I didn’t drink much yesterday, so this morning I woke up feeling fairly refreshed. Most of the liquid depression had left my body and I got a lot of sleep, which naturally meant that I thought it was okay to begin drinking again. I had a sizable serving of tequila and orange juice before I even left the hotel room. Spoiler alert: that was not a smart decision.
Brunch with the group this morning was really good. Our waitress was outstanding. She told us her story of how she recently left her abusive fiancé three weeks ago and how hard it’s been. Aunty Judy was rolling her eyes the entire time, but I found it really inspiring that this woman was able to take control of her life the way she did. As we were leaving the restaurant, I went over to the waitress and slyly told her how brave I thought she was. It takes a lot of guts to do what she did, and I’m all for female empowerment. You go girl!
After brunch, we all went back to the hotel for a day at the pool. Drinks, snacks, drinks, tanning, drinks, and more drinks. Of course, I was the only one with that much alcohol on the agenda. As usual, it seems. Tonight was the big night and I was so excited to see Mariah Carey. Ashley and I bought our tickets in September, so it had been a long time coming and I was in a great mood all day because of it.
I got drunk enough by the pool that I managed to muster up the liquid courage required to call Logan. But, it was only because he sent me an unsolicited picture of his valentine first. His acknowledgement meant so much to me and really put a smile on my face. So, I made a FaceTime audio call to Logan and we talked about random stuff for quite a while. Mostly things about my trip and his work, but a bunch of random stuff in between. I can’t wait to talk to him again. I really do love him. He says he wants to visit me in Toronto soon. God, I hope so.
After the pool, I showered up and proceeded to sit through a very messy, very hazy dinner. I was basically drunk from 3 p.m. onward, if not earlier than that. I blacked out during parts of the meal, actually.
Ashley and I went over to the Colosseum for our concert after dinner. It was amazing. Mariah was incredible. Absolutely mind blowing. Unfortunately, the whole experience was mostly forgotten. I’d rather not admit it, but I was too intoxicated to remember the majority of the show. It was a very “Jessica at Shania Twain” situation from last summer. I was physically present, but not necessarily all there mentally.
As if blacking out during Mariah’s concert wasn’t enough, the tragedy continued long after the butterfly finale. Ashley and I walked back to the Paris together, and that’s where I spilled my depressive guts to her in the middle of the casino. It all came out. I was drunkenly purging every emotion I’ve been experiencing lately, all while crying hysterically, and Ashley had absolutely no idea how to handle it. It was so dramatic. I’m talking about the type of crying where you can’t even breathe properly.
Admittedly, I don’t remember much of what happened during my breakdown. However, I do recall Ashley telling me something along the lines of, “Maybe there’s someone out there who you could talk to about this.” Well, that’s the fucking problem, Ashley! As evidenced by your reaction, I clearly can’t talk to people about this! Nobody is able to handle what I have to say, and I can’t afford the people who can.
Ugh. It was such a train wreck. Obviously, Ashley isn’t at fault for any of this. I don’t blame her for reacting the way she did. It wasn’t fair of me to expect her to be my therapist, especially in the middle of a fucking Vegas casino. But, Ashley is also the only person I felt comfortable sharing this stuff with. It couldn’t have gone worse. I’d finally found the courage to express my sadness to someone close to me, and all I got was the suggestion of seeing a therapist. I don’t know what I expected to come from my admission. I mean, I barely remember it happening in the first place. But, I had definitely hoped for more than what I got, which was essentially nothing.
Ashley and I went up to our respective rooms after my manic-depressive episode. I watched some Mariah music videos while crying on my bed and then passed out. “Breakdown” and “The Roof” to be exact. How fitting. I’m sad.