Writing not smoking

Sleep quality: 5hrs incl. night sweats, acid reflux, mosquito bites and broken dreams.

Hi, my name is L and I’m a marijuana addict. I’m on day 0 and I last smoked about 40mins ago, during my second MA meeting. I would like to join them, the fellowship, at the same time as I would like to run away screaming – but that scream is a form of resistance I think would be best suited to analysing and exploring sober. Which is an experience I am truly terrified to begin and lack faith I can achieve, but mum did say I’m born from wolves so there’s a roar waiting somewhere in here.

So long as I continue to create and listen, I will be led. I am allowed to nurture my artist.

The infamous Morning Pages from Julia Cameron’s Artist Way bible have been going well, I started my morning pages 10 days ago and I’m appreciating a new discipline that helps me open up what’s trapped inside. 

Rage, that is. 

I’ve got a hell of a lot of rage to unleash and 11 years of weed-clouded feelings to unpack. A lot went down in my teen years and early twenties. I had an issue with alcohol that began with a curious 13-year-old at a wedding. What I didn’t know as I chugged champagne and guinness and oggled pretty bar boys smoking weed on the stairs, that she would lead me to so many dark places in the years going forward. 

Sweet innocent L was no angel, she was an opportunist, anarchist, anti-capitalist, anti-monarchy and anti-man bombshell who just didn’t know it yet, (but also absolute wetwipe neurodivergent femme colloquially termed “crazy-coochie” or “psycho-pussy” by ex lovers). I looked up to weed smokers from the second I watched The Basketball Diaries. Today I feel like a stranger in my own body. I’m a former fat girl who’s now oddly skinny. I talk to aliens, I cry multiple times a day for nothing, and it seems I’ve moved to Brazil to hide away indoors. I’m a stoner and it’s sucking the life out of me.

I’ll be here every day so long as I commit. Although I smoked today I still count this writing as a win, and won’t be editing it – mostly so that tomorrow, sober me can look back and laugh at how stupid I felt writing these words. Because I was/am high! 

Anyway, I’m not proud of myself, and thus (!?) going to hand the reigns over to my higher power and try, just for today, to quit weed for life. There’s a part of me that’s scared and resistant and ready to hiss and says “that’s dumb. You’ll be smoking again at a gig or a party or a function in no time!”.

And maybe I will but I don’t want to, in this moment. I want to change and I want to choose light, not dark. I want to write and not smoke and hopefully start liking my words again as the THC leaves my system.

I have heartburn and a belly full of sheep’s milk doce de leite. I’d just wolfed down this morning’s cous-cous, reheated in the air fryer and slathered in butter. Extra salt and sugar woven across the menu using honey, nutmeg and passionfruit guerilla tactics. My boyfriend had to triple check and pinky swear on me not eating 2 bars of chocolate in the fridge without his presence.

Needless to say, I’m baked and regretful. A tell-tale sign I’m a stoner rambling away on the internet, imagining self pity can be turned into a helpful tool for other weed addicts. Knowing full well tomorrow I’ll just light up again. 

Not this time. This time I want to connect to my higher power. This time I want to actually do something about the girl who is regularly falling over from low blood pressure. This time I want to do what I say I’ll do and not give in to a smoke. This time I want to break a habit in two and face myself for all I’m worth. This time I want to drop the ego trip and accept the consequences of my behaviour. This time I want to kick anxiety and imposter syndrome in the throat but also bring her in for a hug.

Plan = write not smoke, complete the Artist’s Way bible and attend MA meetings every day for 90 days minimum.

This time I want to quit. If you’re looking for accountability/a reason to keep trying, let’s do so together. I’ll be here every day, writing not smoking.