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 15
All I want to do is listen to Whitney Houston up-tempo tracks, and be a drag queen while wearing some sort of flowy robe. Is that so much to ask for? Those are my thoughts for today.
Despite the gluttonous act of eating an entire box of boneless chicken wings (read: chicken nuggets) last night, the bloat wasn't all that bad this morning. Did you know that after all of my Halloween starvation shit, I never saw the scale dip below 184 pounds? Even worse, after all of my stomach issues the following week, I had basically returned to 190 pounds. Well, on Sunday morning when I weighed myself after going out and drinking all night – along with eating a box of those same chicken nuggets earlier in the day – I clocked in at 185 pounds.
What kind of fuckery is this? It makes absolutely no sense. How can I remain at the same weight while eating nothing but raw vegetables and lemon water for a week, then lose weight after binge eating and drinking all weekend? It fucking pisses me off. I work my ass off at the gym, and there's no reward. Meanwhile, there are guys who do nothing and have bodies from the gods. Do you know how much fucking time I would have on my hands if I didn't need to exercise? How many things I could do? I hate this so much.
Anyway. Moving on.
With a manageable bloat, I opted for one of my skinnier outfits this morning. After strutting my way through the subway system in platform shoes and palazzo pants, I arrived at The Clubhouse for 9 a.m. Much to my surprise, there was a familiar face in one of the event spaces – the guy from New York City who had been at the club a few months ago for the same function. Finally, some excitement. I never had the chance to talk to him, but caught his gaze a few times. In other words, I know he's aware of me. For better, or for worse.
Work is getting to a point where I cannot stand Big Bird. I mean, I've never truly enjoyed her, but lately, even the sound of her voice makes me cringe. I started on some of the tasks Big Bird re-wrote into my job description today. Fortunately, she was out of our office for about 75% of the day, which meant I could nap and listen to Whitney Houston in peace. I left right at 5 p.m.
The gym has been absolutely insane the last two days. It makes me so uncomfortable. Even the TV room was occupied today, which meant I had to do my floor exercises in full view of everyone else. Quelle drag! After doing my thing, using the sauna and shower – no sight of Leonardo, by the way – I packed it in and headed home.
Sometimes, I like to walk through the mall en route to the Witch Cave. Inject a little human contact into my night, you know? I caught the subway at Dundas Station to take me the rest of the way north. It's kind of annoying. Yonge and Dundas is the one part of the city I really don't care for. Due to its location, it also seems to be the only part that I ever visit.
I want to do more in this city, but I find it difficult. Especially eating out. When I walk by restaurants and see happy couples and friends eating out together, I find myself somewhat jealous. I want to be like that, but there are two big things that hold me back. I don't even know if I can say one is bigger than the other. They're essentially equal.
First, I don't have enough money to eat out all the time. Hmm. Wait a minute. Perhaps I should re-phrase it as, "I am not willing to alter my budget to eat out all the time." Listen. If I didn't travel or buy new clothes all the time, I could eat out three times a day. But, that's not the case. Why? Because of reason number two.
I can't justify spending money on meals I'm going to regret eating. The guilt I experience after a restaurant meal bothers me to the point where I would rather just not eat out at all. I'm not going to visit a restaurant and order a fucking salad. Even I'm not that much of an asshole. When I go out, I eat what I want. Then, I go home and regret it. That's how it's always been.
Vacations are usually a different thing. I'm in a different headspace. Bring on the chicken fingers and fries! Still, I've definitely found myself in a bad mood after eating too much at a restaurant. In the past, I used to throw up everything when I felt completely overwhelmed by the idea that what I had just consumed would make me gain weight. If that's how I'm going to leave a restaurant, why bother going in the first place? It's a waste of both my money and emotions. All of that being said, I do wish I were different when it came to that stuff. Oh, well.
Back at the Witch Cave, I unpacked my things, made some fat-free chocolate pudding, and ate a couple of rice cakes. Guess what? No regrets.
Not that I want to continue this cycle – I think talking about him before bed places him into my subconscious' playlist – but I had a dream about RX last night. It was really vivid. I don't remember all of the details, but I found out that RX had a new boyfriend. I was absolutely crushed. If you need a reference point, imagine Ariel seeing Prince Eric with Vanessa the Sea Witch. Yes. It was as bad and dramatic as that.
Last night's dream sequence was likely brought to mind, because I was thinking of inviting RX to the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them screening on Wednesday. Dad gave me free tickets the other day, and I know how much RX loves anything Harry Potter. For obvious reasons, I invited Phillip first. When he said yes, I kind of sighed. I was hoping that I might have been able to take RX instead. Then, I thought about it some more. I quickly realized how foolish that would be. How pathetic of me, right? As if I haven't already made enough of an effort with RX, now here we are a full year after last November's Good Dinosaur evening – the same night that sent me home crying.
Why am I still pushing for RX when there is no reciprocation? The guy's bi-monthly drop-in to remind me that he still thinks of me is a mind fuck. As much as I would like to believe that RX is purposely tormenting me, I have a feeling that he probably doesn't know how I feel. But, come on! My blatant attempts at rekindling something between us are almost embarrassing. RX has got to know on some level, right? At this point, it's ridiculous.
I'm happy that I am going to Fantastic Beasts with Phillip. I need to stop wasting so much energy on things that contribute so negatively to my mental health and well-being. It's all so self-sabotaging. Just like over-eating when I have a stomachache, drinking when I'm trying to lose weight, or getting high when I'm trying to write. Do I like to see myself fail? Do I enjoy my permanent placement in this struggle? I don't think I do, but my actions always seem to argue otherwise.
