Writing not smoking

It’s been 45 days since I quit smoking weed.

Honestly I’m not doing that “well”, I’m unhappy – but at least I’m able to admit I’m not okay.

I’m doing everything to get back on track and figure out this life thing without the “aid” of weed to do so. Daily exercise, journalling, praying, attending MA when I can, talking to the impulses instead of ignoring them, admitting to friends and family I’m an addict and taking off the mask of functionality.

There’s something freeing about surrendering to the fact things aren’t easy with or without weed in my system, and it’s clearer than ever that a season of growth lies ahead.
Growth is not comfortable however – I remember as a teenager my joints and boobs and skin aching from growth spurts, and now pregnant and growing a new life I’m just as flipped upside down hormonally and emotionally. But I’ll be home with family next week and can’t wait to start a new chapter from scratch, warts and all.

To everyone wondering if it’s worth it to stay clean, it just is. Life itself is one hell of a drug that weed inhibits us from feeling the full effects of. No, I’m not happy all the time, but I also no longer feel trapped in a cloudy hell like I did when I smoked all day every day before.