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

May 31

May 31

Last night, I dreamt that there was a bear – of the animal variety, not a hairy gay man – loose in our backyard. Everyone was able to run away, but I was cornered because of my limp. I'm so over this damn foot.

I woke up at 4 a.m., and couldn't fall back to sleep until 6 a.m. That led to a rough morning, as I had to pack up all of my things to take back downtown. After that mess, I loaded up the car with Phillip, and then we crawled through rush hour traffic as he drove us into the city. It took me about another hour to unpack all of my stuff at the Witch Cave, which wasn't that long, considering I had been living at Casa Z for an entire month.

I really wanted to get outside and enjoy the weather today, so I hustled through some sit-ups, ate a quick lunch, and actually ended up walking all the way from my apartment to Trinity Bellwoods Park. Yes, walking. As I write this from my bed at 11 p.m., I will freely admit that such a trek was not a good idea. My foot fucking hurts. She's tired. She's throbbing. I was just so tired of being cooped up inside without much exercise. The park visit was nice, though. It was hot as hell, so I stayed in the shade, but I absolutely loved it. Words cannot describe how much I despise winter. I am so glad that summer is almost here. The grey skies are gone.

Before entering the park, I picked up two tallboys at The Beer Store. While sipping on my drinks, I read a book, made a Facebook event page for the Love-In, and did some journal writing. I also got high.

Yesterday, I rolled ten joints for this Saturday's upcoming festivities, and put them in my wallet for safe keeping. Seeing as today was my last day of full freedom, I decided to spark up. I say "full freedom" in the sense that I won't be lounging in the park with beers and a joint in the middle of a Tuesday anymore. A full-time job doesn't really allow for that kind of escapade.

I smoked a doobie. I had rolled the joints with our neighbor's backyard stuff, so I knew what to expect. Backyardigans is fairly predictable. The buzz was good. Nothing like that dispensary death strain Phillip brought home. I was relaxed. I lounged in the sun until 6:30 p.m., thinking about life and scrolling through Grindr. Eventually, I hobbled out of the park and took a streetcar home, stopping for groceries along the way.

Back at the Witch Cave, I made myself some dinner. As I sat down on the couch to eat, that's when "The Feeling" came back. That indescribable sense of panic and anxiety, which has a way of completely paralyzing me. This time, however, I knew why "The Feeling" was happening.

I'm lonely. I've always known that, I guess. But, that loneliness is the cause of my Witch Cave panic attacks. I've figured it out. Fortunately, I managed to avoid a meltdown tonight. However, I knew exactly when "The Feeling" started coming over me that it was because I was nervous about being alone.

I don't know why this shift in independence has happened. I never used to be this needy. A part of me thinks the loneliness has something to do with the fact that, when I'm not at work or at home, I have no physical human interaction. You would think that I would, but I don't speak to anyone outside of my text messaging. Despite being surrounded by people all the time, the closest I get to a face-to-face conversation is with the cashier at the grocery store when I tell her, "I need one plastic bag, I have a points card, and I'll be using credit."

It's these days in isolation that have really fucked with me, I think. This is another reason as to why I am really excited about starting my new job with The Clubhouse tomorrow. I'll get to interact with people again. Even better, I might meet new people to hang out with.

This afternoon, I was thinking about how anti-climactic my whole job search ended up being. I had a solid vision for the whole fucking process:

1. Application

2. Phone call

3. Interview

4. Second interview

5. Job offer

6. Acceptance

7. Confetti moment

All of those steps were to have happened very fast, and without issue. The perfect company, the dream role, no negotiating necessary, and full-time benefits coming out my ass. Meanwhile, this current situation couldn't be further from that vision. In fact, I wasn't even going to follow up with The Clubhouse. This job only happened because Robyn reached out to me.

Nonetheless, I'm very pleased with the way this situation has worked out. Ironically, it does seem like there was also a bit of fate involved with the June 1 start date. Even though I can't believe it's fucking June already – wait. It's fucking June already? Oy. Anyway, I'm happy. A June 1 start date is very symbolic of a new beginning for me. A new month, a new job, and next week, a new age. It's reassuring.

During our therapy session in March, Moira Nightingale told me to avoid forming grand expectations for my life.

"You're setting yourself up," Moira Nightingale said. "Such visions only lead to disappointment."

Despite my active imagination, I'm not forming grand expectations about my new job. Truth be told, I really don't know what to expect from The Clubhouse. However, I have found myself with a much more positive outlook on what's to come. I want to leave the fucking mess of the past five months behind me. Remember the lessons I have learned – along with the fact that I persisted – and move on. Move on to happiness, stability, and less loneliness.

On behalf of the last five months:

"Thank you for watching, and goodnight! You all! Ya all, ya all, ya all!"

— Elizabeth Taylor

Goodnight xo