Soliloquy of a Stoner

I have not smoked marijuana since I moved out eleven days ago. Okay, well, I did share a blunt with my cousin, but just once. I enjoyed that blunt so much, and it was only mid-grade! (I smoke that Sativa strain.)

I will openly admit that I am a pothead. I love my Mary Jane, she’s been my closest companion now for over a year and a half. I started smoking shortly after I broke up with my first (and only) serious boyfriend. The separation was hard on me, but it had to be done because it was an unhealthy relationship. On top of that I broke up with God, too. That separation also had to be done. My life quickly turned upside down and I was spiraling into a deep, dark depression because of all of it.

One of my first rebounds, bless his heart, was this guy in my apartment complex. We kicked it off and I enjoyed his company. A few weeks in he passed his drug test and I discovered that he was a pothead, and now that he had successfully gone without for the sake of his job, he was ready to toke it out.

I had never tried the stuff before. But I trusted Jeremy enough to give it a go. So we went outside, sat on fold out lawn chairs, and I smoked for the first time. I was hooked the minute it entered my system.

And for all of you who have had a positive experience with the herb, think back to those first stoner days where the highs were really high. I opened myself up to the high. And with the help of Mary Jane I was able to remove myself from my depressive state and move beyond it.

It gave me perspective and calmed me down enough to where I could explore the depths of myself and the universe. (What a stoner thing to say, I know, but it’s true.) Since then I have been dedicated to it, smoking daily, and smoking a lot. I also have anxiety problems and it helps significantly with that. (Although I will admit that on the rare occasion it heightened it.) I even used it to help with my writing. A lot of people like to write drunk, but I prefer to write high. I’m able to pour everything out on the page without the perfectionist looking over my shoulder doubting every word I type.

Maybe I’ve come to depend on it too much, in that regard especially.

And now, completely sober, the big, blank Word Doc is even more intimidating. For the first few days I feared that I needed it to write, that I would be unable to create without its help. But I have come to realize what a silly thought that is. If I need a stimulant to write then I am no writer.

I’m sure I’ll smoke again, but for now I am pushing myself. Marijuana helped me a lot. It cleared my vision, gave me hope and threw me a rope so I could climb out of my deep, dark hole. But if you continue to rely on the crutches that supported you… well, all you’re going to do is wobble around.

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