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

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December 27

December 27

I went outside today. As in, I actually put on shoes and made it further than my newfound smoking corner on the Walkers’ backyard porch. Progress? Maybe. Progress on what, though?

We should have gone home today. In fact, most of the day felt as though we had overstayed our welcome in Montreal. Ask anyone else, and they’d probably deny it. Perhaps it’s just me being uncomfortable in someone else’s space. Nevertheless, today I had reached my limit. I was ready to leave. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen.

I woke up to an iMessage from Jessica. It was a reminder about the get together we had scheduled for tomorrow night with Kate and Adam, which I naturally had to reschedule. I slept in pretty late on purpose this morning. Once I had finished my usual Good Mornting routine of going through my phone, drinking a liter of coffee, and having four kleechas, I got to work.

Following a short bout of writing, I devoted some time to the greater good – making myself look presentable from the neck up. Listen. My body is a mess. Not only that, but the bloating isn’t going to improve until I leave this house. Right now, my only chance at recovering any semblance of self-esteem is to fix my face. I did a Bioré strip, a charcoal mask, and also cut an inch off my hair. Spoiler alert: nobody noticed.

Unfortunately, my mini makeover didn’t exactly take an eternity. As soon as I was done, I had Mom and Aunty Joyce yelling at me from the kitchen.

“Kurt!” the sisters shouted in unison. “Come and eat something! We’re going to see the new Star Wars movie!”

See? My body doesn’t stand a chance.

Amidst the usual madness of leaving the house as an extended family unit, the group piled into the car. After dropping Mom off at a mall – the woman has no interest in The Resistance – Phillip, Dad, Aunty Joyce, Uncle Will, and myself all drove to Cineplex for Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.

Carrie Fisher died today. As a result, it was definitely an odd time to be seeing a Star Wars film. Or, maybe it was good timing? I don’t know. What I do know, is that I wanted to be extremely stoned for this movie. Fortunately, Phillip was on the same page. As soon as the group found our seats, we darted out of the theater and inhaled a fat joint in 2.5 seconds before running back inside.

The film was really good. I didn’t even get that high, though. Bummer. Well, I guess you can’t complain all that much when smoking your neighbor’s free weed. What made the whole movie even crazier, was that the very last frame of the film featured Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia. Spooky.

I’m afraid of dying. I feel as though I haven’t done enough with my life. I am not ready to leave this planet yet, without having made some sort of impact on it. I’m not looking to have a statue made of me, or spark some profound cultural revolution. I just want to make my mark, you know? However small that might be.

After Star Wars, we jumped in the car and drove back to the Walkers’. Once home, I finished the rest of my wine from yesterday. That marked only my second bottle during the entire holiday. I deserve some sort of fucking medal. Also, I still haven’t heard anything from Aaron. Although that’s due in part to me avoiding him, the silence is weird. Talk about pressing delete on a moment. I am so done with that whole thing. Moving on. Hopefully, moving away, too.

Back at the Walkers’, Evan and his girlfriend Claire returned home from their day in Ottawa. We caught up quickly on a very basic level, until I found myself tired of the conversation. I needed some friggin’ alone time. I love everyone, but I told you – I wanted to leave today. By that point in the night, I was socially drained. Retreating to the family room, I started watching Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope before inevitably falling asleep.

This is the part where I take full responsibility for alienating myself. I don’t know why I do it. I suppose part of the seclusion is that I’m bored with the conversation. The other part is that I am simply tired of the conversation. Exhausted, really. I spend a lot of my time alone. I spend a lot of my time in complete silence. People fail to realize that. I can be extremely energetic, social, and talkative. I can be funny, a great storyteller, and I’m knowledgeable on a lot of subjects some people might not even think twice about. Of course, that’s only when I’m “on.”

When the lights go down, my life is a much different story. Truth be told, I don’t do a hell of a lot. I listen to music. I write. That’s it. I need my downtime to recharge, so I that can continue being the bubbly Kurt people have come to expect. I can’t be at that level day and night, though. That’s why I end up sneaking away during these types of family functions. I need to find the solitude that I so badly crave.

We had a good dinner. Regardless, we also should have gone home today. We’ve now arrived at the point where Dad still hasn’t stopped talking, his jokes aren’t even close to funny anymore, and you can just tell that everyone has had enough of one another. At least, I can. Add Tabitha into the mix, and our stay at the Walkers’ is a ticking time bomb.

Nobody stuck around long after dinner. The parents were all tired, the cousins went back to their apartments, and eventually it was just Phillip and myself for the rest of the night. I think Phillip had maxed out his social reserves, too – as evidenced by his escaping into the TV room, putting on a movie, and closing the door. The last I saw of Phillip before I went to bed was when I told him that I was borrowing his pipe. Just like last night, I then snuck out the laundry room door like a 13-year-old, and sparked up on the backyard porch. Sure. I suppose there’s some humor in having to tiptoe around the house like a fucking secret agent. That James Bond comedy act fades pretty quickly after the second time, though. Also, what if I got “caught?” Oy. I can’t believe I am even asking that at 26-years-old. We should have left today.

The biggest problem with having to sneak around before/after blazing is the paranoia that comes along with your high. You spend the whole night wondering if someone is at your door. Do they know I’m awake? Am I going to get caught? It’s not fun! After sneaking back upstairs, I settled into my Amish bed and then ended up partaking in my favorite smoking activity – listening to Mariah Carey through my headphones. I’ve always loved the way Mariah’s voice sounds when I’m stoned. There are so many different vocal layers and intricacies that you can hear while under the spell of Mary Jane. The whole experience becomes very intense.

Taking a trip down memory lane, I decided to spend my evening listening to Me. I Am Mariah... The Elusive Chanteuse. Technically Mariah’s latest release, the album came out in May 2014. I remember downloading it about a week before Phillip and I went to Europe together. Sequencing the album from start to finish tonight, I was instantly transported back to that trip. I’d forgotten how much the tracks reminded me of that time in my life. How different things were not even that long ago. Having been out of school for only about a year, I think life felt more hopeful back then.

While listening to “Cry.,” I completely lost it on the second verse:

And maybe I didn’t give you your space back then

And maybe I should have just held out a little bit longer

But I was seduced by you, and I didn’t know enough

Truly too enchanted to disregard the words you said to make me yours

I need to hold you until we break

Til we both break down and cry

— Mariah Carey, “Cry.”

I’ve always associated “Cry.” with RX. In particular, with an ad-lib at the end of the song:

Guess it’s selfish of me to just expect that I’m entitled to have you

But tonight all I wanna do is just hold you (til we both break down)

We both break down and cry

— Mariah Carey, “Cry.”

For the first time tonight, the memories dredged up by “Cry.” weren’t about RX. At least, not entirely. I broke down in tears thinking while about Logan. I realized that Mariah’s lyrics perfectly describe how I feel about that relationship. I’m at fault. I was too clingy. I blame myself. I gave Logan too much of myself too soon. However, I also blame Logan for seducing me the way he did. Telling me all of those wonderful things. Leading me to believe that his feelings mirrored mine, only to disappear and leave me without any reasoning. Logan never even said goodbye. He just left.

As I lay here in my twin-size Quaker bed – looking up at the ceiling and thinking about how much pain this year has brought me – tears poured from my eyes. Streaming down the side of my face, the salty water filled my ears and headphones until I could barely hear what I was listening to. I can’t believe Logan was a year ago.

After my episode, I settled down. Not that it was much of a surprise. Usually, there’s a peak to my crying. Once I’ve released enough pent-up energy, I can move on. Before I began listening to Mariah Carey, I never used to cry this much.

Ready for something visually stimulating, I ended up watching Dreamgirls. What a fucking fantastic movie. I needed something to take my mind off the negative thoughts surrounding my creative credentials. Lately, I’ve been doubting myself a lot. I hate that feeling. For example, take this afternoon at the movie theater. I was waiting for Phillip outside of the lobby’s bathroom, as I had already done my thing. I was waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Finally, Phillip came out. Okay. Good. He didn’t fall in the toilet.

Hours later, while endlessly scrolling through my phone, I noticed that Phillip had posted a picture of said bathroom to his Instagram – an artistic shot of the mirrors and tiling. I don’t know why the photo affected me so much. I think it’s because I completely missed the view. It bothered me that I had not maintained an open mind. We were in the same fucking bathroom. Until Phillip posted that picture, it didn’t even occur to me that it might be worth taking in my surroundings.

I know, I know. The whole thing sounds so ridiculous. I mean, it was a fucking public bathroom. It’s not about the location, though. I feel like my mind can be so closed off sometimes. As a creative person, that’s a big problem for me. I’m trapping myself. I am too quick at closing off my mind to other views. That’s when you die as a creative person. I don’t want to die.

Once Dreamgirls finished, I rubbed one out. Now, it’s time for bed. It’s 3 a.m.

Goodnight xo

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