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

September 18

September 18

This weekend was exactly what I needed. Aside from avoiding drugs and alcohol downtown, which was an obvious positive, I wanted to visit Casa Z so that I could make a decision on how to move forward with "The Plan."

Well, I've made my decision. I'm moving back home. Until this weekend, I had been on the fence about what to do, but I felt very content and comfortable at the house over the past few days. Now, I know it's the best decision for me. Come December, I'll be packing things up at the Witch Cave and moving back to Casa Z.

It's funny. This year, I had hoped for so many new beginnings. Although 2016 is still a few months away from being finished, it seems as though the theme of this year was "closure." So many things have ended, and I'm finally beginning to see that perhaps it was all for the best. How else can I move forward if I have so many things holding me back? Boys, The Store, Witch Cave, jobs – it's all coming to a close. And, guess what? I am okay with the goodbyes. I genuinely want everything to come to a close. For the first time in a while, I am actually excited about what the future holds. Ironically, I also have no fucking idea what the future holds. Nonetheless, there's something inside of me that is so ready for it.

After sleeping in, I went downstairs to make myself some breakfast. Imagine my surprise upon entering the kitchen, only to find a wide assortment of dirty dishes scattered throughout the room, multiple doors open and/or unlocked, and the cat wandering outside. Had we been robbed? Were we visited by elves last night? No. It was just Phillip.

I'm so fucking sick and tired of this kid's bullshit. There's a complete disregard for any sort of cleanliness and order when Phillip is at the house, and he gets away with it because Mom and I continue to pick up after him. Phillip is absolutely disgusting. Not once this weekend has he put a single plate in the dishwasher, thrown out his food scraps, or picked up his garbage off the kitchen counter. Phillip is so disrespectful. It boggles my mind as to how two children – raised under the same roof, and by the same parents – can have such different views and behaviors when it comes to proper living etiquette. Phillip is a fucking pig.

Following my usual clean-up of the kitchen, relaxing with some breakfast, and tending to Tabitha's never-ending needs, I did a lot of writing. I'll be honest. I didn't get as much done as I wanted to this weekend. Still, I'm still happy with what I pumped out. I really do love writing.

A few hours later, I left the house for some local errands and then returned to Casa Z. While unloading my groceries, Phillip walked into the kitchen. Knowing Mom and Dad were coming home tonight, I asked Phillip to make sure he emptied the dishwasher before they arrived. I'm not kidding, you'd have thought I had asked for one of his kidneys. Unbelievable. Phillip's reaction prompted me to text Mom, asking her to please not touch the dishwasher when she got home. I did this for two reasons:

1. To make sure Phillip actually did the job.

2. I wanted Mom to know that Phillip was being a little shit all weekend.

After I wrung Phillip out for not lifting a finger all weekend, we didn't speak for the rest of the night. It's important to note that this came after Phillip completely ignored the cat, and after I did his laundry. I'm over that kid. Seriously. Phillip has morphed into a complete brat recently. I have no interest in associating myself with him, or his selfish behavior anymore.

Who knew that moving home would be more about dealing with Phillip than it would be with Mom and Dad? Phillip is so self-entitled. It drives me insane. Am I jealous? Am I projecting? I have such high levels of guilt every time I am home, because I feel like I am taking advantage of Mom and Dad's generosity. I wonder if that thought has ever crossed Phillip's mind? I doubt it.

Despite those emotions, I would rather feel guilty than be completely blind to all that my parents provide for us. Phillip has no concept of how easy he has it. As much as I love and adore Mom, she's brought this upon herself in a way. Phillip knows that Mom will always be there to swoop in and clean up all of his messes. Oy.

I rounded out my day with a lengthy gym session. By the time I hobbled back to my room, Mom and Dad had returned home from Montreal. Dad was fast asleep, but Mom was still awake. We actually ended up having a longer than expected chat about The Plan. I think Mom finally gets it. I also think that Mom's understanding is due in part to me finally having an actual plan in mind. It's no longer just an idea. Although things are still being worked out, I have an outline of what I want and how I am going to go about doing things. As Mom said, there seems to be much more clarity in regard to what I want, which is going to help me move forward.

We talked about Vegas and my drinking, too. While it certainly wasn't the most pleasant conversation to have, I think we have to continue with that kind of open dialogue in order for me to get better. Ignoring the issue – as we have always done in the past – isn't going to solve anything. We need to confront this thing. Now that we are, I think I am improving.

I cried when Mom and I talked about my drinking. I thought about what happened to my mouth last month, and how that nightmare was the biggest wake-up call for me. It truly was. Every time I look in the mirror, I am reminded of the mistake I made. It still makes me sick to think about what I did to myself. My broken teeth remain my biggest cause for change.

I packed up the rest of my things, said goodbye to Mom, then hit the road. In true Sunday Blues fashion, I bawled my eyes out to Mariah Carey's "Hero" on the way downtown, releasing everything I had pent up inside of me. I've got to say, it's a great feeling to wake up on Saturday and Sunday mornings and feel happy, healthy, and light, without any trace of a hangover. I want to remember that feeling.

Back at the Witch Cave, I proceeded to unpack while eating more Crispers than any person should in one sitting – i.e., the entire bag. I also made my bed so that I could lie in it.

It's 2:34 a.m.

Here we go for another week. Let's do this thing.

I love my mom.

Sleep tight, squirrel friends.

Goodnight xo