Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 7 of 12)

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Summary

Hi, I’m Kurt. A binge-drinking, pill-popping disco diva with a heart of platinum and an appetite for self-destruction. Welcome to Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax’d Millennial. Adapted from a collection of nightly journal entries, Sleepless Solitude details the promiscuous highs and drug-induced lows of a gay millennial in his mid-twenties as he tries to find his way through the swamp of young adulthood. Covering an entire year, the blog posts serve as a chronological, behind-the-scenes look at what happens when the party stops and the Hangover Blues kick in. At its core, Sleepless Solitude is an effort in sharing personal truths. By revealing intimate thoughts and vulnerabilities with each journal entry, the aim is to present a mind and story void of social media filters. Life isn’t always a celebration, it’s not always sunny, and sometimes you blackout and break a few teeth. The best I can do right now is try and pick up the pieces. Goodnight xo

Status:
Complete
Chapters:
31
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
18+

July 1

July 1

I woke up at 1 p.m., naked, and on top of my covers. It looked like a bomb went off in my apartment, with a candle burning strong and garbage everywhere.

I have absolutely no idea what happened last night. When I looked at my phone this morning, I found an email confirmation from Uber confirming multiple trips across the city. I also received a text from Dan, asking me if I was alive. I only responded, “Fuck,” as I continued trying to remember my night.

Glasses were everywhere. Ash from weed sprinkled all over the coffee table. Clothes and wigs sprawled across my apartment. The last thing I remember is being at my apartment. I was making Dan and Evan a very burnt grilled cheese, and wondering who the French guy sitting with Connor on my couch was.

I called Dan, and he filled me in on last night’s events. The first thing I asked Dan was if we took an Uber somewhere. As soon as I asked that, Dan knew that I was screwed. He told me everything.

While The 4 Single Girls were at the Pride event across the street from the Witch Cave, it was decided that we would go to a house party in Riverdale, which was being thrown by a bunch of high-profile TV industry gays. This was after copious amounts of alcohol, weed, and my full pill of Xanax. Dan and Evan had each taken half of a pill, so maybe they were only half as fucked up. There were also Jack Daniel’s promotional booths at this Pride party. I successfully convinced all of the shirtless bartenders to serve me what was probably the equivalent of five shots’ worth of free alcohol.

Looking back on it now, I cannot believe how much I drank last night. It was literally one drink or shot after the other, as if I had just returned from 40 days and 40 nights in the desert. Dan said that I was hilarious at the Pride party – telling people that my boyfriend just broke up with me to get more drinks, or that my friends were going to throw up and we needed to enter and leave through the wrong exits to get them out (i.e., shorter lines). Based on what Dan told me, all of this should have been a very big red flag.

The 4 Single Girls went back to my place. I made them food, and I guess we tried on my wigs and drank more. Connor had brought this random French guy over, who was apparently very weird and rude. I’m glad I remember having him in my apartment. Oy.

From the Witch Cave, everyone but Connor and his Frenchman left for the Riverdale party. Dan said that this was when things started going downhill. Apparently, I was fine in the cab. However, as soon as we got to this party, that’s when Dan said, “You turned into a complete zombie. I didn’t know what to do.”

The host of the Riverdale party asked Dan if I was alright.

“I don’t want any deaths on the property,” he said.

Dan assured the host that I was fine, and that he would take care of the situation.

Dan said that the Riverdale party was absolutely crazy. “Like something out of a movie,” he gushed.

Considering all of the gays at this party worked in the TV industry, I wasn’t surprised. Still, I was so mad when Dan told me that. Disappointed, really. I would have killed to go to a party like that – and have actually remembered it. The event was in the backyard of a large house, and there was apparently a giant disco ball above the entire thing. Fuck!

So, we got to the Riverdale party. At that point, I was deceased. Dan sat me down on a chair in a corner with lots of water, and I fell asleep. Dan said that he was constantly turning around to keep an eye on me every minute or so, but a lot of people kept coming up to him and asking if I was okay, or telling Dan that he was being a, “bad babysitter.”

Dan also mentioned that there was one moment when he turned around, and I had started to run away – like that Britney Spears wig night last year. Knowing full well that I wouldn’t stop or turn around, Dan chased after me yelling, “NO!” When Dan asked me where I was going, I mumbled something back to him. I was placed back on my chair, which, at this point, was probably more like my deathbed.

I cannot believe that all of this happened, and I have zero recollection of any of it. What’s worse is that, at one point, I had apparently become functional and started walking around the party to socialize. When a guy asked me what happened to my foot, I told him that I was run over by a bus. I’m not sure how much sympathy a line like that garnered, but I’m guessing it wasn’t much. I then told the same guy that he should buy me a sympathy drink, to which he responded, “Umm, this is a house party.”

I don’t know the timeframe for all of these events. However, Dan told me that he and Evan eventually took me back to my apartment, settled me in, and left. Judging by the mess inside my apartment this morning, it was clear that I didn’t go to bed after being dropped off. From the evidence I gathered, it seems that I stayed up, devoured a couple bags of chips, filmed some videos on my phone of me rapping to Lil’ Kim, and then somehow managed to carry myself ten-feet away from my couch, where I passed out on my bed.

My next memory is waking up. I found out about all of this Riverdale party stuff through Dan, and I was literally in shock.

Listen. I’m not going to pretend that something like last night has never happened to me before. At this point, it’s more of a rarity to actually remember a night out. That being said, I have never blacked out for that long. We left that Pride party at 9 p.m., and I don’t remember anything until I woke up the next morning. That’s insane!

I’m hoping I learned my lesson about the Xanax. The pill I took while drinking is likely what did me in, effectively turning me into the hot fucking mess that I was for over five hours last night. Someone needs to start recording these nights out. A verbal retelling of my antics is not enough insight to deduce how it is possible for me to function unconsciously for such an extended amount of time. Goddamn it, Kurt.

Anyway, that happened.

Now, let’s get back to the actual journal entry for this day.

My apartment looked like an episode of Hoarders when I woke up. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to clean up. It was now 2 p.m., and I needed to work on a job application for The Toronto Film Group, which was due at 5 p.m. I reworked my entire CV, struggling to embellish my job at The Clubhouse in the process, but I did it. It’s pretty fucking great, too. I have a good resume! It’s a little all over the place, but I think this recent job is finally pulling things together. My work experience appears to be slightly more cohesive now.

Once the application was sent off – literally at 4:59 p.m. – I was able to focus on cleaning up the Witch Cave. When my shoebox apartment was finally reset back to its spooky glory, I wrote for a couple of hours, caught up on some messages, and worked out for a bit. After that, I showered, put myself together, and walked over to Connor’s condo. A small group of friends were gathering for a pre-drink before another Pride party at the Roundhouse, called Fit Primpin’.

Everyone from last night was at Connor’s pre-drink, including a few other gays who witnessed the terror of – The Thriller.

Side note: I wish I had Michael Jackson’s dance moves. Anything is better than Paris Hilton’s.

Anyway, one of the people at Connor’s place was Ross Brochant, who told me that he thought I was going to die last night. That was reassuring. Everyone drank a lot before Fit Primpin’, but I didn’t want a repeat of last night’s exorcism. I kept it cute. Only two shots of gin and a bottle of champagne. Child’s play!

The group dispersed, and we all got in our cabs. Well, only after I made Dan run back up to Connor’s for my lost phone, which was evidently in my pocket the whole time. Uh oh. Dan told me that he wasn’t babysitting again, so I got it together. Although, now that I think about it, I actually don’t really remember the cab ride to Fit Primpin’. I rarely remember cab rides. I only remember that this one was $40, which I thought was absurd.

Finally at the Roundhouse, we quickly discovered that the line for Fit Primpin’ was insane. Thankfully, Alison and Kyle were already there, so we got to skip a bit of the wait. Still, the queue was not moving. The line itself was actually pretty fun, though. It was just a bunch of people who were drunk from their pre-drink parties, now all stuck in a standstill line together.

One of the many bodies in the queue was a guy named Pierre. Remember? That Grindr guy with the mustache, who I briefly talked to at the beginning of May? I asked him on a date after a day of chatting? Yeah, that guy. Well, Pierre didn’t even acknowledge me. We made eye contact, and then Pierre turned the other way. Typical. That happens to me about once a week, it seems.

The Fit Primpin’ line was not moving. Our small group had advanced maybe 50 feet over the course of an hour, despite the fact that we were in line before 10 p.m. It was absolutely ridiculous. As a result, the team made the executive decision to head back to Pride Central – a.k.a. the Witch Cave – and drink. And, drink we did!

What I lack in self-respect at parties I attend, I make up for at parties I host. No questions asked, everyone that came to my apartment had a drink, all the weed they wanted, and, of course, wigs. The Witch Cave party took place over the course of probably an hour or so. After that, the crew hit up a block party on Church Street, which was held in an empty parking lot beside Crews & Tangos. It wasn’t my favorite party, but there were a ton of people we knew on the street. That’s what made it fun.

By this time, I was definitely fading. I don’t remember a lot about my time on the street, but I remember who was there: Kyle, Alison, and The 4 Single Girls. Phillip was also there, along with a bunch of his friends – including the elusive Phillip Walden. Let’s call him PW from now on, as not to confuse him with my brother of the same name.

I’ve been interested in PW for a while. Kyle had his eyes on PW a few years ago, so I couldn’t make a move. However, seeing as that was now over – and by, “that,” I don’t mean much, because nothing ever happened between them – I was free to make my move. The only problem was that Phillip (brother) has always been adamant that he doesn’t want me getting involved with his friends, to the point that he won’t even introduce me to them.

We’re forgetting one very important fact, though. Silly little Phillip got busy with one of my best friends last month. PW was all mine now! Plus, when I told Mom last week that I was interested in PW – but that Phillip wouldn’t let me meet him – she said, “You don’t need permission!” Mom’s the boss!

While everyone was busy socializing with one another, I got my flirt on with PW. I barely remember what happened, because I was quite faded at this point. From what I recall, PW and I started our conversation by talking about my room at Casa Z, as he had been in it during one of Phillip’s recent weekends at the house. Another one of Phillip’s friends mentioned that she slept in my room, too. My inner monologue at this moment was Marge Simpson’s annoyed, “Mmmmmmm,” groan. I don’t like strangers in my bedroom.

When PW said that he was leaving the block party, I slyly asked for his phone number. PW offered it up without hesitation. Yes! I had my in. Perfect. I wish I knew more of what I said to PW, though. He probably has a very different recollection of the night’s conversation.

There were still quite a few of us up and at it, so the remaining group returned to my place and had another little party. I felt so bad for my neighbors. By now, it was probably well into 4 a.m. and we were blasting Mariah, Britney, and Lil’ Kim all night. It was me, Kyle, Alison, Phillip, and a bunch of Phillip’s friends, who I socialized with pretty well. I poured everyone drinks again, and we all had a great time. People left one by one, but Kyle and Alison stayed over and the three of us passed out together.

Wow.

And the Pride continues….

Goodnight xo

UPDATE: This message is coming to you from the future. After my date with PW on July 7, during which we talked about this night, new info came to light.

PW and a couple of his friends did actually come to my apartment, but only for about 30 minutes. PW said that he was also very drunk – and, “slightly blackout,” which was oddly reassuring for me to hear, given that I don’t like to be the only hot mess in the room – but that the group watched a lot of music videos, including “We Belong Together” at PW’s request. All we did was dance around for a bit until PW and his friends left.

So, I almost had it right. But, now I know that PW has been in my apartment. And that he liked it. This is a good thing. I think.

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