148. Why I hate partying.

My best friend used to be a party girl, and some time ago I asked her to explain it to me: why a perfectly normal girl, capable of making sound and rational decisions, would go to bars or parties or clubs, drink past tipsy, then throw away her dignity, her self-worth and good breeding by jumping into the lap of the nearest charming stranger, undoubtedly also drunk. Why she would do this even though she knows the guy is only there for the deed.

I asked this of my friend, and she told me that back when she did that kind of thing, neither the sexual act nor the boy mattered at all. She did it to feel wanted and therefore important, to feel attractive, that there was a vacancy that could only be filled by another person, and she didn’t have that person yet, and so she continued to do it.

And to me that was the saddest thing of all, and it begged an important question: why does the world have to be this way? Why is a man not a real man unless he swears, loses his temper like a child, brags about sexual encounters and trash-talks women behind their backs? And why must a woman, out of loneliness and a vacancy that cannot fill, walk the night looking for sex instead of a good relationship?

Other friends of mine, they explain that they’re just having fun while they can, and why should I begrudge them that, even though I find it immoral? But when I look over the writhing mass of a dance floor I do not see kids having fun, but the sickness of high-density living; the grime on walls of countless people brushing and pressing; the depravity of difficult hormones made more so by drink and drug; the multiplying villainies of nature swarming around them; and happiness, the most insidious prison of all, making them content to do it night after night, knowing nothing better than this.

I don’t mean to say that the whole party scene is filled with indignities such as this, and there’s nothing wrong with a girl going out with her friends for the night, but when it is loneliness and dependency and yearning that makes her drunk and promiscuous, there is something wrong with that, and something wrong with the world. And you know it, reader, and you’ve seen it as I have, but maybe you turned your back to it.

I do not go to such places because, though you might see a little harmless fun and excitement, I see my best friend, a girl whom I respect above all others, and she is lonely in the loveless arms of a stranger. And I do not wish to look upon things that break my heart.

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