Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 1 of 2)

May 24

May 24

Not much has changed since yesterday. I'm still experiencing the same depressive haze that I've been feeling the past couple of days. I'll start off by saying that I didn't smoke weed today. I also took the last of my Percocet early this morning. This haze is likely a combination comedown from both drugs, but also the jarring realization that I can't use my fucking foot.

The jig is up. The fun is over. I'm so fucking done with this surgery, and this recovery. I want my foot back! I want to run again. I want to be downtown. I want to be able to go out and walk down the street without hobbling. Or jump in a pool, or go to the beach.

I'm putting on full dramatics right now, but I feel like I'm in prison. A really nice, low-security prison, with endless amounts of food and a warden who checks on me every fifteen goddamn minutes to make sure that I haven't swallowed my own tongue. Nonetheless, I'm stuck here. I haven't left Casa Z in almost a week. Add into the mix that I've been here since the beginning of the month, and you get one cooped up son of a bitch with a bad case of "Cabin Fever," as Natasha calls it.

In an attempt to get out of this funk, I washed my hair, shaved off my Tom Hanks Castaway beard, and did a face mask. After some breakfast and Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens, I hopped outside and fell asleep in the sun for a few hours. It's supposed to rain for about a week straight, so I figured I would take advantage of the summer weather while I could.

I had a lot of anxiety today. Especially while I was lying outside. If I thought my chronic over-analysis was bad before, at least I used to have my random shifts at The Store to occupy my mind. Now, I have nothing. As a result, my mind goes right back to the two you-know-who's that I can't seem to stop obsessing over.

In an attempt to start a conversation, I messaged RX. It worked, and we talked for a little while about his upcoming move. After I offered up the info myself, we also talked about my surgery. The exchange didn't last very long, though. An hour at best.

Once I had my fill of Vitamin D outside, I hobbled back indoors. After examining the alarming color contrast between my lower back and my ass, I sunk my lily-white cheeks into the family room couch, and stayed in the same spot eating dinner and watching animated movies all night. First up was Thumbelina, which I was watching out of pure nostalgia. I'd actually forgotten the entire movie. The film had its moments – shout-out to Jodi Benson and Carol Channing – but, I won't be revisiting it anytime soon.

In the mood for someone who understands me, I put on The Little Mermaid. I cried at my usual spots, despite Dad snoring beside me on the couch the entire time. I don't know how to explain everything that The Little Mermaid makes me feel. It's every part of it – the plot, the music, the artwork. The film conveys the idea of there being this "something" that you want so bad. An impossible dream, which seems like it will never come true. But, it does. Because where there's a will, there's a way.

I want that fairytale moment. I yearn for a happily ever after more than anything. What upsets me is that I feel as though I've had that kind of love before, but then I lost it. I thought I had that connection with Logan. I thought that I had met a prince on a magical night through an act of fate. As if it were meant to be that I was simply in the right place at the right time. And I wanted our story to continue like that. Despite whatever troubles reality would throw my way, things would have worked out, because I believed they would. I was willing to work for that happiness.

I watch a movie like The Little Mermaid, and reality doesn't matter to me anymore. Nothing does. All of my troubles fade away, because I truly believe that everything is going to work out for me. With Logan, the connection was obviously too good to be true. We didn't have the true love I thought we did, because it wasn't reciprocated. Now, I don't have Logan. The guy wouldn't talk to me if I paid him to. So, what kind of fairytale is that?

Tonight, I thought about how different my life would be if I never went to that party in New York City last December. I never would have met Logan. I wouldn't know any better than all of this. But, would that have been worth it? I don't regret what I had with Logan. I'm upset at what it has become, but I can't regret it. I just get so sad at times. I get sad about RX, too. I fantasize about RX leaving Toronto and moving to New York City, and how much that would kill me. Yet, I can't bring myself to explicitly express my feelings for him.

Today was a bad day for my depression. I feel gross. I look disgusting, and my mind isn't looking much better these days. Nothing is happening on the job front either, which makes me think about my path and how fucked-up that whole future is going to be. That's when my anxiety doubles down, and I want to pull this blanket further over my head.

After The Little Mermaid, I went upstairs, got ready for bed, took a Xanax, and now I'm going to sleep.

"What would I give

To live where you are?

What would I pay

To stay here beside you?

What would I do to see you

Smiling at me?

Where would we walk?

Where would we run?

If we could stay all day in the sun?

Just you and me

And I could be

Part of your world

I don't know when

I don't know how

But I know something's starting right now

Watch and you'll see

Someday I'll be

Part of your world"

— The Little Mermaid, "Part of Your World (Reprise)"

Goodnight xo