Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 9 of 12)

All Rights Reserved ©

September 25

September 25

Well, I fucked up. Again. Despite my seemingly foolproof plan of chugging water between my drinks last night, the open bar ruined me as usual.

I woke up sideways around 11 a.m., in a bed completely soaked in what I could only imagine was urine. It didn’t make any sense, though. The sheets were soggy right to the top of the mattress, and my pillow was also wet. Unless I stood alongside my bed and pissed all over it like I was watering a garden, some of the wetness had to have been from the cup of water on my nightstand, which was now empty. Either way, I put down a towel and rolled across to the other side.

I couldn’t sleep. This morning was one of my worst hangovers in recent memory, especially once you mixed in the emotional side of everything. This was so bad. My head was pounding like a motherfucker. I also couldn’t hold down my vitamins, which I took in hopes of calming myself. I knew things were bad when I tried to take a dump. You know those super dehydrated shits that just rip you an entirely new asshole? Yeah. That was my morning. My bathroom moment was more painful than most sex I’ve had. My rosebud is quivering just thinking about it. Ouchie.

I stood up from my shadoobie, flushed the toilet, then immediately got down on my knees and spewed out more stomach acid than I have ever thrown up before. I thought my queasy stomach might have just been a false alarm, but it was the real deal. I was shocked by the amount of liquid I threw up. I did not expect that to happen. After cleaning myself up, I shut all the blinds, closed all the curtains, and turned off all the lights before crawling back into bed.

Right before I fell asleep again, I checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t sent or posted anything incriminating last night. Surprisingly, my social media was actually fairly tame. That’s probably the most positive thing I can say about this morning. I wanted to go back to bed to sleep off what was possibly the worst headache I’ve ever had – to the point where I couldn’t even open my eyes because the light was so irritating – but also because I was terrified of going downstairs.

What were Mom and Dad going to say? I was completely out of control by the end of last night. The fact that I woke up in a piss-soaked bed with barely any memory of getting home – shoes and clothes sprawled all over my bedroom floor, by the way – let me know that they were not going to be happy with this recent episode. Especially after we’ve been having such frequent conversations about how I have to get things under control. Fuck.

I woke up again at 2 p.m., and knew I had to face the music. My headache had miraculously disappeared, but I still felt like garbage. Inside, and out. My body also hurt more than any exercise routine I’ve ever performed; likely due to the amount of partying and slutty dancing I was doing all night. Shit.

I stripped my bed, then snuck down the stairs and into the laundry room where I started washing my wet sheets and comforter. Mom caught me.

“How are you feeling?” she asked from the kitchen.

“Shitty,” I responded.

That was all I said, and it was basically the end of our conversation. We didn’t discuss anything about last night. Even now, as I’m writing this journal entry at the Witch Cave, I have mixed feelings about our lack of confrontation.

On the one hand, brushing everything under the rug was a huge relief. I didn’t want to confront the issue. To be honest, I’m glad it wasn’t brought up. On the other hand, it’s slightly worrisome. I have no idea what happened by the time we got home. For all I know, it wasn’t as bad as I think. Then again, I could have been a complete shit-show and my parents could be extremely disappointed in me. Wouldn’t Mom have said something if that were the case, though?

God. I feel like such an idiot. I’m embarrassed. I really am. I’m embarrassed by my behavior, and disappointed in myself for failing yet again to keep things under control. As I’m writing this now, I feel better. However, all I wanted to do the entire morning was crawl into a hole and disappear forever. I’m such a fucking failure. I never want to feel like this again.

After last weekend, I was so happy to have woken up on a Saturday and Sunday with life, energy, and a healthy feeling inside of me. Now, I feel like a fat fucking slob, soaked in piss, and without any recollection of how much of an asshole I was last night.

To be fair, I really was trying with the water. Unfortunately, I had such false hope in that plan. Clearly. I didn’t curb my drinking at all. It was like I wanted to prove to myself that I could keep going, simply because I was drinking water. As usual, I continued tossing back one drink after the other. The same thing happens with weed. I’ll continue getting high in the hope that I can prove to myself I won’t get hungry, even though I binge eat every time I smoke. Even my main bartender last night wouldn’t serve me two drinks at a time past a certain hour, so I had to find a new one who would give me what I wanted. What a fucking mess. The uncontrollable sobbing to “Always Be My Baby” is another moment I would like to press delete on.

The day progressed. My afternoon and evening were basically a continuous cycle of me watching BoJack Horseman on Netflix and doing laundry. I was expecting a lecture when I saw Dad, but there were no comments from him either. My parents’ silence leads me to believe that perhaps last night wasn’t as bad as I’m thinking. I don’t think I’ll ever know, though. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever want to know. A lecture might do me some good, but I think I’ve disciplined myself more than anyone else is going to.

Also, what would my parents do in terms of discipline? That’s the real thing to think about here. Mom and Dad can’t do anything. The point is that I have to want the change myself for there to be any sort of improvement. Although it may not show during moments like last night, I can guarantee you that such a desire to improve is alive and well. I want it so bad. I never want to wake up feeling like this again. I hate it. I hate being hungover. I don’t want to drink anymore. This isn’t fun for me. On the contrary, it’s a fucking nightmare.

Mom and Dad went out for dinner with some friends tonight. I continued my Netflix/laundry shame spiral while gorging on pizza and a key lime pie. My body hurt so much from the dancing that I couldn’t bring myself to workout. After packing up my things, I had a steam shower to try and sweat some of the liquid depression out of me. I’m not sure if it worked. Mom and Dad were home by the time I got out of the shower. I packed up the car and drove back downtown, listening to Mariah’s Butterfly album, eating an entire bag of chips, and crying along the way.

Mark my words, this will be the last time I feel like this. Maybe if I commit to that declaration, it will actually happen. Everyone who sees those pictures of me from yesterday probably thinks I’m this bright, shining, happy guy. If only they knew that beneath that layer is someone who truly hates himself. There are things about myself that I like. Sometimes. Usually though, what I see when I look in the mirror is a fat stomach, chunky, rippled thighs, horrible skin, no job skills, self-destructive behavior in all areas of my life, anxiety, stress, sadness, guilt, and hopelessness. I feel like I can’t get out of the hole that I’ve been in. Every time I think I’ve made progress, I take a huge step backwards. I’m constantly falling deeper and deeper into new levels of the black pit of unhappiness that is my life.

I’m tired. Not just from today, but from everything else.

I’m tired of behaving like this.

I’m tired of feeling like this.

I’m tired of guys treating me like I’m an insane piece of garbage.

I’m tired of giving them reasons to.

I’m tired of letting my parents down.

I’m tired of letting myself down.

I’m tired of my empty promises that have no follow-through, because I half-ass everything in my life. Everything from work to dieting, relationships, blah, blah, blah. I can’t even write a full sentence, for fuck’s sake.

I want to go to bed. At least tomorrow will be a new day. A chance to do better. A chance to be better.

Goodnight xo

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.