“I’m Never Gonna Stop”: More on What It’s Like to Be Addicted to Weed

“Marijuana helps me stay the best version of myself.”

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Earlier this month, we asked our TSB community to tell us about their relationship to cannabis. Last time, we mainly focused on the struggles people were having; this time, we’re sharing submissions from people who love weed and aren’t ready to stop — maybe don’t want ever to stop. Some were adamant, even a little prickly about their usage; they don’t see what all the fuss is about.

“I’m 72 and have been smoking pot since the ten-dollar lid days in 1966. I’ve still burn several joints daily, starting my early mornings with wake & bake with my 1st cup of coffee. Besides all the medical benefits cannabis provides, I enjoy the “High” the most. The same goes for my occasional use of psilocybin mushrooms. I like the effects. I don’t plan on quitting use of either one.”

Fair enough!

Our submissions raise the question: What is medicinal, what is recreational — and does it even matter?

As with our other Check-Ins, all the Anonymous writers below are credited collectively as “The Small Bow Family Orchestra.”

The ***** separates individual entries, as do pull quotes.

Edith Zimmerman drew everything.

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Not Now, Not Ever

by The Small Bow Family Orchestra

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I am from Long Island, New York. I’m thirty-nine years old and I have been smoking weed since I was sixteen. I have to admit I smoke daily. And I have smoked daily for a long time. I come from somebody who has suffered from substance use disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. Marijuana helps me me stay the best version of myself.

For me, it’s about sleep. Marijuana creates a connection between the end of the day and a good night’s rest for me. If I do not smoke before I sleep, I do not sleep well and I wake up several times throughout the night. My relationship with marijuana has always been strong, lately, I am starting to think that the marijuana I am getting from the dispensary is changing. So I decided to grow my own to make sure that I’m smoking pure quality.

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Something niggling in the back of my brain kept questioning my decision, but like any good addict, I shoved it down, gave it excuses, and looked for information that told me that weed would be helpful.

At first, it’s just as fun as any other substance.

You see, I took it up in sobriety from alcohol after more than two decades, with the blessing of my oncologist (I was recovering from breast cancer). Wow! The local cannabis clinic even gave me a discount because I was a cancer patient! I was on my way to using with impunity!

Sure, I had a bit of nausea and anxiety, and that was supposed to help.

Something niggling in the back of my brain kept questioning my decision, but like any good addict I shoved it down, gave it excuses, looked for information that told me that it would be helpful. It was.

For a little while.

But before long, I was vaping weed morning, noon and night. Because unlike alcohol, which smells, I could get away with vaping and nobody knew. Except me.

And perhaps others? Did anyone wonder why my eyes were red, my general demeanor slow, and I was increasingly negative about everything? Hard to say.

The depression with which I had suffered my whole life went full-blown again. I was uncomfortable in my own skin, bored, dissatisfied with my job and my relationships, just flat-out miserable. So I quit. It was hard. I researched withdrawal symptoms for cannabis and found out it’s addressed in the DSM 5. The anxiety, depression, night sweats and vivid nightmares were normal in a heavy user who is detoxing. So now I know. Just like alcohol, weed can be ok for some people, just not me. I’m clean and sober again, and feeling an optimism about life that had escaped me for the three years of my marijuana addiction. The fear of the future I had has left. I once again can manage to live life on life’s terms. For me, that means being free of weed.

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As a retired 66-year-old locomotive engineer, I now have no schedule. These THC vapes are the bomb. No odor, pure and powerful. No booze for me.

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I have smoked weed since I was 14. I am 64 now. I have a medical Marijuana license due to having MS. It helps with muscle spasms, anxiety, and more. Weed is not addictive. Not now, not ever.

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I’m a 40-year-old white female, my husband is a 45-year-old white male, we both have been chronic weed smokers, myself since 12 and my husband since 10. Literally every day since. He smokes about 8-10 blunts a day. We are both pro weed! It has more benefits and positives then negatives. BUT . . . there’s always a but . . . Over time people who smoke like my husband does, 78% of people eventually develop something called Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome (CHS). It’s characterized by severe, repeated bouts of nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and compulsive hot showering, which offers temporary relief. CHS results from long-term, chronic cannabis use and may require weeks to resolve completely after a person stops using the drug. Needless to say, it does happen. I’ve watched my husband get up every morning (before smoking) profusely throwing up, just like a woman who’s pregnant who wakes up with “morning sickness.” The minute he lights a blunt, the vomiting and severe nausea go away. I do know that the very few times he basically “had to” quit, he went through withdrawal, and he was not the most pleasant person to be around. Tbh I probably wouldn’t still be married to him if he quit weed, it’s that drastic of a change.

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It’s frustrating that people assume weed is not addictive. Of course it is. Anything can be addictive. I’ve been smoking regularly since my 20s. I’m 44 now. I’m a high-functioning pot head and I vacillate between feelings of lingering shame about my dependency and fleeting acceptance that weed serves a purpose in my life. It’s just that after all these years; the purpose isn’t totally clear. The smoke hasn’t crystalized into something I can confidentially hold onto.

I have been in the bargaining phase with weed for as long as I can remember. “Only on the weekends” turns into “everyone knows Thursday night is practically the weekend.” “I don’t need to smoke on Mondays” turns into “Well, Monday is a holiday, so it doesn’t count.” My addiction looks like that confused lady math meme, all lines and angles heavy with hypothesis and theory. “If A doesn’t bring weed, will B have some?” “I should have a backup joint because X only ever has stale weed.” I’m the pothead of my friend group. Others definitely smoke weed, but none of them ever mention experiencing dependency, none of them obsess about who will have it, bring it, buy it, offer it. None of them twist themselves into pretzels trying to negotiate with themselves. I’m able to exercise a lot of discipline, though, which surprises people. I give up weed every year for Lent and I feel incredible, clear, in touch and in tune those 40 days and 40 nights. I can give it up for weeks and months. And then, inevitably, the day comes where I announce that I successfully rewired my brain; weed is casual for me now, everyone take note. After these weed breaks, I can often keep my smoking to a minimum, say once a week, for a while. I’m sure you can guess what happens next. My therapist often asks me what I get out of weed. She wants me to acknowledge that it does do something for me. I have to wrack my brain. It helps me disconnect, the smoke from each exhale adding a layer to the fuzzy veil through which everything appears softer, dimmer, easier to laugh at. It puts distance between me and my job, me and my worries, me and the world. I get bigger and stuff gets smaller; but sometimes I get smaller, and stuff gets bigger. I’m creative when I’m high, once the sativa saturates me. I can collage for hours, rearrange my furniture, marvel at my wardrobe, work out with gusto. It can be fun. I love rolling joints. I love the inhale and exhale, the hand-to-mouth connection. The entire ceremony is sacred.

I’m smoking these days and I’m mostly enjoying it. I straighten my shoulders as I enter my local dispensary. But I cringe when the doorman says, “Welcome back.”

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I grew up in cannabis culture. My older brother cultivated marijuana as long as I can remember. I was able to try smoking at an age far too early. It didn’t become a habit until I was in my 50s. I lived on a pot farm in my 20s and did partake often. After I retired and wasn’t subjected to drug testing at my job, I started smoking a little in the evening after giving up wine. It became something I looked forward to at the end of the day as a relief after long days. When my husband was diagnosed with dementia this year, it was my refuge after long, hard days with this ugly disease. Yet I realized this is not appropriate for a caregiver. Although legal, it still carries a stigma that I can’t seem to shake. Ideally, I’d like to quit, but have failed several times. I’m not sure if I am just being rebellious and trying to hang on to my last vice! I tell myself that a couple of tokes at the end of the evening are harmless, and I also tell myself I’d be better off without it.

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MORE WEED:

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All Illustrations by Edith Zimmerman