Discreet thanks: “I had to stop using weed as an emotional crutch”

volume 5

Discreetly Dank is a recurring column dedicated to giving a voice to those who dare to be horny. Each volume will be by a different author who needs a safe place to document what it’s really like to be a weed lover in a world where cannabis is still not normalized.

“I know what I went through with weed for a couple of years was an addiction or something like that.”

There was a time in my life — those nebulous, sizzling early 20s — when I attributed everything I loved in life to cannabis. I was working in a pharmacy in California and I was making more money than ever before. I had fallen in love with a fellow stoner who introduced me to the world of secret sessions and the allure of the gray market. And I felt like I was helping people alleviate their ailments and improve their lives through my work.

As an aspiring writer still in college, I dreaded my approaching graduation and how I would find a job among so many other journalists who I thought were hungrier, braver, and more resilient than me. I never felt like I knew enough to cover crime or the education system, but suddenly everyone had questions about weed and how the industry was evolving.

It’s always been my dream to write for a living, and the plant’s growing popularity gave me a beat my professors knew almost nothing about, but which nonetheless encouraged me to keep going.

I can not lie. It felt damn good to have at least some of the answers. Through my network of people I knew in the industry, I made and tapped into connections that no one else I knew had, and I forged a path as an author that felt uniquely equipped to cover the subject.

However, there was only one problem.

I didn’t feel safe writing about grass without grass. I didn’t think I could make it as a writer outside of the cannabis niche and without immersing myself in cannabis culture.

I attributed every advance I made or every triumph I experienced to the weed and began to see it as my lightsaber, sword in stone, and golden fleece all rolled into one. It had opened so many doors for me and it only felt right to consume as much as possible.

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Learning limits the hard way

“When I smoked weed, I was less anxious. I was able to do my chores and juggle all the things I felt insecure about.”

Weed first came into my life when I started casually smoking in my California high school. It was an occasional thing, mostly at home or at parties, thriving on the occasional dime bag and sniffles from my sisters. I didn’t go to school or my extracurricular activities and I didn’t like doing my homework. But then came college.

My early years of college felt like constant preparation for disaster. None of my actions seemed to have the results I wanted. When I smoked weed, I was less anxious. I was able to do my chores and juggle all the things I felt insecure about.

Then there was the part where it was my job to know everything about weed to help others. How could I convince patients to try this strain or that if I couldn’t share a personal anecdote? How could I report on a subject if I didn’t know it inside and out?

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Shortly after entering the weed world professionally, I smoked every day, puffed joints with 30% THC Bruce Banner, and tried to find my edible sweet spot. My partner was a big dabber, so of course I was a big dabber too.

I even spoke to a counselor during my sophomore year of college, thinking that maybe smoking weed every day and trying to get all my essays high might not be the best option for me. When I told my counselor that I felt listless, unfocused, and a little depressed, she said I smoked too much weed. But it didn’t really matter to me enough to stop.

The pros of smoking weed still outweighed the cons for me. Even if the downsides increased in ways I couldn’t see.

What is Cannabis Use Disorder?

In the days of Harry J. Aslinger of Reefer Madness, cannabis was considered a portal to hell. But the work of cannabis activists for the past few generations has been to help people see that weed is actually pretty normal and boring.

A large part of my own weed activism was based on the idea that weed is not addictive because it is far less of a contributor to death and disease than alcohol or cigarettes and because it does not lead to fatal overdoses or the addictive addiction that can accompany ingestion of opioids or amphetamines.

But I do know that what I went through with weed for a few years was an addiction or something like that. In fact, the term used for it these days is “cannabis use disorder.”

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According to the CDC, a cannabis use disorder means someone is “unable to stop using marijuana despite the fact that it is causing health and social problems in their life.” Some research estimates that approximately 1.5% of the US adult population suffers from a cannabis use disorder, but these numbers are not static.

Outlets such as the New York Times have reported on escalating cannabis use among teenagers, claiming that their addiction to high-THC cannabis products can affect their brain development, memory, motivation and physical health. I really can’t tell if that was the case for me as a teenager, but up until college the negatives for me were definitely emotional and social.

Additionally, my classwork began to suffer because it was easy to rationalize not completing an assignment when high or getting caught up in THC-inspired pursuits while meeting the deadline. And when my relationship ended, I turned to my dab rig and hash gummies to quell the volatility I was feeling rather than seek social or therapeutic support.

All of these were signs that I’d smoked too much, but it still took some thinking to figure out why weed had gone from being a help to a hindrance.

Practice intention and moderation

For me and many others, cannabis can be so many things – including a crutch.

It took me so long to realize that I was no longer using weed to improve my life and help me gain new insights. I drugged myself. Being high as often as I was then has weaponized weed against me rather than fueling my growth.

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Do not get me wrong. The medical value of cannabis and the growing list of benefits have incredible potential in our society. But I think it would be dishonest of me to sidestep the reality of how people can potentially suffer as a result of overuse of cannabis.

I will never stop fighting to make sure people can enjoy weed safely and in every way possible, and I still use cannabis regularly. But the old me could smoke the new me under a table, and I’m glad of that.

Now that I know about cannabis use disorder (and believe in its existence), I also know that I’m better for my consciousness.

Discreet thanks

Discreetly Dank is a recurring column dedicated to highlighting the stories and perspectives of cannabis enthusiasts grappling with the stigma surrounding cannabis in all facets of life. From micro-aggression to genuine health and safety concerns, the contributors to Discreetly Dank dare to be horny in a world that hasn’t caught up with their sophisticated lifestyles…yet.

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