Over the past six years, I started each of my days in the same way. After a long battle against waking, I hardly open my eyes, and I repeat the words: "I would not smoke seal this morning. "Then I try to autoconvaincre me that I will spend the day writing, rather than succumb to my cannabinoid impulses.
As I drag myself out of bed, I continue to repeat this mantra until I arrived in front of the Ikea shelf where my most prized possessions are. A medallion of black and gold wizard that belonged to my grandmother is hanging there. At the top of the shelf sits a small decorative elephant offered by Ashley, my best friend. This elephant is provided with a secret compartment, and inside, there is a red jade stone. According to Ashley, the red jade would have the power to fight the hesitation and fear. It was on this same shelf rests my pipe in navy blue glass. While the last words of my mantra escape from my lips, I grabbed the pipe and I filled the grass, before smoking promising me that this will be the last.
That was about six years I smoked on waking. I smoke weed every day for ten years. I started 16 years - and I'll be 27 in a few weeks.
When I get the chance, I smoke at least three times a day: once in the morning, another in the afternoon - and countless evening seals depending on the material I have. I smoke to get the most troublesome times in my day, like preparing my breakfast, my shower, my races and my journey to work.
Sometimes I feel not at all be smashed - I'm just in a different state of mind. While I'm not the most productive person who is, I am what is called a functional pothead : even stoned, I can easily read, write, drive, do housework and have a conversation. Let's say I often prefer not to embarrass myself these activities. Despite my many mantras, I spent many afternoons stoned - and my work has undeniably suffered. For me, a productive day is to send a few emails, work a few hours on my job to part-time layabout, and write for two to three hours. But too often, instead of writing, I end up smoking and laughing stupidly in front of the Pornhub videos while eating an indecent amount of cheese and chips. Then I realize it's already Friday, and I obviously deserves a break after my week of hard work. I tell myself that it's OK: my life is not really depressing. I have a master, regular rods, a job, a sexual partner, friends and a very well located apartment. I (sometimes) my dishes. I reassure myself by saying that, obviously, I'm not a drug addict. In high school I took an optional psychology. I wrote a report that was to explain if the weed was addictive or not. My goal was to highlight some scientific data that refuted the idea that the weed can ruin my intelligence and turn me into a vegetable. I found exactly what I wanted: there is no physical addiction to weed - only psychological dependence.care centers like Toronto say the herb can cause motivation problems and, for those who stop, loss of appetite, anxiety and other side effects. I always made a point of honor to refute these arguments. I thought weed was like a drug, and I could not be dependent . Then later, I wondered why a plant that men consume since for thousands of years she could control my actions? Now I can admit that I have been psychologically addicted to the weed for ten years. I smoke when I need to eat, to sleep, to relax, to calm down, to have fun, to forget a bad experience, to masturbate, to shop, to watch tv or to create anything whatsoever.Smoking numb my pain, helps me forget my problems and offer a whole new dimension to the songs of Sublime. In recent years, the negative effects of the weed began to override the positives. I gradually realized that my memory was beginning to fail me. When I'm high, I often full of good ideas (I know all potheads say, but it's true ) - but of course these ideas evaporate as quickly as they appeared. I could not spell anything. I was not too keen of mind that I seemed to have been. I was paranoid and nervous at will. My attention span numbered a mere thirty seconds. My friends started to suffer a certain characteristic of addiction. I regularly made false shots because I was too stoned out of my home. People I used to see stopped sending me messages, probably because they were fed up I am still late (and also because I never remembered the stories they me told). I always watched my weight and my diet, but I was becoming big and poor dint of stuffing my takeaway before Netflix. Over the past three years, I began to see my lies confused with apologies. I misled in spite of myself. But the beginning of the end of my voluntary servitude came six months ago, while I was visiting my grandmother. I smoked while she slept. "I know very well recognize the smell of weed," me-she said the next day. " Look at you.You can not even hold you to your schedule. We need you to put some order in your life."Naturally, I first thought it was boring and that she should stop meddling in what was not looking. That's the way I've always done when someone suggested me to stop. But a month ago, the day of the equinox, I decided that I was finally ready to find out what would happen if I stopped. My last reserves ran out, and I did not call anybody. Lots of reasons why people stop. I was sick of my paranoia and my anxieties, my lack of productivity and my laziness. I have long been afraid to stop because I was worried about not knowing what to do with myself, but it was time.
So, how do I feel today? Surprisingly well compared to what I feared . I expected to be more anxious, to feel irritated and feel sick for several weeks. Fortunately, I am not meaner than usual. My appetite has significantly lessened, but I see it as a positive. I try not to rejoice too loudly in my new condition, for fear of being a hypocrite bastard bienpensant. But I am surprised how many problems I have settled since I stopped. I put a point of honor to see mostly my friends, and I even made new friends since I was no longer scared of talking to strangers. I sent pitching to new publications. I've always been one to scatter me, and today I ask the universe for one day contain more hours. Now I have the feeling of having more time to write, to cook and read books. Do not mistake yourself. An existence without weed is not the only one. I do not preach to a sober life. I still love the weed. And I miss her. The only difference is that now I have a sense of control