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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November 7
I've been 26-years-old for five months now. This year needs to end.
A little excitement in your daily life is good, right? I mean, I wasn't exactly annoyed with the fact that my days used to be extremely uneventful. However, today was just too fucking much for me. I am longing for a day where nothing happens. No phone calls, no dinner plans, no ex-boyfriend texts, and no houses on fire. None of it. I want radio silence, and I want it now.
Where do we even begin with this fucking day?
For starters, I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I kept thinking about the Logan call. I just couldn't let it go. I had convinced myself that acknowledging the butt dial wasn't about me wanting to talk to Logan. On the contrary, it was about me wanting to fuck with his head. You know, make him sweat a bit. I'm sure Logan sweat enough when he heard his phone ringing, but I wanted to play a little game with him. I decided that I would message Logan in the morning, as though I had woken up to a missed call from him. To be fair, this would have been the case had I actually been asleep at the time.
Well, I followed through with my plan. By 10 a.m., it was all over.
Kurt: "You called?"
Logan: "Pocket dial, sorry about that. Hope you're doing well."
Kurt: "Thanks, same to you."
And that was it.
It took Logan a while to respond to my initial message, but that was the end of our "conversation." I thought about it after. Although I really have moved on from that situation, part of me – probably a bigger part than I am willing to admit to – still looks back on that relationship with a lot of sadness. I know that this whole thing today was some fucked up way of me trying to initiate a conversation again – hoping that maybe there was a sliver of compassion left in Logan, and that he hadn't completely shut me out. That perhaps I wasn't just a mistake in his life and, most recently, on his phone bill. Nevertheless, it's clear that's exactly what I am.
I think about what the end of my relationship with Logan represented. The feelings of depression, anxiety, and inadequacy that his ghosting sparked in my life. Going back to that time still hurts me. I know how much pain I was in every day. I truly believed that if Logan had given me a second chance, I could've proven that I was more than my insecurities. But, it was no use. Wishing and searching for that external validation was as futile as it was foolish. In the end, it just amounted to wasted time and emotions. Guys like Logan are never going to love me back.
Still, I falter. I want to be strong for myself. Prove that I can stand alone. Yet, there are recurring moments like these when I crumble and give in to my low self-esteem. I maintain the hope that someone might finally find value in me. But, here we are. Logan didn't message me back. So, let's pull up our big boy underwear, brush our fake teeth, slap on our witch ring, and move the fuck on.
