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

August 27

August 27

I woke up at 7 a.m. with the intent of re-organizing my life, but ended up staying in bed until after 8 a.m. I didn't want to leave my boyfriend(s) – a.k.a. my comforter/pillow combo.

Eventually, I made it to the gym. After a full workout, I raced back to the Witch Cave to gather my things for a day pon de beach. Along the way, I had a new key made for my upcoming house guests, picked up a new portable charger at Best Buy after mine disappeared on Fire Island, and stopped by the liquor store for some beer.

Freshly showered and packed at my apartment, I jumped back on the subway and made my way to the Harbourfront, where I caught the ferry with about 30 seconds to spare. I was finally on my way to Hanlan's Point! This weekend was my last possible island moment of the summer. Nobody could/would go with me, so I decided to just go alone. Whatever. I needed it! Also, it's not like I'm a stranger to doing things solo.

Covered in my usual layer of sweat, I set up shop on the sand and relaxed amidst a sea of strangers. I was really proud of myself, actually. A few years ago, you couldn't have paid me to set foot on a beach with so many shirtless and/or naked gays. Now, I was going alone and sitting/swimming topless for hours on end. Not to mention, this comes at a time in my life when I'm fifteen pounds heavier than I want to be. So, I guess that's good news? The silver lining is that somehow, I've managed to build up a decent amount of beach/body confidence – or at least found a way to give less fucks about it. Either way, I think it's a good thing.

I'll be honest. I was having some anxiety about drinking the beers I brought with me today. I didn't want to get carried away, but I felt like they were calling my name from inside the cooler. Eventually, I cracked. And by that, I mean I cracked open a tall boy. It was so refreshing, but I promised myself I'd keep my boozing under control.

Being alone, I needed someone to watch my stuff while I swam. I asked the group of beefy hunks beside me keep an eye on my things, then proceeded to cool off in the water. When the guys asked the same of me later, obviously I said yes.

As my hunky neighbors abandoned their towels, one of the guys offered me his weed.

"If you want to smoke, just help yourself," he said, pointing to a pipe and grinder full of the good stuff.

I ended up blazing while the guys were frolicking in the water. Twice. Mary Jane hit me hard. This was no Backyardigans! I was really fucking high. At one point, my anxiety came back full force. I was worried that I had pushed myself over the limit again, and I was really upset about it. I decided to try and sleep it off. After a short nap, I went back in the water to cool down and refresh myself. I felt better.

I continued to relax pon de beach in my own little bubble, eating my vegetables, hummus, and pita while playing copious amounts of Mariah Carey through my mini speaker. I saw a couple of people I knew on the sand, but it was more of just knowing "of" them. In reality, "I don't know her." I was a little hazed out – okay, a lot hazed out – but overall, it was a great day. I am exhausted, though. As usual, the beach took it out of me. Nothing left to give. I am Whitney Houston. I have nothing.