Hey guys. Korra asked me to post this for her; I'll be happy to relay any comments left while she's still not able to access GT. This is some pretty intense stuff at points, so be ready for that.

Also, Fluter: she says she got the book and thank you.

"So my computer died today which means I am typing this on my phone, which means my storytelling and grammar will suffer as well as my GIF skillz. I ask that you be patient with me and provide your own gif flavor as needed. With that, let's begin:

You would think after my last post I would've learned some things, but noooo. I honestly think there is something wrong with my brain, because now I can no longer accurately process fear. Let's call it fear fatigue, or maybe the manic side of my bi-polar is showing, or maybe I just have a deathwish. Maybe I just bring my sense of over-achieving to every assignment my therapist gives me. On his suggestion I went to a lesbian bar. The plan was to have a drink, engage with people if I wanted to, and then go home.

I'm doing pretty well, I've ignored the urge to bolt, and am enjoying my drink when this woman starts hitting on me. I'm not interested, but I can't quite figure out why. But something intrigues me and I'm curious enough that I accept her offer to hang out with her and her friends and some other girls. The apartment isn't far from my place so I know how to get home, I'm only slightly tipsy, and none of these girls tips my creep senses even a lil bit.
We're at the apartment playing beer long and tensions have already started to rise. Its clear everyone is attracted to (and there for) the one butch woman who owns it. She's sorta maybe dating this slightly less butch woman who resents being labeled as the femmey one. Both are attractive, both are players, both incredibly intelligent. The one who invited me tries to kiss me and I realize as her lips lock on mine why I'm intrigued and profoundly un-attracted to her: she reminds me of my little sister. She keeps pestering me until I tell her. She whines that all she wants is to looove meee and how everyone loves her friend (sexy butch) and not her, and then sulks for the rest of the night.

Things devolve from there and I watch and participate with a reluctant, yet morbid fascination as everyone tries to hook up with everyone and hurts everyone's feelings. I know I suck for not leaving sooner, but I got my lumps as well: two girls who later went on to make out with me told me to my face they wouldn't date me because my bisexuality made them insecure. They'd probably want to fuck me, but that'd be all unless I converted permanently. Not that I asked or had up until that point expressed more than a friendly interest in anybody. It was a harsh moment, and I cried about it today, but last night it was just another thing in a long list of "reasons why korra is 4eva alone" and I shrugged and thought "you lesbians act like bi girls are confused, yet I'm the most sober and upfront person here. No one is sexy enough to make me hide who I am or what I want, especially not some hypocrites looking for a quick fuck. Who I date before or after you is none of your business So you can politely suck it, butches. I eat cock and pussy and I am not ashamed."

So then I left the apartment. While waiting outside with two girls and the host, who was busy making out with one of them but said she would walk us to the train, a man and a Woman approach us. The girls are acting familiar so I assume they know each other, but it turns out to be just drunk camaraderie (the kind that brought our party together in the first place). These people are weird and show-offey, talking about how they plan to move to a tower-apartment in Dubai, which they insist is in India, and join the Illuminati. By this point I've had my fill of drug induced crazy for the month and start pestering everyone to leave with me. But now everyone has to go to the bathroom so the host (sexy butch, who hit on me but who I knew was too much trouble and would make the other partygoers resentful) takes them in shifts. The strange woman starts talking to me and asking me what I do for a living. I tell her and she starts dissing me. I ask what she does and she says "I have ten toes on the ground, honey." and talking about having her own car and money and blah blah blah and how I should come work for her. I say thank you but I still don't know what you do, and she starts talking about taking ass shots of me and how men would line up. Then I realize she's a Madam. A high-off-her-ass prostitute-turned-madam is judging my life choices. Her pimp comes up and starts hitting on me calling me the heiroglyphs and attractively bland, and offers me some sketchy purple drink and I'm laughing because this is so funny and surreal, and why the fuck are all these hypocrites judging me tonight, and what kind of idiot thinks a girl is stupid enough to fall for their lies about their mansion and the Illuminati, when the pimp gets angry and horny and starts to caress my face and suddenly it's not funny anymore.

I walk away to the sexy butch but she's tangled in a rainbow haired girl and not paying attention. The pimp follows me saying I'm 'the one' or some shit. His "wife" looks uncomfortable and heads off to work. Sexy butch's girl needs to go to the bathroom before we all leave-suddenly it's just me, one of the girls who insulted me earlier, and the pimp. I tell him im not interested in his offer, that i dont need the money, that i don't like men, whatever I can think of. He keeps touching me-his hand is on the top of my head- and while I'm no longer bemused I'm not really afraid. Instead I'm resigned and disgusted and sad. Resigned because I know that there's no cavalry coming for me- I'm used to being assaulted and in public without defense. Disgusted because I can see and feel the misogyny radiating from him like stink waves in a cartoon. And incredibly sad because whatever he does to me is only a snippet of what he does to the women under his control. Even a small part of me hurts for him and wonders what made him so horrible and warped, while at the same time another part of me hurts for myself and whatever made me such a punching bag. I think briefly back to the times I was molested in public, to my rape, and I wonder how far this incident will go when the other woman from the party claims me as her girlfriend and pulls me away. I sit between her legs and she hugs me and tells the pimp to leave me alone. We are lesbians, we are dating, kindly leave my girlfriend alone.

Now the pimp was angry — he was grabbing my head harder, and grabbing hers. He called her stupid and implied she was a Nazi (she's Dominican) and said she was Illuminati (isn't that what he wanted to be), and she was drunk and pushed his hand away and said over and over dude, don't talk to women like that. Don't treat women like that. He said "I don't care if you are a woman, I will break your fucking skull. I will smash you face in if you touch me again." Now I feel fear, but for her, and I put my hand on her head and whisper to her to be quiet. He stands over us, yelling about how stupid we both are and how he's going to shoot us, but our silence wins out and he jumps in his car and speeds off.

The woman who defended me starts sobbing into my shoulder, and I'm holding her now. I'm thanking her and half-dragging her to the door and frantically calling every number I got inside that party so someone will let us back in. There are men standing next to us — they saw everything from the Chinese takeout next door. Now that the danger's passed they act sympathetic and concerned. During our party they had looked up at us with curiosity and lust. They reminded me of hyenas, of the bystanders when I was molested. I dismiss them with strained politeness and keep dialing.

Finally the two leave the apartment, and when I explain what happened sexy butch asks which way he went, runs into the street. Don't go looking for him, I yell. He's gone anyway. Rainbow hair is busy consoling her friend, my defender — I can tell they don't want to admit how close they are. Sexy butch comes back and pulls me into a tight hug. She's apologizing and cursing the pimp and holding me. She tells me one in three women are assaulted and how it's underreported, and how she was and how angry she was that it happened on her doorstep and she did nothing. I end up calming her as we walk to the train, smiling and shrugging and saying "it's ok, shit happens, I've gone through it too — it's no one's fault but his." I wonder if battered women feel this need I do-to placate, play dead, to keep up good spirits. She hugs me goodbye and I look at her and wonder if she'd ever (even for a night) accept me as messed up as I am. She's feeling protective, I can tell, and it turns both of us on. Her smile invites me to kiss her but i think of rainbow hair, of her friend who looks like my sister, of the resentful tomboy who kissed me who is kinda sorta dating her, and I let the moment pass.

I head home. I go to bed. I dream of Sokka and in the morning I feel guilt and shame and confusion. I fear the lack of fear in me. I wonder what made me this way."