Dare I say, could they have been right?
I recently posted a rant on how it feels to give up every ambrosia of the Gods: Sugar, flour, starches, in ALL ITS FORMS- Whole or ground, natural or artificial. My taste buds, gut lining and brain chemistry don’t seem to give a shit about those subtle differences. Bread, whether white or dyed-brown (because you know all that so-called “whole wheat” shit is just white bread dyed brown with a few seeds thrown in), whether made of nothing but flax seeds or spouted quinoa, I will still binge on it like it’s my last meal on death row. Oh and I don’t care what the Paleo community says; cauliflower can never replicate potatoes and a burger wrapped in lettuce is ridiculous.
That’s what it’s like when you are a carbohydrate addict. One-bite will never be enough and a thousand bites will never be too much.
Which brings me to my next sacrifice being offered on altar of denial: WEED.
AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Since I was 19, I have been an avid and proud partaker in pot smoking. I have heralded it as the perfect party drug, touting it as having greater performance than alcohol ( and without the risk of killing someone in a car accident) and safer than meth or ecstasy. Just to put it out there, I have experimented much. Raves are where I got my start, I have many memories of mushroom trips, “candy-flipping”, “hippie-flipping”, and taking little pills with names like: Superman, Melissa, Green Clovers and Mitsubishis. Clearly, judgement is not an issue here. But what is an issue is the change in my own body’s chemistry and its ability to process what I put into it. Perhaps this is a part of the aging process, or maybe I have simply maxed out my lifetime quota of allowed marijuana use early. I must say, at only 34 years old, I cannot make an old-timers claim that I’ve “smoked everyday for the last 20 years with no problem (cough).” I did my heaviest smoking in my college years and early 20’s. Yes, I did go through a phase where I was totally a “wake and bake” kinda girl. I have owed a 5 piped hookah, a glass bong and a pipe make out of an antler. But every day, multiple times day, for years on end without pause? Not me. My use was sporadic. Sometimes I would go many months without touching the stuff. On average I would say two or 3 times of month became my norm in my late 20’s early 30’s.
One of my favorite stories of being stoned was when I hung a wig on a light bulb in my closet, WHILE THE LIGHT WAS ON! I was sitting in the living room smoking with a friend, and we could not stop coughing. We chalked it up to it being really good stuff when we noticed that while we were smoking a lot, there was no way all the smoke surrounding us could be coming from us. As our coughing nearly led us to go outside, I peered at the closet and smoke (non weed of course) was sifting through cracks of the door! I opened it to find a melted mess of synthetic hair that had melted down the bulb and onto the floor. My friend and I still laugh about the incident to this day.
Yes, I have had many good times with reefer, but I am not one to front. I have also had some not-too-good times as well. I have had a few panic attacks, and episodes of wild paranoia. However, those incidents were so infrequent that the good times outshined them, until recently. In addition to the fact that I get horrible munchies that are nearly impossible to control, they are now accompanied by new symptoms such as: Headaches, agitation, mood swings, fatigue, and depression.
I have been conducting this “can I smoke without getting the bad after effects?” experiment for some time. Once a month, I will smoke. Each time I will feel great, for a few hours. Afterwards comes the familiar munches, causing me to crave all my no-no foods and the aforementioned symptoms. There are no words to express how saddened I was by this discovery. 😦
What happened? I am not sure. There are many theories I have explored. But at this point it doesn’t even matter because one thing is clear: The disadvantages have finally outweighed the benefits of smoking. I have too much to lose, and it is no longer worth all the suffering I now know for sure I cannot avoid, only for a few hours of dancing on clouds and pondering the nature of a glass of water.
I expect weed to always be a part of my dance culture. People bond while smoking and it is certainly a lot of fun if you don’t have a brain chemistry that is negatively affected by it. I will terribly miss the feeling of camaraderie that comes from passing a joint in a circle of people, laughing and conversing.
And that is the real issue. It’s not really about dancing on clouds or pondering the nature of water at all, it is about that feeling of camaraderie, that feeling of being on the “inside”, bonded with my hippie family. Because everybody knows that dancing on clouds alone is boring! I am an extrovert, so I don’t have as much social anxiety talking with strangers, but I’d be lying if I said that doing while high is more fun and easier even for an extrovert like myself.
Also I genuinely love House Music and other genres of EDM, so it’s not like I can’t enjoy it without the pot, but it did enhance my experience. Weed is the MSG of music culture. I don’t have to have it, but when it’s not there I definitely notice the difference. This is where weed and carbs are similar for me. When you first go off of having pancakes soaked in warm maple syrup, and instead have eggs and bacon sans toast, it’s just not the same. Now that I will be entering the social and party world sans drugs of any kind, I expect that I will experience a transition period.
Detox at this level is deep and painful. It is an acknowledgement of where I used crutches and ridding myself of them. It means being willing to make massive changes in my life and making choices that are in alignment with my new values. It means giving up some things, while always focusing the mind on the goal.
My goal is to lose 117 pounds. Run my own business. Become a master of my craft. These are gargantuan dreams. And if weed must die on the altar in order to have it. So be it.
The Shrinking Black Girl 