a human condition.

hi. i know, it’s been a while. so long, in fact, that i’m not sure any of you are out there anymore, reading from me. but that’s okay. i still love you guys. so i forgot my journal at home today, but i have been wanting to write about something i’ve been struggling with for a few years. i think this will help me feel better… whether you agree with me or not, you’re with me or not, you know me or not. i need to get this weight off of my shoulders. out of my brain. i might keep editing this post because i keep thinking of different things and wanting to add them and i’m also kind of sorry about that. i deeply want to quit smoking weed. i’ve used it for about three years now; two and a half have been essentially every day use. i picked it up from my ex-boyfriend (along with cigarettes, which i managed to quit a year and a half ago)… i used to hate the idea of weed. before i started using it, i thought people who smoked were hiding. i didn’t understand its attraction. i was one of those proud kids who would be absolutely, positively drug and alcohol free. i didn’t try any drugs or drink until after high school. it wasn’t for me. cue the ex-boyfriend(s). i dated a guy when i was in the blue knights, and he was the resident stoner. figures, right? whenever i caught him high, i would get very upset. wonder why he was doing this to spite me, because he knew i didn’t like it at all. he would apologize, fading away. of course i knew he didn’t mean any of it, and he didn’t do it to harm me. he did it to please himself. eventually we broke up because of distance and a few other factors, and i invited another guy into my life. this new (old) one was somebody i had dated before in high school, and we were close enough geographically for me to start visiting him at his dorm in college. it quickly transformed into a relationship again (he had provided vital support for me during my break-up, and he was a long-time friend). this was the most toxic relationship i could have chosen, for many reasons. but let me get back to the weed. after high school, this boyfriend got into smoking weed. i wasn’t particularly happy about it, but at the time, i was convinced that he was my soul mate and all the lovely dreamy things you think of when you are a child and find your first love. i struggled with him for a while. he lived in his dirty dorm room with his makeshift plastic-bottle-bongs and his skunky jackets and he never went to class. i knew he was capable of so much, and yet he chose to waste his opportunities away smoking with his druggy friends. eventually i was curious. what was so compelling about this smelly plant? why had he become essentially addicted/dependent on a high? it was beyond my comprehension, and i wished desperately to connect with the boy. in april of 2011 i tried weed for the first time. we drove with one of his friends to an empty park and smoked out of a bubbler. i remember hitting it three times and waiting. it kicked in once we started driving back to the dorms from the park. i was amazed. i felt so many things that i never had. my legs felt dead, my head was spinning, things were moving so much slower. i was terrified and thrilled all at the same time. once we were back on solid ground, we wandered over to a little quad area outside the dorms and hung out. my boyfriend bummed a cigarette from someone (as far as i had known, we were smoke free), and this didn’t bother me. i was too busy thinking a million miles an hour and expanding my brain and it felt like the desert heat when i had my eyes closed. it was almost like hallucinating. the high lasted four hours. we wandered around campus for a while, hanging out with his stoner friends and watched a movie. things were funnier, more interesting. i tasted a peanut butter granola bar and it was incredible how different it was. i felt good. i felt great. fantastic, even. this was the first time I ever thought god could exist. after it faded away and i felt somewhat normal, i told myself that it was cool but i didn’t know that i wanted it again. that started a cycle of smoking. i honestly can’t remember every single time i tried it again, but that first time was the most vibrant and powerful. i smoked weed with him and his friends quite a bit, usually limiting myself to one or two puffs, because i knew it would blow my mind to outer space. there was a night we stayed at his dad’s house while he was gone, and i tried a cigarette for the first time. it was different, it was menthol. i honestly really kind of liked it, even though i had sworn to myself up and down i’d never smoke like my parents always had. the next morning i asked for another. i remember him saying, “be careful, you might get addicted.” and i did. time wore on and i continued smoking weed more and more, moved back in with my mom, and began buying myself packs of cigarettes. i felt so ashamed when i announced to my mother that i was now a smoker. she was not openly disappointed, but i was angry with myself. i hid the weed use from her. it felt dirty, shameful. but when i was high, i felt good. i felt terrified that someone would have a tragic accident when i was alone and high, and i wouldn’t be able to get to them. it made me anxious, it made me feel good, it took the pain away, it made me accept the things that frustrated me, and best of all, it fixed my chronic insomnia.  this is getting long-winded and i’m sorry. we began having relationship problems, the boy and i, and on a “break” we took, he ended up sleeping with another girl in our hometown. i didn’t find out until a friend of mine told me two weeks after. by then, we had had sex again and i felt disgusting. ruined, tainted, by this scummy girl he slept with. i was crushed and yet it totally lined up with everything i thought of him. he felt awful and told me he wanted to kill himself. after a few weeks of torment, for whatever stupid reason, i let him back into my life.  in december of 2011 i moved to denver with this boy and a few people i didn’t really know but could deal with. this was when i began smoking everyday. all day, on my days off… i could hide it from work, thankfully, and i was never the type of person to get high and go to work. i didn’t have the confidence my roommates had to hide it from their managers. i didn’t want to take the risk. i smoked so much weed with them. and in a way, i am glad i moved in with them.