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

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July 20

July 20

Gone are the days of waking up at 6:30 a.m. Now, I’m lucky if I get out of bed before 8 a.m. I just keep going to bed so fucking late every night. I require ten hours of sleep to function normally. At this rate, I’m not even getting a solid six.

Regarding the Phillip drama of last night, I felt better this morning. I’m still mad – and very insulted – but, I honestly think that crying is sometimes the only way to really get something out of your system. I don’t like reaching the point where I’m sobbing so hard I can barely breathe – as was the case last night – but, sometimes a good old fashioned ugly cry is necessary to move past something.

The same thing happened after Pride. That fucking hangover lasted three goddamn days. What ended my misery and allowed me to finally move forward was having that long cry on my floor. It’s so fucking dramatic, though. Like, seriously? Listening to “Hero” and other Mariah Carey ballads and gasping for air while snot runs out of my nose by the gallon? It’s almost comical. I suppose that’s what you get when you graduate from university with a degree in theatrical studies.

After the other Phillip drama that was Saturday night, Lauryn said someone once told her that crying was “very glamorous.” It’s true. When you think about it, crying is such an honest form of expression. It’s not something that you can really fake. Well, maybe if you’re Julianne Moore. However, for the rest of us, when we cry it’s a complete breakdown of the walls that have been holding our feelings in. A genuine release of emotion. Perhaps that’s why you are able to move on a lot faster after the dam has burst.

When I have a complete breakdown like the one I had last night, I find it’s much easier to pick myself up and move on than it would’ve been had I kept my feelings bottled up. Maybe it’s because the negative emotions have all escaped. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that the sobbing of last night made me feel better this morning. Then again, maybe it was the masturbating. It was fucking great.

I tossed my lettuce lunch, put on my Hawaiian shirt, and went to work. Oh, I was also going to skip my happy pill this morning. But, then I read about the potential side effects of going cold turkey and I got scared. I left a message at Dr. Cohen’s office in the hopes that he could tell me over the phone how to safely wean myself off my anti-depressant. To be safe, I took the pill anyway. I never heard back from Dr. Cohen, so I’ll try again tomorrow.

Another absolutely boring day at The Clubhouse. Big Bird didn’t bring up her freak out of yesterday, so that was good. I did a lot of work in the morning, and by 2 p.m. I had finished everything on my list. After that, I literally walked around the club asking co-workers if they needed help with anything. I was that bored.

On a positive note, I won a $20 Starbucks gift card for a survey I did at work. I also spent a lot of time shopping online for vintage Janet Jackson and Madonna t-shirts, and scrolling through my social media feeds as per usual.

At times, I feel guilty for how little work I do at The Clubhouse. I often think back to my internship at The Toronto Film Group. I remember having a lot of boring days there too, but I never felt guilty about it. Maybe I didn’t feel as bad because I was the intern. Remember: minimum wage, minimum work. Oh, well. At least I’m getting paid either way. I’ve also managed to spin this Clubhouse job pretty well on my resume, despite the role itself being a pretty big joke.

I wrapped things up at 5 p.m. and then walked to the park, excited to start reading my new book. Instead, I got a call from Mom. Obviously, I knew what she was calling about. Mom started out our call with a random discussion about the car, but that fizzled out quickly. Sure enough, she then brought up the Phillip situation and we spent the next 45 minutes talking about that nonsense.

I understand where Mom’s coming from. Naturally, a mother doesn’t want to see her kids fighting the way Phillip and I are right now. Mom expressed many times that Phillip felt really bad about what he did. She was also trying really hard to justify Phillip’s actions. Mom’s rationalizing got to a point where I had to tell her about what happened two weeks ago when Phillip and I had our massive blowout over this exact issue. After that, there was definitely a greater understanding of where I was coming from. Mom was really surprised to hear about Phillip’s resentment.

This whole birthday thing wasn’t about me not being invited to a little park gathering. Okay. Well, it was. But, it was more than that. It hadn’t even been two weeks, and Phillip was already excluding me from things again – and for reasons that were absolutely ridiculous. Sorry I make your friend uncomfortable, but there is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing fucking wrong with me.

Newsflash: PW was the one who wanted to stop seeing me.

If anything, I should be the one who is uncomfortable around PW. But, no. Somehow, it’s the other way around. I think I handled that situation very well. I have been nothing but nice to the guy. I think PW is a piece of shit, but that’s for me to keep to myself. I can have all the feelings I want about PW. However, as far as everyone else is concerned, I don’t have an issue with him. I’ve done nothing in the past week to prove otherwise.

What Phillip did was shitty. I am extremely happy that he knows it, and feels guilty as a result. As I told Mom, what’s done is done. We’ll see how Phillip moves forward with our relationship in the future. Phillip can say he wants to include me and have me around more often all he wants, but actions speak louder than words. And this recent birthday snub was shouted through a megaphone.

Exhausted by my call with Mom, I settled in at the park. It was a gorgeous day out. Hot, sunny, and not a cloud in the sky. I pulled out my book – If You’re So Smart, Why Aren’t You Happy? – and began slowly flipping through the pages. It was an intense read. I would have read more, but I was having trouble concentrating. I took a nap instead.

When I woke up about half an hour later, the park had been filled with large, loud groups of people. As much as I wanted to continue reading about the “Keys to Happiness,” I couldn’t focus with the group of girls beside me talking about how they all had jungle-sized bushes after going two days without shaving their pubic hair. Nonetheless, the book seemed like it will be really interesting and valuable. I found myself nodding along at a number of mantras.

The book talked about the importance of keeping “Mind Chatter” – a form of journal writing where you don’t try and spin the positive or attempt to find a moral at the end of each day. To be honest, I feel like I’ve been doing that for a while. Yeah, I tend to wrap things up by the end of each entry. However, that’s only because my journals always end with me going to bed. I don’t think I try and cover up my negative thoughts, though.

Some of my journal entries have been pretty dark. The author said that people assume their entries will be filled with around 70% positive thoughts, when in reality they’re about 60% negative thoughts. I would have said that right from the start without question. I talk about so much shit in these journal entries that if I ever want to release a book, I’m going to have to wait for a lot of people to die off first.

The book also contains links to some online activities and templates that can help you through the chapters. It’s basically like a seven-week course, and I’m really looking forward to it. You’re supposed to cover one “sin” per week. In classic Biblical fashion, there are seven of them.

To be honest, I couldn’t read past the introduction chapter. I really wanted to focus on the lessons, and the overcrowding of Trinity Bellwoods was not conducive to concentration. I put on Mariah’s Butterfly album, and listened to the entire thing while lying on my back and looking up at the sky.

Butterfly always makes me feel better when I listen to it in full. It’s like taking an emotional trip. Sometimes it’s a trip down memory lane as I think of my past, and sometimes I think about how the songs still manage to reflect my current situation.

I thought about how many guys I’ve gone through this year, and how it’s only July. It’s not healthy. I’m actually really happy to be free of all romantic relationships right now. I haven’t been in a true “relationship” since RX, but I haven’t exactly been “single” since I can remember.

I always have so many guys on the go. They always seem to overlap one another, too. As soon as one guy is starting to fade away, I switch to a new one and the cycle continues. I don’t want to chase anyone anymore. I don’t want to take guys to dinner. I don’t want to buy them drinks, or text them about their day, or meet them for a fucking coffee. At this point, I don’t want any of it. In the immortal words of Lily Tomlin: “Leave me the fuck alone!”

The PW situation left a really bad taste in my mouth – no pun intended – and has truly opened my eyes to the toxic situation I’ve been in for a while. Chasing guys and pushing relationships really fast, in the hopes that I’ll find someone who will fill a void in me and cure my loneliness. As if a man’s affection will validate my own existence. I don’t want any part of that anymore. I want to create my own happiness. I want to find my self-worth without a guy around.

Once Butterfly came to a close, I packed up my things and then walked home listening to The Emancipation of Mimi album, which was also very therapeutic. When I got to the Witch Cave around 9:45 p.m., I ended up eating a bag and a half of chips in bed. Despite doing some floor exercises to help combat the extra calories, I still thoroughly regret my binge eating.

That was my day. I’m going to rub one out and fall asleep now.

I think I’m finally cured of my cigarette hangover. Lauryn made a joke about how, in the old days, when a kid was caught smoking, their parents would make them smoke the whole pack to teach them a lesson. Honestly, that’s the greatest fucking lesson you could ever teach someone. Now, just the thought of a cigarette makes me sick. I still can’t believe I did that.

Goodnight xo

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