Hi, I'm Kurt. A binge-drinking, pill-popping disco diva with a heart of platinum and an appetite for self-destruction.
Welcome to Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2).
Adapted from a collection of nightly...
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July 18
The problem with drinking on a Sunday is that you don't have that crucial day of rest to prepare yourself for Monday. Then, Monday becomes the new Sunday and all of the sudden you're stuck at work with the Hangover Blues, wanting to kill yourself.
Surprisingly, waking up this morning was relatively easy. I wasn't even that hungover. The problem was the cigarettes. I woke up with immediate regret. I never want to smoke another cigarette as long as I live. What I did last night was absolutely disgusting. Of all the stupid things I've ever done in my life, I'm probably more upset about smoking 15 cigarettes in a day than anything else. What a weird thing to say, given the fact that I have literally woken up in a Florida hospital because of binge drinking.
I woke up feeling like complete garbage. Everything around me smelled like an ashtray, including myself. My first thought was that I had probably developed lung cancer overnight. I thought about my parents, too. Last night's smoking would probably be their biggest disappointment in me as well. I hate cigarettes so much. I hate everything about them. I cannot believe what came over me yesterday.
I feel disgusting. My throat hurts, my chest hurts, my body is tingling, and I am consumed by an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. I feel greasy, sweaty, lethargic, and I can't breathe properly. My entire esophagus feels scorched. No good can ever come from cigarettes. I hate this.
I rolled out of bed, looked at the remaining six cigarettes on my coffee table, and threw them out. After making my lunch and getting my life somewhat together, I headed to the subway, where I spent 45 minutes half-asleep on the train because of a power failure. After what happened on Friday at work, this was not going to be a good look for me.
I arrived at The Clubhouse 45 minutes late, apologizing profusely and then realizing that nobody gave two fucks if I said I was sorry. I guess it was my fault the train broke down? After Friday, I felt like they weren't going to believe anything I said, so why bother? Saying sorry is a big deal for me, though. My apologies shouldn't be taken lightly. I don't throw around the S-word very often.
Once I finally settled in, work was bearable. I didn't do much all day. In fact, I spoke with Mom on the company phone for an hour.
I feel sick about this Lauryn and Phillip thing. Like, literally sick to my stomach about it. As much as I don't want to get involved anymore, I feel as though I can't avoid it. I also feel as though I've already said too much.
Yesterday, I sent Phillip two messages. One to apologize for Lauryn's behavior and the messiness that I felt responsible for, having brought her with me to his party, and another trashing PW. After the PW message, I never heard back from Phillip.
Still trying to smooth things over, I sent Phillip another message this afternoon. I apologized for everything that had happened again, and also retracted the message I sent about PW. I was hurt when I sent that, and what I wrote was harsh.
