Reading this felt like feeling it, if that makes sense.
My weed addition was embraced and kicked to the curb on 10/29/23. My daughter’s 9th birthday.
I couldn’t get my shit together to BE THERE FOR IT… so my Lauren… who has her own name… commanded me to take a hit of my Pen. 15 seconds later, everything was perfect. Except that I suddenly …
Reading this felt like feeling it, if that makes sense.
My weed addition was embraced and kicked to the curb on 10/29/23. My daughter’s 9th birthday.
I couldn’t get my shit together to BE THERE FOR IT… so my Lauren… who has her own name… commanded me to take a hit of my Pen. 15 seconds later, everything was perfect. Except that I suddenly loathed my Pen. I had been using it to get high to keep me stable for years.
I felt then that IT was using ME. Using me to use it up so I would buy another. And another. IT needed me to get high. And stay high. And get to the next high.
For years it felt like it was my superpower — and why would my blind, stubborn Lauren (with a different name) want me to give up a superpower???
And it was my superpower. It helped me not hear the voices in my head drowning out ideas. It turned off the overlapping competing mental radio stations and sparked laser focus. For writing. For cleaning. For talking to my mom.
It unlocked my best self. Until it didn’t. Until I couldn’t even be my selfself without it.
Something else crept in too, a lack of seeing the future. Because I couldn’t see three days ahead without weed, I couldn’t see 5 years ahead or 10 or growing old. It felt like death was imminent. But weed made those alarming, icky feeling go away, too.
And not using weed made the alarm come back louder than before. I wasn’t suicidal. But I was something that doesn’t really have a name. I was jealous of dead celebrities. They had had their bright burning fame. AND they were done. Done with the struggle. They were remembered fondly. I was jealous of most palpably of Matthew Perry. And I couldn’t shake it. I didn’t want to join him (and the chicken?) on the other side. I envied him fully. Matthew Perry was so lucky, my mental broken records kept repeating. It was an ugly feeling. But it swallowed me.
Other signs preceded this. A Father’s Day card with a list of ways to be happy that ended with “smoke a joint” written with tiny hands. I shared it as if it were adorable. I hated the path I was blazing to happiness through my example.
After that last Pen hit fixed me, I never hit it again. It’s been 6 months 29 days.
Maybe that’s why I read this today and felt like I was feeling it. If that makes sense.
2PS-es.
1. I don’t feel that jealously at all anymore and that feels so good. I see the future again.
2. Starbucks Egg Bites, if you haven’t tried them, are the bomb.
Reading this felt like feeling it, if that makes sense.
My weed addition was embraced and kicked to the curb on 10/29/23. My daughter’s 9th birthday.
I couldn’t get my shit together to BE THERE FOR IT… so my Lauren… who has her own name… commanded me to take a hit of my Pen. 15 seconds later, everything was perfect. Except that I suddenly loathed my Pen. I had been using it to get high to keep me stable for years.
I felt then that IT was using ME. Using me to use it up so I would buy another. And another. IT needed me to get high. And stay high. And get to the next high.
For years it felt like it was my superpower — and why would my blind, stubborn Lauren (with a different name) want me to give up a superpower???
And it was my superpower. It helped me not hear the voices in my head drowning out ideas. It turned off the overlapping competing mental radio stations and sparked laser focus. For writing. For cleaning. For talking to my mom.
It unlocked my best self. Until it didn’t. Until I couldn’t even be my selfself without it.
Something else crept in too, a lack of seeing the future. Because I couldn’t see three days ahead without weed, I couldn’t see 5 years ahead or 10 or growing old. It felt like death was imminent. But weed made those alarming, icky feeling go away, too.
And not using weed made the alarm come back louder than before. I wasn’t suicidal. But I was something that doesn’t really have a name. I was jealous of dead celebrities. They had had their bright burning fame. AND they were done. Done with the struggle. They were remembered fondly. I was jealous of most palpably of Matthew Perry. And I couldn’t shake it. I didn’t want to join him (and the chicken?) on the other side. I envied him fully. Matthew Perry was so lucky, my mental broken records kept repeating. It was an ugly feeling. But it swallowed me.
Other signs preceded this. A Father’s Day card with a list of ways to be happy that ended with “smoke a joint” written with tiny hands. I shared it as if it were adorable. I hated the path I was blazing to happiness through my example.
After that last Pen hit fixed me, I never hit it again. It’s been 6 months 29 days.
Maybe that’s why I read this today and felt like I was feeling it. If that makes sense.
2PS-es.
1. I don’t feel that jealously at all anymore and that feels so good. I see the future again.
2. Starbucks Egg Bites, if you haven’t tried them, are the bomb.
Damn man I’m just seeing this. Thank you for sharing. The parts about there being no future beyond today hit hard
I love your writing. There a quickness to it and a density of humor that makes every article feel perfectly too short.