I woke up at 7 a.m. this morning. I couldn’t fall back to sleep for a while, because it was so uncomfortable to sleep on my face. I also couldn’t move the entire right side of my chest. I don’t know if it’s because of my fall on Friday, or from the nude chicken fighting at the beach yesterday, but we’ll just add it to my never-ending list of injuries.

Eventually, I fell asleep again and woke back up around 11 a.m. Naturally, because I had people over last night, there were 1,000 dishes to wash, so that took up the better part of my morning. I cleaned my apartment, my face, and my lotion soaked ass, then packed a bag for the day and met up with Dan. As always seems to be the case with Dan, we went on a pilgrimage to Trinity Bellwoods Park.

Leaving the Witch Cave this morning, all of Church Street was absolutely psychotic. I don’t know what the fuck was going on. It was like the heat had just gotten to everyone, and they had completely lost it. One guy was literally speaking in tongues outside of the pharmacy, and another sounded like Anna Farris in The House Bunny when she’s trying to remember names. I’ve had it with this neighborhood. Officially.

I stopped at Tim Horton’s to pick up something to eat. I suppose one might call it a hangover, but today just felt generally awful. My entire body hurt. I was also struck by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Maybe it was because I didn’t have any fucking teeth.

After multiple stops along the way, Dan and I got Chippy’s and then settled into a shady spot at Trinity Bellwoods for a couple of hours and listened to music. We were both completely wrecked. Even now, I can barely move my body. Everything hurts so much. On top of my horrible chest pain, I also can’t believe I had drunk/toothless sex with Spencer last night. Although, to be honest, at this point that is the least of my concerns. What a fucking disaster. There’s no other way to describe it. My throat also kills. It’s like I thrive on self-destructive behavior.

Speaking of which, as Dan and I were wrapping up in the park, RX responded to my earlier invitation to join us for the afternoon. See what I mean by self-destructive behavior? I think a part of my message to RX was me wanting to follow through on what I had told him earlier in the week. I didn’t want to say all of those things – just like every time before – and then have our relationship fade away again. For fuck’s sake, I said I loved the guy. I invited RX to the beach yesterday and he couldn’t come, so I thought I would give today a shot, too. I wanted to show that I wasn’t just saying those things for the sake of it.

Dan decided that he didn’t want to be around for a reunion with my ex-boyfriend and swiftly left the park, which was perfect for me. RX arrived soon after Dan hobbled away, and we stayed and talked in the park until almost 8 p.m.

Our meeting in Trinity Bellwoods was so weird. In a good way. Just the two of us, talking about random things. The encounter made me realize that RX hadn’t changed at all. Well, not drastically I mean. We’ve both changed. Obviously, that’s going to happen with age. However, it wasn’t to the point where RX was this distant memory that I had kept alive and preserved in my head. RX was still RX.

Why do I always go back to him, though? That’s what I can’t figure out. Is it because I still love RX? Is it because he’s familiar? It’s as though every time something in my life goes wrong, RX is the first person I want beside me to make it better. Well, after my mom that is. There’s something so comforting about being with RX. Although a part of me still thinks he doesn’t ask the right questions and try to get to know me – which I’ve always thought, even when we were dating – he still knows so much about me. RX knows the old Kurt, and that means a lot. We were fucking 20 when we met, for God’s sake. That’s insane. Like, 100 years ago.

RX was much more talkative than usual this evening. Now that I think about it, our “date” in November was somewhat foolish. We only talked at dinner, and then sat silently in a movie theater for two hours before we parted ways at the subway and I went home alone and cried in my car. Before November, it had always been a similar situation, too. We’d meet quickly for food or whatever, and then go our separate ways. This time, it was just the two of us. No distractions, no movie to watch, and no restaurant full of disruptive servers. It was so nice.

We walked home together and parted ways at Bay Street and Dundas Street West. RX lives only a couple of blocks away from me now. When we were splitting up at the intersection, I could tell RX wanted to say something, but then he stopped and we hugged goodbye. I ended up going to the drug store to stock up on first aid supplies for my face, and also pick up some groceries for the coming week. Once I was back at the Witch Cave, RX messaged me to make sure I’d arrived home safely. That was very considerate of him. I’m so glad I saw RX today. Our time in the park was the best interaction and meeting I’ve had with RX since we broke up – four fucking years ago. Maybe this could be more hopeful than I thought? We’ll see.

Once I was home, reality hit me like a hard bitch slap to the face. What has my life become? When did I become so self-destructive? I inspected my teeth again, tended to my cuts and scabs, and began to break down.

Sunday Blues is a total understatement. I’ve never felt this low before. I am so disgusted with myself. Disappointed would be a complete understatement, too.

As the night winded down, I thought more and more about everything that had happened this weekend. I couldn’t help but begin to cry. I messaged Mom and told her that I was feeling low, which prompted her to call me. Considering she already thinks I’m suicidal, this didn’t come as much of a surprise.

I cried even more while on the phone with Mom. A complete and utter breakdown. It wasn’t just about the face. Obviously, that’s what sparked all of this. However, the events of Friday night are just another issue on top of so many others. My life feels completely out of control.

Where am I headed? I have no direction. I have such a problem with myself, and it’s at the point where I don’t know how to fix things. I’ve always been of the mindset that it’s just a phase.

“I had a bad bender, but that’s okay. I’ll get better!”

No. I keep telling myself that everything will improve. That I just have to learn from my mistakes, and move forward. How many times have I said that? Every fucking time. I constantly do the same horrible things to myself and my body, and now the speeding car that I’ve been in this whole time has finally crashed. I am truly at a loss for words.

I look at my face in the mirror, and I see someone who is so deeply troubled. I don’t know how I am going to crawl out of the hole this time. I feel horrible. I look at my reflection, and what goes on in my head doesn’t match up with what I see in the mirror. I’m not looking at myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I want, or why I act the way I do. It scares me to think that maybe this is me. Is this the person that I’ve become, and I just can’t see it? Am I so deep in denial that I can’t see that?

Talking to Mom on the phone made me feel better, but only after I let everything out. I cried about everything. I even admitted to having been on and off an anti-depressant. Mom said that she had a feeling I was on pills. Now, I’m questioning if I was ready to stop taking my medication. This weekend was such a step backwards for me. Just when I thought I was moving forward, it’s like everything has completely fallen apart. I am missing my fucking teeth. My fucking teeth. I still cannot believe this.

What’s worse is that all of this is completely self-inflicted – as are all of my other wounds. Even when it comes to work, relationships, and basically any other fucking problem in my life – it’s all me. Stop fucking blaming people for your issues, Kurt. It’s you. You are a complete disaster in every sense of the word. You’re not waking up and facing the facts.

How do I know this? Because these journal entries are always the same. I get fucked up, I’ll piss off friends, maybe even piss my pants, fuck up my face, and get high and eat everything in sight until I pass out into a food coma. When that’s over, I’ll pull myself together, say I want to do better, and then a month or less will pass by and I’m writing the same fucking journal entry all over again.

As bad as everything before this weekend has been, I think this might be my lowest point. And that is coming from someone who has woken up in a hospital after being found passed out in a gutter in downtown Orlando, Florida. I am my worst self so often that I think I’ve begun to lose sight of my best self and positive qualities. I feel sorry for myself all the time. I’m disappointed in how my life is turning out, and I’m only 26.

Completely drained, I got ready for bed and shut down for the night. I feel horrible. I am so sad. I am so unhappy. I don’t know what to do anymore. I want to get better.

Goodnight xo