Today was kind of a brutal day for me. I feel really low again, to the point where I feel as though I’ve regressed back to the depression that I was experiencing during the spring.

We’ll start from the beginning of the day.

Despite getting a maximum of six hours of sleep each night – often less than that if I go to bed really, really late or wake up multiple times in the middle of the night – I’ve somehow been managing to wake up on time. For example, the night before my interview. I woke up in a panic, thinking I was going to be late. That was at 3 a.m., only an hour and a half after I went to bed. That was also the RX night.

Anyway, I woke up early today and did my thing. My mornings are absolutely exhausting. I have to wake up so early, because there’s so much to do before I leave for work.

Get up
Wash dishes
Prep my lunch
Clean the kitchen
Tidy the apartment to a respectable order
Attempt to exercise (which didn’t happen this morning)
Make my bed
Shower
Fix my face
Choose my outfit for the day
Choose my second outfit for the day for when I arrive at work drenched in sweat

After all of that is done, I leave my apartment, schlep to The Clubhouse, and immediately jump into things. Until I have a break at work, which is usually only around 11 a.m., I’ve already been working up a (literal) sweat for four hours or more. I’m tired just thinking about it.

Work was awful today. It was one of those days where all I could do was think about how much I wanted to quit. The main reason for that was because my shift started out on a bit of a sour note. Big Bird is insisting that I come in for a “mandatory” one-hour front desk meeting at 3 p.m. on Saturday. On what fucking planet is that normal? That is so disruptive to everyone’s day. My free time is so rare. I don’t want to come into work on the weekend for one fucking hour, only to be mansplained by Niall and patronized by Stella. No, thank you.

When I dropped my things off in my office before working at the front desk, I told Big Bird a lie about how I might not be able to make it to the meeting because of a “doctor’s appointment.” In reality, I don’t need to see Dr. Europia until December. Big Bird doesn’t know that, though. I told her that yesterday’s appointment was cancelled, but that there was the opportunity for a make-up appointment on Saturday. Big Bird wasn’t happy, and basically said that I needed to attend the meeting.

Obviously, my conversation with Big Bird didn’t go as planned. Basically, my plan now is to continue with my doctor’s appointment lie, but make it clear that, “I really intend on making it to the meeting.” Fuck that. I’m going to throw a baseball cap on as a disguise, and jump on the ferry to Hanlan’s Point for the day. I refuse to work on the weekends.

This brings me to my next note of the day – The Store. I’ve totally been avoiding the issue of my non-job with them. Technically, I’m still employed by The Store. I just haven’t worked since May, because of my foot. This afternoon, Alicia messaged me and asked how I was. She offered me an after-hours visual shift on Sunday night, and I agreed to work. I also said that I would call her this evening. I knew it was finally time to face the music.

As I tend to do while working at the front desk, I called Mom. I hate The Clubhouse so much. I needed a normal person to talk to, and Mom is always my voice of reason. We talked about my situation with The Store. Basically, it doesn’t seem like a practical decision for me to continue employment with them. This is one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make. That’s why I’ve been avoiding it so much. I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t want to do it.

My day at The Clubhouse was nothing more than a confirmation that I’m really not happy there. To be honest, I think it’s the desk shifts. I don’t mind working in my office, but I hate the front desk with a passion. Everything about it. The co-workers, the entitled members who are all complete assholes, and the meaningless work I do. It all feels so degrading. I don’t want any part of it anymore. All of that being said, if you think I’m going to take precious time out of my weekend to attend a meeting about that goddamn desk, you are out of your fucking tree.

The phone was ringing all day, the A/C was broken, and I just didn’t give a fuck anymore. In my heart, I feel as though I am destined for bigger and better things. But, I get anxious about it. Not only do I not know where to begin on that path to “greatness,” but I don’t even know what that “greatness” would entail.

I left work at 6 p.m., walked halfway home, and then took the subway the rest of the way. While on the subway, I was thinking about what I am good at. I actually made a decent list. One thing I have that nobody else does is my personality. Well, duh. It’s mine. What I’m trying to say, is that I am an extremely unique individual with an interesting view on life and a plethora of experiences that I feel would be worth sharing. Not just for entertainment value, but perhaps for educational purposes.

I’m not book-smart. I’m only somewhat street-smart. However, I am Kurt. I’m a good-looking guy with a lot to say. If I could just figure out how and where to say those things, I really think I could succeed in finding my happiness.

I don’t want to work for someone. I suppose I could see myself working for someone, but the job would need to have a creative outlet. This Clubhouse job is a fucking nightmare. The only reason I’m sticking around is because I love money. There, I said it. It feels so fucking good to not worry about rent, or see something I love in a store and not hesitate to purchase it. Financial security is an amazing feeling, and this job gives that to me. I’m paying for that security in other ways, though. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last. I feel like I’ve been working at The Clubhouse for five years, and it’s been just over two months. Fuck.

When I got home, I threw some dinner in the oven and called Alicia. We had a relatively long conversation and talked things out. Alicia understands that I don’t want to leave, but that it also doesn’t make a ton of sense for me to stay. I wasn’t expecting this, but as soon as I started explaining my reasoning, my hesitation, and my feelings about quitting, I started crying. I had to keep it together enough to be able to speak, but if I had really let my emotions out, it would have been an ugly cry.

This whole thing with The Store seems so stupid. I can vividly remember myself wanting to quit during every shift I had with them before my surgery. I hated it. I was in a foul mood every time I walked through the door, and I was becoming a complete monster. Actually, that’s what happened last December. I literally had to remove myself from The Store because I was screaming at people.

Yet, here I am. Crying to Alicia about how hard this decision is for me. As much as I’ve had my “moments” with them, The Store has always been a huge part of my life. I’ve been with The Store since I was 18. I stayed with them through university, Florida summers, travels, other jobs, and they’ve always been there.

I feel like I am leaving a huge part of my life behind. That a chapter which encompasses a third of my life is now coming to a close, and it’s breaking my heart. However, as I was talking to Mom earlier today, I realized that maybe this upcoming Sunday shift and the text from Alicia was a sign for me. I wanted to work at The Store one last time before I left. Now, here’s my opportunity. Fuck. Even writing all of this out, I’m starting to cry.

You know, as bad as The Store was at times, that job saw me through so many changes and tough times in my life. Now, I’m leaving it all behind. I’m giving up what feels like a part of my childhood. I’m leaving so many friends and memories behind. Alicia is like a second mom to me. So, yeah. I saw this as a sign. It’s really the only weekend over the next two months that I would be available to work for them anyway. Something about it just seemed right.

When I talked to Alicia, I asked her if I could come in early and work on the sales floor for part of my shift. It’s really important for me to have that closure. I want to devote the whole day to The Store. Fuck. I’m such a mess right now. I can only imagine what it’s going to be like on Sunday.

I know that I have to do this, but it’s harder than I ever imagined it would be. I have quit that fucking store so many times in my head. Always out of anger, always dramatic, and now here I am crying about it and not wanting to let it go. I think it’s the right move, though. Alicia said that should I ever decide I want to return, the door will always be open. We said goodbye, and I sat and cried for a little bit after the call.

I’m feeling extremely overwhelmed again. I looked at the clock after dinner and it was 8:30 p.m., which made me jump out of bed and get ready for the gym. I don’t know what’s up with me today. I think the unsettling feeling of my current job, mixed with whatever the fuck happened with RX, plus this The Store stuff – it’s all getting to me.

I took a Xanax before I left for the gym. I felt like I was on the verge of a very big panic attack. Drugs scare me a little bit. Sometimes, I think they are a placebo effect. Like, how much is a drug really working? I’m not talking about the Xanax. I can feel that working when I take it.

In this case, I’m talking about my anti-depressant. When I was taking my Lexapro, I didn’t really feel like it was working all that much. Now, coincidentally a week after I stopped taking the stuff, I feel like I am reverting back to the way I was feeling a few months ago. Is there a connection? Were the pills helping, or was it just the idea of being on them that helped me? Or perhaps it’s the idea that things must get worse now that I’ve stopped taking them? I don’t know. I also just like saying “placebo effect,” because it makes me feel smart. That being said, I also called the “close door” button in an elevator a placebo effect today, so who knows what the fuck I’m going on about anymore.

I did my thing at the gym, which was surprisingly a full workout. My feet were hurting, though. Lordt knows I don’t want to fuck them up again.

Sauna, shower, subway, home, and jump into bed. It’s now after 1 a.m., because I’ve been writing this thing for so long. I need to masturbate, though. I absolutely have to. Today was the first time in a while where I felt aroused during the day. That’s a very good sign.

It’s funny. When I was younger, all I wanted was to be famous. I didn’t care how or why. I just wanted to be one of those celebrities who had fuck loads of money, shopped all day, and was in magazines. I wanted everyone to know my name.

Now, I don’t care as much about fame. That doesn’t drive me like it used to. Mind you, I’m also not 12-years-old and going to bed every night wishing that I would wake up as Hilary Duff. These days, when I think about what I want – which I am still very confused about, by the way – it’s more to do with a personal sense of happiness and accomplishment.

I want to contribute something to society that positively affects someone. I want to let even just one person know that whatever they are feeling – happiness, sadness, horniness, or the Sunday Blues – they aren’t alone. I’ll never forget learning this on my first Florida summer program while living with French, Vietnamese, and American roommates: we aren’t that different from one another. Despite our physical, geographical, and cultural differences, we all share similar experiences and emotions.

I don’t care about the notoriety that any work might bring. I want to put something into the world that I am so incredibly proud of that no matter what someone says about it, nothing will matter. That’s where my happiness is. That’s where my success is.

Before I quit The Clubhouse, I want to use their printers to print five books – each containing 365 (or 366) days of journal entries. We’ll just add the paper and printer ink to my “benefits plan.” Note to self: get more Kleenex, too.

Goodnight xo