Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 12)

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February 12

February 12

I read what I wrote last night. I have absolutely no idea what the last part was about. My hotel? Purging roasted chicken? No clue. I think I might have blacked out. Actually, based on the pictures I found on my phone this morning, I definitely blacked out. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to photograph my Grinch-like body pon de toilet, but I do remember gagging as I washed my face over the bathtub. Hmm….

That fucking Fat Tuesday slushie got me. I mean, let’s cut the bullshit. Obviously, I had a lot to drink yesterday. Marathon drinking at its worst, featuring prosecco, white wine, tequila shots, and probably more I don’t remember. But, at the end of the night, it all came down to the 32 ounces of frozen, sugary gasoline that completely screwed me over. Note to self: don’t order a drink containing a mystery “alcohol” called 190 Octane!

I woke up this morning with literally the worst hangover I have had since that TIFF BOOMBOX event back in November. Remember? The night I binge drank on my gonorrhea medication, blacked out, and was escorted out of the building by security, all while dressed in a blue wig and leather tank top? Yeah, that night. Come to think of it, today was probably one of the only hangovers I’ve had since that party, because I’ve cut back so much on my drinking. And for good reason, too. Today was absolutely horrible. I felt like complete garbage, physically, for the better part of the day, and by nightfall I was a total emotional wreck.

After being dragged out of my bed this morning by Mom, the group went for brunch at the Venetian, which I somehow managed to stomach. However, even after my morning vitamin cocktail, multiple gallons of water, miles of walking on the Strip, sunshine, and everything else, I still felt like absolute shit.

Logan texted me a bit this morning. As usual, the conversation didn’t last long and I didn’t hear from him again for the rest of the day. That just makes everything worse, to be honest. I keep fooling myself that this is going to be some great love story and it’s so fucked up. All I want is for Logan to want me the way I want him. And it’s probably never going to happen. I just keep thinking that if I can spend more time with him, he’ll see how much he likes me. But, I can’t get to that point.

Anyway, I ended up going for a full workout at the hotel gym after brunch, including a post-run steam shower. Unfortunately, instead of how that routine usually makes me feel better and cures my hangover, I ended up sobbing in the sauna. I mean seriously sobbing. The ugliest of cries.

I’m sad. I don’t like admitting it, but I’m so fucking sad all the time. And I don’t know what to do about it. I have everything going for me. I’m on this amazing trip and I’m so fortunate. Yet, here I am. Lonely, sad, and crying uncontrollably in a locker room. I don’t want to feel like this.

I can see myself being sad. I’m completely aware of my depression, and it’s a very weird feeling. It’s almost as if it’s an out of body experience. I leave my body and see myself as an alternate identity. I see Sad Kurt. I think about how he feels, and then I think to myself – I don’t know. I don’t know what I think. I feel bad. I feel bad for myself. Pity. I see how I’m struggling and it upsets me, because obviously I don’t want to see myself in that darkness. I feel like a mother looking at her sad, depressed child and I don’t know how to make him feel better.

Everyone keeps asking me, “What’s wrong?” or, “Why are you so quiet?” and that only makes me feel worse. I don’t want to bring others down with me, but I also can’t pretend to be happy all the time. I can’t bullshit myself – or others – like that. I wear my heart on my sleeve and it gets me into the best and worst of situations. Not wanting to bring others down is the reason why I have trouble talking to people about this, too. Obviously, I want to talk to someone. I have a lot of hurt, anger, and sadness inside of me that I want to express and get out of my system, but it’s too much for a friend or family member to handle. I also can’t afford therapy and I’m too scared to ask Mom for help. I don’t want her to feel like this is her fault or that she hasn’t been a good mother. On the contrary, my parents have given me every opportunity to succeed and all I seem to do is let them down.

By the time the group went for dinner, I was starting to feel a bit better. However, by the end of the meal, I was beginning to get annoyed with Mom. I wasn’t in the mood to talk with her, or anyone for that matter, but she wouldn’t stop pestering me. Understandably, that caused Mom to start thinking I was mad at her, or that she had done something to piss me off. That’s when she started in on the questioning about, “What’s going on?” and, “Why won’t you talk to me?” I just want to be alone, okay? I want to be alone, but I’m sad because I’m lonely. I don’t understand myself.

After some walking around Planet Hollywood and watching a band at the Paris, I went to bed. I want to be happy again. There’s so much I want in life, but at the end of the day, all I really want is to be able to get into my bed at night, with a big smile on my face, let out a satisfying sigh of comfort, and dream the best of dreams. And if Logan could be beside me, it would be icing on the cake. I hope I feel better tomorrow. I need to.

Goodnight xo

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