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.
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