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

July 20

July 20

Gone are the days of waking up at 6:30 a.m. Now, I'm lucky if I get out of bed before 8 a.m. I just keep going to bed so fucking late every night. I require ten hours of sleep to function normally. At this rate, I'm not even getting a solid six.

Regarding the Phillip drama of last night, I felt better this morning. I'm still mad – and very insulted – but, I honestly think that crying is sometimes the only way to really get something out of your system. I don't like reaching the point where I'm sobbing so hard I can barely breathe – as was the case last night – but, sometimes a good old fashioned ugly cry is necessary to move past something.

The same thing happened after Pride. That fucking hangover lasted three goddamn days. What ended my misery and allowed me to finally move forward was having that long cry on my floor. It's so fucking dramatic, though. Like, seriously? Listening to "Hero" and other Mariah Carey ballads and gasping for air while snot runs out of my nose by the gallon? It's almost comical. I suppose that's what you get when you graduate from university with a degree in theatrical studies.

After the other Phillip drama that was Saturday night, Lauryn said someone once told her that crying was "very glamorous." It's true. When you think about it, crying is such an honest form of expression. It's not something that you can really fake. Well, maybe if you're Julianne Moore. However, for the rest of us, when we cry it's a complete breakdown of the walls that have been holding our feelings in. A genuine release of emotion. Perhaps that's why you are able to move on a lot faster after the dam has burst.

When I have a complete breakdown like the one I had last night, I find it's much easier to pick myself up and move on than it would've been had I kept my feelings bottled up. Maybe it's because the negative emotions have all escaped. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that the sobbing of last night made me feel better this morning. Then again, maybe it was the masturbating. It was fucking great.

I tossed my lettuce lunch, put on my Hawaiian shirt, and went to work. Oh, I was also going to skip my happy pill this morning. But, then I read about the potential side effects of going cold turkey and I got scared. I left a message at Dr. Cohen's office in the hopes that he could tell me over the phone how to safely wean myself off my anti-depressant. To be safe, I took the pill anyway. I never heard back from Dr. Cohen, so I'll try again tomorrow.

Another absolutely boring day at The Clubhouse. Big Bird didn't bring up her freak out of yesterday, so that was good. I did a lot of work in the morning, and by 2 p.m. I had finished everything on my list. After that, I literally walked around the club asking co-workers if they needed help with anything. I was that bored.

On a positive note, I won a $20 Starbucks gift card for a survey I did at work. I also spent a lot of time shopping online for vintage Janet Jackson and Madonna t-shirts, and scrolling through my social media feeds as per usual.

At times, I feel guilty for how little work I do at The Clubhouse. I often think back to my internship at The Toronto Film Group. I remember having a lot of boring days there too, but I never felt guilty about it. Maybe I didn't feel as bad because I was the intern. Remember: minimum wage, minimum work. Oh, well. At least I'm getting paid either way. I've also managed to spin this Clubhouse job pretty well on my resume, despite the role itself being a pretty big joke.