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

December 19

December 19

It's Monday.

I woke up in that all-too-familiar hangover haze at the ungodly hour of 7:30 a.m. That's when everything about yesterday hit me.

Greg was asleep. Michelle was in the shower. I was sitting upright on the couch, having a full-blown anxiety attack and wanting to cry about everything that I did yesterday. I couldn't fall back asleep. I was frozen on the edge of the couch, taking deep breaths to calm myself down.

I wish this situation wasn't so familiar to me. I stopped carrying my Xanax around a while ago. If I had it in my bag this morning, I would have emptied the whole damn bottle. This was bad. I felt like shit. I felt horrible. As though I had just taken a huge step backwards in my progress – because I had. I was completely out of control yesterday. Not only that, but I made such an ass out of myself in front of so many people.



Greg and Michelle left for work together. Once I had the apartment to myself, things weren't much better. I was freaking out. Still on the verge of crying pon de couch, I went into the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up. I couldn't. I was so – empty. I couldn't even remember how I got to Greg's last night. I completely blacked out after brunch. God. Kevin must think I am such a disaster all the time. Fuck. Well, aren't I? Kevin wouldn't exactly be wrong in that assumption.

I took my time getting myself together this morning. Organizing my suitcase as best I could, I began to come back to life. At least, temporarily. Even though I didn't throw up anything, there's something about the act of heaving into a toilet that purges you mentally as well. Vomiting is such a last resort in the recovery process. When it happens, it's like, "Okay. We just threw up. I guess we have nowhere to go but up from here." I listened to Mariah Carey, watched my videos from Saturday night's show, and regained some of my spirit. Thank you, Mimi.

In an attempt to piece together what the fuck happened to me between the time brunch ended and when I got to Greg's place in Brooklyn, I began scrolling through my phone. I went through my recent calls list. I noticed that I'd had a FaceTime call with Natasha. Until that point, I didn't remember calling her. I also went through my Instagram posts. Although I got a better sense of where I was at different times, there was still a major chunk missing from my day.

I spoke to Kevin. While he agreed that I was a mess, he didn't seem angry. Bonus. I don't want to lose that connection. Fortunately, I feel as though Kevin is always on the cusp of my disasters. As in, he gets me going and then one of us is removed from the situation before I reach peak messiness. Exhibit A? Fire Island.

Around 8 a.m., I touched base with Aaron.

Kurt: "I was blackout drunk yesterday lol. I don't know if that's a lol actually. But, I don't remember taking my suitcase from your apartment. That's how fucked up I was."

I didn't get a response. Not a good sign. At noon, I sent a second message.

Kurt: "I love you SO much, and thank you again and again and again for letting me stay with you. And Sonny, too! Thank you both xoxo you're a wonderful friend and I love ya much."

Aaron took the bait.

Aaron: "I love you too!!!!! Any time."

Okay. I guess we are in the clear.

As if today wasn't enough of a mess already, I began talking with RX. Yeah. I know. RX had liked a Mariah Carey video I'd posted to my Instagram this morning, which basically meant that hell had frozen over. Why was the world fucking with me today?

Around 2 p.m., I finally ventured out of Greg's apartment. The fresh air helped. I also noticed while getting dressed that I'm skinnier than I've been in a long time. This is likely due to the complete dehydration and emptiness of my stomach, dignity, and moral values combined.

As I was walking outside, I began to feel better. The disaster of yesterday started to morph from complete tragedy, to a funny story. I mean, I hadn't done anything particularly horrible. None of my friends seemed to be pissed. I guess I was off the hook. That certainly makes the recovery process easier.

Greg had suggested I check out his neighborhood and perhaps cross the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. So, that's exactly what I did. With a cute outfit on – the same one I wore yesterday, actually – and Christmas Mariah blasting in my ears, I was in a pretty damn good mood for someone who had woken up on a futon on the verge of tears.

I had set my sights on the Upper West Side Shake Shack. It shouldn't take a Harvard-level psychiatrist to figure out exactly why I picked that location, but it is what it is. I mean, part of that decision was because I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with any sort of Times Square crowd. Of course, there's also a certain level of nostalgia for me on the Upper West Side. In true Kurt fashion, I began to have another panic attack after I finished my meal. Great. Just great.

After contemplating yet another melancholic walk through Central Park, I decided it was too fucking freezing to embark on my New York City hangover tradition. Talking to some guys on Grindr – remember, I can use my phone now – I secured some semi-promising connections in the area. On that note, I settled into a café for a few hours. And by café, I mean the closest Barnes & Noble. It was too cold for anything further.

Trying to stay calm and warm, I ended up squatting in a corner while reading a Kathy Griffin book for far too long. Apparently, this was everyone else's idea as well. I'm not joking. There were children literally sleeping in every nook and cranny of Barnes & Noble. The only place for me to sit was on the floor of the Self-Help section. How fitting.

To be clear, I was looking for dinner on Grindr. Not sex. Once it became clear that neither were going to happen tonight, I packed up my stuff and walked back and forth in front of He Who Must Not Be Named's apartment to see if I could find him on Grindr. Yeah. That happened. The whole thing was truly a mess. I am embarrassed. Not at all surprised – just embarrassed. Really, the only good thing to come from today was that my Lord of the Rings article was posted on Amphitheatre Entertainment's website. So, I guess there's that.

Because I hadn't ruined my body enough, I wanted Shake Shack again. I definitely needed to get the hell away from the Upper West Side, though. After schlepping down to Union Square, I realized that a meal at Shake Shack would leave me eating outside. Not going to happen. Instead, I settled for a chicken place across the park. I sat down, ate way too much food, and then headed back to Greg's, where I settled in for the night. That is, after I picked up more food at Trader Joe's. We watched TV and talked while Greg and Michelle made me laugh my ass off.

Honestly, nothing is better than someone who can make you laugh. That's all I want to find in my life. That's all I want to give from mine, too.

It's 1 a.m. I'm finally back to life. I still feel like garbage, though. This morning was so horrible for me. My actions make me want to crawl into the hole again. Fortunately, there's one above the toilet in Greg's apartment.

Well, I guess tomorrow is a new day.

Goodnight xo