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

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September 7

September 7

I woke up around 11 p.m. last night, having no idea what time it was but falling back asleep right away. Around 3:30 a.m., I woke up again. Sitting up in bed, I found myself on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Everything feels like it’s either crashing down, or that it already has. My body is out of control. I’m in the worst shape I’ve been in years, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m struggling with the decision about my apartment, my job, my future. Everything. I continue to fool around on dating apps, when in reality I don’t even want to look at myself in a mirror, let alone have a stranger see me naked. I’m so embarrassed of myself. It’s such an awful feeling. I have so many clothes that I can’t even wear, because I physically cannot fit into them. I don’t know how to solve this problem. I’m having trouble juggling everything.

Still unable to sleep, I continued to sit in my bed for about an hour. Despite practicing some breathing exercises, I wasn’t getting anywhere in calming myself down. I reached for the weed pipe above my bed in an attempt to find some relaxation. I knew it was a bad idea. The bowl was empty, so I took it as a sign that Mary Jane was not the answer. Xanax must be. I took a pill, then fell asleep soon after.

I hate myself for reaching for these types of Band-Aids so often. It’s exactly what I wanted to avoid. Now, taking a Xanax or smoking weed is my first resort. The solution to all of my problems. Yes, weed too. Although I bought the stuff specifically for my Montreal trip, I have some leftover and will no doubt be smoking it at home. I’m screwed. Before I took a Xanax last night, I sat on the couch eating cereal out of the box in a totally neurotic way. Mindless, almost. It was weird.

It’s officially TIFF week in Toronto. Since I was going to be working late at The Clubhouse for a film industry party tonight, I only had to get there for 4 p.m. When I finally woke up again around 11 a.m., I forced myself out of bed so I could begin tackling my to-do list. I had decided to skip the gym, so I tried to make up for it by doing a lot of housework. I did all the dishes, mopped, dusted, vacuumed, did laundry, and got myself together for work. I hate my apartment at night, but a morning at the Witch Cave typically hosts a different vibe. Am I afraid of the dark, or is this some strange anxiety thing? I don’t know.

I think all of this recent anxiety is coming down to the major stress I have been experiencing. My skin is horrible. My weight is out of control. I am so high-strung at work. Everything around me is falling apart, and I’ve been acting very neurotic as a result. For example, last night’s binge eating. Well, my overeating in general.

I have gained twenty pounds since my foot surgery. Twenty. Pounds. I don’t even know where to begin when I talk about it. I am freaking out, because this is major. The solution to this utter catastrophe is greater than just “more exercise.” If I want to see some improvement, I have to completely change my eating habits and lifestyle. That’s going to be an uphill battle, to say the least. I don’t know how this happened so quickly. I even noticed new stretch marks today. It’s horrible. Fuck.

Following a late lunch at the Witch Cave, I rolled into work at 4 p.m. Big Bird seemed super pissed with me. Was she mad that I got there at 4 p.m., instead of 3 p.m. like she had suggested? I was originally scheduled for 6 p.m. today. I did Big Bird a favor by coming in two hours early to work on her administration stuff. Was she mad about the hour? I don’t know. It was stupid.

As soon as I sat down in our office, Big Bird started throwing work at me like an evil stepmother. Breaking a sweat in the process, I finished everything that was asked of me. After printing out an RSVP list for the party, I changed my outfit and began “working” the front door with my clipboard. I was in charge of the velvet rope from 6:30 p.m. to 11 p.m., and didn’t give a shit the entire time. I was letting anyone with a pulse into The Clubhouse tonight.

Lauryn and Lia made an appearance at the event, along with a few other people I knew from around the city. I’m just bitter that I had to work the door. What a shitty feeling. I want to be inside the party, not standing outside the fucking building. Tonight, I realized I don’t enjoy that feeling. I want to do everything I can to avoid experiencing it again. Better work on my invites, I guess.

It rained all night, so the party was pretty much a washout. My shift was also cut short. After swiping an umbrella from the club’s lobby, I walked home in the rain just after 11 p.m. Finally back at the Witch Cave, I smoked weed and binged on Pillsbury Toaster Strudels and Eggos in bed. Now, I’m going to masturbate and fall asleep.

I’m still unsure if I want to continue living here. I suppose I also have to clear part two of my master plan with Uncle Jack. Hmm.

Goodnight xo

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