Quitting... for good this time? Part two.

When smoking joints, it's a steady build to a good buzz. When you take weed in a pipe or bong, it's a big quick hit and is quite different from the slow build-up joints offer.

I've known for a long time that I'd rather smoke joints or eat brownies than take those big hits. I don't like the overwhelming feeling that pipes and bongs bring. But that knowledge was brushed to the back of my mind in buying the pipe. My underlying concern at the time was still being able to smoke weed without the tobacco that goes with smoking joints.

Having had at least one medium-sized pipe an evening for the past week, I did hear my brain trying to tell me I should stop, but I'm practiced in ignoring and redirecting those thoughts so they barely registered.

Last night, however, a thought occured.

I've been looking after a friend's house over the festive period, and she's due back today. After taking a small pipe last night, I came back into the house, fought the urge to tidy up and told myself to chill for a while. I had a couple of episodes of Peep Show to watch and, as I hadn't had a chance to relax since I finished work, I thought I'd sit and watch TV for an hour.

On sitting down and starting the recording, I tried to relax but my mind was firing. Normally, when feeling this, I'd play my guitar or bash out a game on my PC, but no such distractions were available, so I tried to concentrate on the TV, to no avail.

The thought occured that I'd like to hang out with my friend when she gets back from her break. I wondered, what would be my answer when she asked how I was?

Instantly, my response came to me: "I'm in trouble... I really need to get rid of this weed, it's breaking my mind."

This came as a bit of a shock. I'd actually let this thought through, I'd allowed it to be said. "This must be serious!" I thought, and got up off the sofa to went to my stash.

I spent thirty seconds arguing internally about whether it'd be better to donate the drugs to a friend, that I shouldn't waste what was effectively £20 worth of hash. But my stronger mind prevailed and I thought it more mentally significant to dispose of it instead of passing its effects onto someone else.

So I did it. I opened the bag and poured it away. I destroyed the pipe and papers, changed the bin and put it out with all the other rubbish.

I've done this in the past with alcohol, to some effect. Not absolute success, but it certainly leaves an imprint in my mind that affects the way I think.

I hope these actions do the same. It's obvious to me now that I must only do weed in moderation, rarely. I've been making an effort to listen to my brain more often, and I feel like with this issue, I've succeeded.

Now to get my addictive eating under control.

Quitting... for good this time? Part one.

I'm sure some people are going to be disgusted with me, but I'm quite proud of myself. Here's why.

I threw away a fair amount of weed, a pipe and some papers last night. I opened the bag, poured it all into the bin. I unscrewed every component of the pipe, which I only bought on the 24th, and stuffed it in with the fruit peelings. I pulled out each rolling paper and rolled them into little balls, throwing them away.

I've had something of a problem with weed since I first 'discovered' it at the age of eighteen. I'd been aware of it for years - it's always been in my life as my parents smoked it. Unlike the teens of today, I only really got into it at the age of eighteen.

A couple of mates and I were regular heavy users, mainly on the weekend, but eventually every evening would involve smoking of some kind. We'd build all kinds of contraptions to help us get the biggest hit from the smallest amount. We baked it, we bonged it. Pipes, buckets, drawing pins, hot knives - you name it, we tried it.

My personal weed smoking continued on a daily basis, with occasional breaks for relationships, childbirth etc. Even then, sometimes, I'd do it in secret, getting a buzz from the taboo as much as the smoke.

This continued for thirteen or fourteen years, although the last five were much lighter use than the first eight or nine.

Now, I'm fully aware of the proven link between marijuana/cannabis and mental health problems, and I'm open to the concept that my drug habit contributed in large part to my depression and anxiety, whose timeline fits quite neatly. My observation on this is that the drugs 'stopped' me doing anything about my problems, compounding them and making me forget. I used the drugs to hide the reality - that I was really quite unhappy and didn't like myself very much.

A couple of years ago, it became clear that I wasn't enjoying the high from the drug any more. It started making me paranoid and brought about an unholy compulsion to tidy. After smoking, I'd be unable to concentrate on a single task. I'd feel out of place in social situations, and I'd lose hours if I smoked just a little too much.

Combined with a penchant for alcohol, I realised I was doing some damage so my mind, but I continued for another few months, then I quit the weed, seemingly getting it out of my life with very little effort.

I've had cause to smoke weed again recently, through choice. My view is that I can happily smoke rarely, in good company, and have no negative reaction, other than the standard fuzzy head.

This hasn't been the case for the past fortnight though.

I've been hanging out with some of my favourite people, lovely folks I haven't seen often enough over the past decade. One of them is my old, old school friend and someone who shared my initial fascination with the drug. It's natural for us to smoke when we party and that's what we've been doing.

The effect of our first recent session was obvious. My recent life has been without weed, and full of good nights' sleep. After this first weekend back, I felt like my brain had been turned upside-down. Despite having had a brilliant time, I'd had very little sleep and it took almost five days to recover from the weekend. I really noticed the after-effects of the drug, which kept me fuzzy and lethargic for a few days.

Just before Christmas, I visited my friends, taking some weed I'd scored. Once again, we had a great weekend, more down to great company than the drug. But an opportunity came up to buy a fair chunk of weed for a great price and, before I knew it, I had half an ounce of medium-grade weed.

I'd intended to sell it on, to my parents incidentally. But I decided to give them some as a Christmas present instead, and try to moderate my intake of what was left over.

Having decided to quit smoking tobacco (which I've stuck to... yay me!) I bought myself a cheap, cheerful hash pipe for Christmas. This was to be a deciding factor in my realisation that I shouldn't keep weed in my house.