Memoirs of a Marijuana Mom

the alcohol experiment

//chapter one: the alcohol experiment.//

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At first, my mother thought alcohol would work. I mean, logical right? It numbs your emotions, your pain- inside and out. This, however, wasn't the answer to my mom's 5+ years of pain.

"Hmm..." My mom says, looking around the alcohol section at Walmart. "I could get this one," She speaks to no one, in particular, holding a bottle of some flavored vodka. "Or this one- oh! It's cake flavored, Naaqid!" My father groans, leaning a foot on the shopping cart.

"Grace, can we get going?" He sighs. My mom rolls his eyes at him. She puts the bottle back.

"Fine, let's go," she says, anger hidden not so subtly in her tone. My father rolls his eyes and goes toward my mom.

"Look, I'm sorry. I- I just don't see the point in wasting all this time for this stuff." He tells her. Sure my father had the odd drink or two back when he'd dance at night clubs but he'd never find that much of a love for alcohol.

And yes, just because my family is Muslim doesn't mean that everyones lips have been alcohol free. Because, on eid, you better believe you're gonna see some Muslims turning up in the corner.

My mom rolls her eyes at my fathers comment and while I stand uncomfortably in the middle of the aisle, my foot now resting on the cart, I listen to my parents bicker until my dad goes to a new aisle. "I can't believe your father," My mom mutters to herself mostly. I love my mom, I really do, but damn do I love her even more after weed.

Sometimes- before she'd smoke weed at all- she'd get really angry over small things or become really down and brooding at the snap of your fingers. I can't blame her, if I did then I'd just be plain rude and mean, I can't blame her for her depression. The good thing was, with smoking marijuana, she'd loosen up, her mind when she had the THC, it would put her into happy mode and she'd not give a care in the world- unless it's about food.

"I'm sorry," I tell my mom as she places two bottles of some alcohol in the cart. My mom looks up to glare at me.

"Stop, fucking, saying sorry." My mom says, emphasizing almost every word. I've always had a habit of apologizing for nothing- always thinking I was at fault for something. My mother hated it and I'd try to stop, but I can't- I still feel sorry for anything. I don't care much if it, 'loses it's meaning' because frankly, I can't stop using its meaning.

My dad came back to the aisle, after my mom and I argued over how rude he was a few minutes back. "You guys good?" He asks as we check everything in the cart. My mom and I nod and my dad turns his attention to her. "You good?" My mom solemnly nods her head, not uttering a word. My dad sighs.

Alcohol was just the beginning experiment though, my mother wasn't truly good nor would she be for a while.

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thank you guys for reading, i hope you enjoyed this chapter. this book, though based on marijuana and it's medical uses will also document other forms of relief my mom has tried, leading up to her finally using marijuana.

ily all <3

xo, salmie