I found one of my friends awake and we compared night adventures. She helped fill in a few gaps from the day, but a black hole remains for most of the evening. Others started waking up around me. I began drinking cider and decided what the fuck, I’ll do some more drugs. I had most of the bag left, and knowing I haven’t taken anything in so long, it would last me a long time. Wonderful. Re-applied makeup. Looked a bit shitty, but ok.

Wore a pretty and more classy dress. Covered myself in duct tape, then took off the duct tape. Looked through the photos I had taken. 250 photos. Brilliant.

Remembered hanging out with a guy in ridiculous shades and thinking he was super cool, then he asked me for a kiss. I said, no, thanks, I actually would, but you know I’m just on a totally different buzz right now, the idea of like a mouth all close to mine… it just…no… I wouldn’t be up for that, you know? And he totally understood, so that became my rejection line for the rest of the weekend if I wasn’t attracted to the person.

We went back to the festival and everyone was a little dirtier. We danced, mostly sitting down on the grass. I started drinking cans from this bar nearby. I fancied the young man who was working at the bar, so I kept going back and eventually asked him what he was doing afterwards. I thought I was being really subtle. OH embarrassing. He asked me if I was stalking him. I think I was doing my over exaggerated flirtation face, really obvious, and him and his coworkers were probably laughing at me. Oh no, I have shame washing over me. My friends and I, we danced and wandered and danced and sat down, and drank and drank and partied and it was so much fun. then I ditched them when it was time to (in my demented mind) meet the probably 18 year old guy I had taken a shine to. I located the HUGE tent he was meant to be at, and dove into the crowd. It was huge, disgusting, seething with people. I made it someway to the front and began dancing alone. I was really enjoying it, and then this guy in shades and a crazy silk jacket asked me if I was ok, because I looked like I was going to fall over. I said no, thank you, I’m actually doing some really cool dance moves. We became friends, and started kissing then. We danced some more. I met his friends, they were lovely.

We made our way back to my tent which I was sharing with two other girls. Just me and him. I didn’t want to go back to his because it was in the crew area and they probably wouldn’t let me in and that would have been unpleasant, I would have felt like such a nobody being rejected and everything. So we went back to mine and at one point I was looking for my condoms but couldn’t find them. One of the girls was back in the tent asleep, but there was a partition so I had my own room to scream about the condoms being around somewhere. Then he was getting up to leave, because he had to work the next day. What? NO! No don’t go! You can get up early tomorrow! NOOOOOOOOOOO! I think I wrapped my arms around his legs. I got his pants off and gave him a little bit of demented head for a while. I was actually really enjoying it, but then maybe I stopped or something because he still left. He told me to come see him at work the next day. I was so disappointed.

I’m still really disappointed about that, I wanted to sex him.

It’s not fair.

I woke up the next morning soaking wet and cold and having lost my drugs.

I felt like utter shit. I looked worse.

Someone actually offered me crystal meth the night before, so that can’t speak kindly about my appearance, I don’t think.

I became hideously paranoid that both the girl and the guy I had been kissing were only doing it out of pity and I was super ugly and they were now laughing at me.

I was slumped over thinking this shit, and my friends were being dicks and trying to pretend I had peed myself and that’s why the guy left, but it was definitely beer I was lying in because it wasn’t around my crotch anyway, and I found the overturned can of beer in the tent.

Then a wasp appeared. A wasp began exploring my face. I was frozen in fear. It landed on my nose and began twitching its legs around on my skin. It was super scary and gross.

I squeezed my eyes and mouth shut and as it landed on my lip and began trying to explore my nostrils, I started gently huffing air out so that it would not go up my nose. Seriously, it was trying to get up my nostril. Everyone else was laughing and eventually the ordeal was over. I was so distraught and began crying through my enormous false eyelashes which yes, I had been wearing for three days now. They still looked reasonably good but if I closed my eyes… quite obviously fake. And slightly frightening.

I cried for a while and my friend gave me a hug. I began drinking beer. Oh I don’t have the energy for this any more, I’m feeling really fucked still but I just wanted to let you know how I got on. To be honest the rest of the weekend was really fun but I didn’t get any action. I did spend some time talking to this guy who I think was good looking but I’m not sure, having a great conversation about languages and he told me to smile and I realised I had been looking bored, so I corrected that and managed to keep smiling as much as possible for the rest of the festival. We was really cool, we shared stories about things, it was lovely. Then my friends bopped past me and grabbed my arm and I danced off with them and never got to continue my interactions with that guy. I think it’s probably best I didn’t take things further on the last day, I was disgustingly filthy and my eyelashes didn’t allow for much close-up action. They were all greying and gluey.

A quite nice looking black guy selling drugs through the crowd, shouting “MDMA! Coke! Pills! MDMA! Coke! Pills!” stopped at me and told me I was a natural beauty. I laughed and told him no, of course not, I’m wearing shitloads of makeup and fake eyelashes. Look! I pulled him in to see my eyelashes and how fake they looked. He asked for a kiss. I allowed a kiss on the cheek.

I sat down with some people I am acquainted with and joined their conversation about how they hadn’t had a wank all festival. ME NEITHER! I declared. I haven’t had a wank in 3 days, madness! Then I was like, wait, is that what we’re talking about? Yeah? Did I just shout that for no reason? No, it’s ok, that’s what we were talking about. Ok.

We spent some time dancing on top of the roof of someone’s camper van. We began shouting off the roof, I EAT DEAD BABIES, in Italian. We quoted made up statistics at each other. Did you know that 76% of all people have been born? Did you know that 17% of people who fall over, are wearing hats? Did you know that 95% of all people are men or women? And so forth.

Then we moved on to made up phrases.

A stone in the hand is worth two in the eyes.

Every cloud is made up of gases.

A penny earned has a silver lining.

Two owls in a field are worth 17 owls in trees.

And so forth.

It was very fun.

And then I lost my friends, and wandered.

I danced everywhere, I danced wildly, with aching limbs. I thought I was going to pull a muscle. I danced anyway.

I have never felt so utterly happy before. I mean I’ve been to festivals, and I’ve had nights with way more drugs. But the general vibe has never been so good. I was in perfect form. Apart from being all filthy and slutty and whatnot. I was just purely happy. I forgot how good that feels.

Today I’m very depressed. I have festival withdrawal symtops.

When I was 16 I went to glastonbury and had the most amazing time of my life so far, and when I got home I cried and slept all day, for a month. I thought I’d never be happy again.

I feel kind of like that now.

And tomorrow I have to leave on a fucking airplane.

But I had.

The.

Best.

Time.

Ever.

Except for like if I had actually gotten sex, it would have been better.

Anyway. I’m going to do more festivals next year because it was super awesome. Except, I think the really amazing buzz of festivals is kind of wasted on me, because I just look for someone to fuck the whole time while all my friends are just enjoying their friends. But actually yeah it did bring out the best in me apart from the manic sexual energy thing, I was also hugely generous and nice to people. Some guy came up to us and asked for 10p because his drink was stolen, and I was like holy crap that’s so unfair! You poor thing! And I gave him 5 pounds. And anyone who asked me for tobacco or skins or something, I gave way more than necessary because I really empathised. I just wish I hadn’t lost my swiss army knife, that was awful.

And then I gave the knuckle duster the our drug dealer because I felt like he’d have more need for it, you know, defending his drugs and money and stuff. All I was doing with it was wearing it as a necklace.

Anyway. People are stirring in the vicinity now so I better stop writing or they will SEE what I’m writing and stuff.

I’m sorry if this is very rambling and all.

Lots of fond regards,

Chesty

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