Before I even got out of bed this morning, I had received an unapologetic, yet seemingly self-aware text message from Stefan.
Stefan: “Lol 🙈 how’s it going?”
I didn’t respond, nor will I. What an idiot.
Still unsure as to why Stefan would have sent last night’s messages in the first place, I asked the 4 Single Girls what they thought. Everyone agreed that the texts were both weird and rude. Sorry, Stefan. That’s not going to cut it. So, you’re cut.
Although I never acknowledged Stefan’s follow-up message this morning, he likely knows that I saw it. As I noticed this afternoon, Stefan had liked some of my recent Facebook activity. What a fucking moron. Stefan is 29. It just goes to show that even if they’re older than you, they’re not necessarily wiser. I’d use my standard “NEXT!” line, but I’m happy that this is the last of my love interests for now.
I attempted to write my official resignation letter for The Store this afternoon, but ran out of time. The thing is turning into more of a story than a resignation letter, but that’s fine. I want my final words to be meaningful, and representative of my time with the company. After spending almost a decade working for The Store, I’m not just going to punch out a few sentences and call it a day. As much as I may have hated my job at times, working for The Store was always a dream of mine. The last eight years have provided me with so many amazing opportunities, and introduced me to some incredible friends and mentors.
Although I couldn’t finish my letter, I still managed to get to the mall for my hair appointment on time. I’m feeling better these days, which naturally means that the desire to shave my head has subsided. That’s always a good thing. While Kris was giving me a new head of highlights, I gave him the full rundown of my New York City trip.
The more I tell my Fire Island story, the more I realize how truly ridiculous it is. Funny how time can change your perspective on things. While I do think the saga is outrageously humorous in its own way, there’s still a part of it that hurts me deeply. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way I felt during that whole experience. Fire Island was another layer of sediment, underneath the rock bottom that I thought I’d already hit.
I ended up talking with Lauryn tonight. Well, it was mostly Lauryn talking and me responding with a single message every time she finished sending 15 texts in a row. Lauryn was saying that, although New York City was a painful experience for me, those are the moments that produce some of our best stories. Lauryn was right.
Who the fuck would want to read about me going to New York City and having a wonderful, vanilla vacation as I visited Macy’s and ate Pinkberry? Aside from my mother, that is. Drama and emotional upset produce the story, but that’s only clear once you have passed through the trauma itself. When I was calling Mom from the Hyatt Grand Central Station and crying to her that I needed help, the last thing I was thinking about was how good of a “story” my situation would turn out to be.
Freshly cut and colored, I visited The Store while still in the mall. Alicia freaked out when she saw me, dropping a very loud F-bomb as I came around the corner of the back room. In the four years I’ve known her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Alicia say the word “fuck” before. I was slightly taken aback. Also to my surprise, I then learned that Alicia hadn’t officially processed my departure, as she’s been waiting on my letter of resignation. Whoopsie! I had no idea.
After Alicia and I caught up for a bit, I talked with Cheryl while she was on her break. With this new information about still being employed with The Store, I thought about perhaps staying on – for about 30 seconds. While talking things out with Cheryl, I realized that I had already made my decision. I was ready to leave.
My biggest problem with leaving The Store is that I will really miss the people. However, when it comes to the job itself, I can’t continue working for them. I don’t enjoy the work anymore. Moving forward with something new is what really needs to happen in my life, not regressing back to a job because I like my co-workers. Although there’s barely any of the original team left, those women are like second, third, and fourth mothers to me. Despite our occasional squabbles – as all sons have with their mothers – I really value those relationships.
Cheryl told me that I have to follow my heart and find my happiness. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll touch base with Alicia this coming week to sort things out. I gave both ladies a big hug goodbye. I also told them that I want a proper farewell dinner with everyone I worked with. I went to all of their fucking goodbye parties. As the last man standing, I demand that they all attend mine. To ensure a proper guest list, I’ll take care of the planning. We will do it up at Jack Astor’s next month, which I’m looking forward to. It’s been four years. Holy fuck.
I went home, had some lunch, watched TV, and did some writing. I ate way too much today, and felt like garbage for the better part of the evening. I’m not losing weight like I want to, and it’s bothering me.
Bored in my room tonight, I tried on my Xtina Halloween costume from last year. The leather chaps were so tight because of how thick my waist and legs have gotten, I could barely get them on. I’d call it a rude awakening, but I am well aware of how chunky I’ve become in recent months. I can’t seem to stop eating, though. I’m not sure if it’s out of boredom, stress, or just as a way to keep my mouth occupied. I’m trying, but it’s so hard.
I did my thing in the gym from 9 p.m. to midnight. Even after a successful routine, I went upstairs and chowed down on two bowls of cereal. Later, while spreading myself out in the sauna, an overwhelming sense of guilt began to wash over me. What the fuck, Kurt? You just spent three hours busting your ass, and now you’ve literally just erased all of the hard work you put in. It’s so self-sabotaging. It’s as though my main unconscious thrill in life is to engage in self-destructive behavior.
I started to panic. I told myself not to worry about it. It didn’t work. I sat myself up on the sauna bench, leaned over, and watched the cereal leave my mouth. Unsatisfied with the amount, I kneeled down on the stone floor and put my fingers down my throat. Once again, I watched everything come out and wash down the drain. I continued to repeat the same cycle multiple times.
There’s something so indescribable about making yourself sick like that. On the one hand, it’s extremely depressing. It’s me reaching a point where I have lost all self-control. I’ve lost control of my eating habits, which is why I consumed so much in the first place. I’ve also lost any remnants of my dignity, which is why I am now hunched over in a shower and watching clumps of a cereal/milk mixture gather around the drain.
Despite all of that – the depressing realization, the stomach acid burning the back of my throat, the tears streaming from my eyes, and the traces of vomit that have travelled up my nose – it’s a relief. I felt better after I threw up, and that’s what scares me. I don’t want to go back to those habits. Sometimes, like tonight, I feel as though I have no other choice. Despite my vomiting being a result of a lack of self-control, there’s something about it that gives me control. It’s almost like a form of punishment.
I finished up in the sauna, looked at my naked body in the mirror, and felt a bit better about myself. Afterwards, I returned to my room and got ready for bed. I ended up lying on my covers for about an hour, silently staring at the ceiling and thinking about my life.
I looked around my room.
I realized that my bedroom here at Casa Z is the same size as my apartment. It made me depressed.
I looked at photo frames from my Florida days, and felt sad that those memories have faded so far into the past.
I thought about high school, and how I always felt like the golden child. The one with perfect grades, who stayed out of trouble, and who had such a clear idea of what he wanted to do and who he wanted to be.
It made me sad to realize how far I’ve drifted from the Kurt I used to be.
Where did things go so wrong? When did they get so bad? I can’t remember being this unhappy, anxious, or unsure of anything in my life. At least, not to the extreme that I feel those things today. I can’t stand not knowing what I want. Thinking about all of the uncertainty that exists in the present and lies ahead makes me cringe. I don’t see anything positive in my future. As much as I want to believe that I’ll always have this undying hope inside of me, I think about my future and wonder if I will ever find something that fulfills me. I’ve given up on the idea of finding someone to fulfill me right now, because I know that’s not what I need. Instead, I need to find that passion and fulfillment within myself. I’m scared.
Being at Casa Z this weekend, I know that I want to move back here. I am ready to leave the city. I want to get back to the person that I dreamed of being, and find the happiness that I’ve always wanted but have never been able to achieve. I think I’m ready for it now.
A part of me is unsure of this “master plan” that I’ve implanted into my brain. Perhaps that’s a good thing, though. It doesn’t feel like a moment of nervous uncertainty. If anything, it’s exciting. I feel like that kid in Inside Out who’s lost her Joy, and I want to find her/it. Maybe I should watch that movie tomorrow. Maybe I should go to bed right now. Actually, that’s probably a really good idea. Right after a session with my hand.
Goodnight xo