Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2)

November 9

November 9

Donald Trump is the new President of the United States of America. Am I actually writing those words? We're fucked. Did nobody take into consideration my plan to move to California when they voted for him? Seriously, that is so fucking rude.

This morning was pretty lethargic. Getting out of bed was a struggle, which resulted in arriving at work later than usual. Nonetheless, I made it and the day continued. Today actually went by fairly quickly, because Big Bird and I finally did some work on the membership survey. In other words, my mind was occupied for more than 30 minutes. Funny how that works, huh?

When I talk to Emma and Lucy, I find it hard to bite my tongue at certain things they say. Even when they ask certain questions. Lucy asked me today if I ever think of quitting. Ha! If only she knew. But, that's the thing. Nobody can know. As far as the whole plan goes, it's going to be a "last-minute decision" on my part. The Clubhouse can never know that my resignation has been in the works since August.

Big Bird kept me well-past 5 p.m. while we were working on the survey. After she wrapped up her tenth tangent of the hour, I said I had to go. I got to the gym, did my thing, and relaxed in the sauna.

Once I had packed up my things and started making my way home, my mind went to its usual two places:

1. "What do I want to eat?"

2. "I could really use some weed."

I decided to tackle thought number one first. Given that I try to limit my grocery store visits after a recent scam, I stopped by another market across town and picked up some sour candy, Goldfish crackers, and baby carrots. A well-balanced meal by my standards.

Next, was weed. As I've said this week, getting stoned has been a recurring thought of mine recently. I think about it almost every night. All I want is to experience that feeling of complete relaxation. The thing is, you can never predict what's going to happen when you smoke. With my history, the chances were that it wasn't going to end well. The last thing I wanted was to:

1. Have a panic attack, or

2. End up with weed in my apartment for two weeks, which I would inevitably end up smoking every night

While walking up Church Street on my way home, I stopped by Cannabis Culture. It's the new dispensary that opened just two blocks down from my apartment. I've written about this before, but the concept of a place like Cannabis Culture still leaves me in complete disbelief.

How is this even a thing? Five years ago, you had to either jump on the subway and make an hour-long round trip to get weed, or pay out your ass for a guy to deliver it. Now, you can walk two blocks down the street to a dispensary and buy as much as you want. They even take credit cards. It's insane. I still have mixed feelings about the repercussions this might have on the mental health of young people, as they are smoking weed without any idea of how it might trigger certain anxieties.

It's funny – not really – because I would always hear the same story from so many friends:

"I used to smoke every day. Now, I can't do it anymore, because I get too anxious."

I used to think, "Wow, that would suck. It will never happen to me, though." Now, look! I'm a complete basket case! Maybe I'm giving too much credit to the weed. Perhaps I'm not giving enough. Either way, you can't change the past. Is there even a point in placing blame?

Anyway, I was walking home and stopped by Cannabis Culture. I had read online that you didn't need to pay for a membership, so that was somewhat of a sign for me. Barrier one had been passed. Let's break the rest down:

1. I went inside

2. I handed the guy behind the counter my ID so he could make sure that I was over 19. Bless you for thinking I wasn't, sir

3. Once cleared, I started looking at the 20+ strands of bud they had for sale

4. I realized that you could buy as little as one gram. In the case of "Lamb's Breath," that was only $9

5. I handed over my cash

Honestly, the one gram is what sealed the deal for me. That way, I wouldn't have any leftover weed lying around for weeks at the Witch Cave. Also, I wouldn't be spending money I didn't have. $9? That's pretty damn good.

After walking the remaining two blocks home, I unpacked all of my things and made sure my apartment was as tidy as it could be. I knew that nothing would be getting done once I smoked. While sinking into my usual ass groove pon de couch, I sparked up my pipe and got high immediately. Sufficiently stoned, I then moved to my bed with a bag of candy. The rest is history.

To be honest, I have mixed feelings about getting stoned tonight. My high was great on the couch. I laughed to myself, and got a bit giddy. When I went into the bathroom soon after, I felt anxious again. It's the kind of thing that I'm almost hyper-aware of now. I don't know if I was psyching myself out, but tonight I experienced that claustrophobic feeling I sometimes get in this apartment. Although it didn't last long, that smallness wasn't what I wanted.

In bed, I felt a lot better. I totally overdid it with the food, though. After finishing an entire bag of candy, I demolished a bag of Goldfish and then plowed through the majority of an ice cream carton. Fuck. I watched Election with Reese Witherspoon, as that's the only political discourse I can handle these days.

Weed is such a fucked-up concept. I'm at a loss for words in trying to describe my feelings tonight, so we'll just go with "concept" for now. Pot makes me feel so many different things. When it's good, it's so fucking good! I love that carefree feeling, giddiness, and happiness that washes over me. Other times, I get too far inside my own head. I begin questioning everything about myself. My past mistakes and glory days, my present-day rut, and the bleak outlook of my future. It all becomes too much. That's when I begin to panic. Then, I'll snap out of it. My outlook will change again. Everything is very fleeting when I'm high – for better or for worse.

Despite all of that, I think of the good when I think about weed. For the most part, at least. I think of that happy feeling, which allows me to finally let go. That's what attracts me to getting stoned. It's the same with drinking. Alcohol also morphs me into what I feel is a funnier, more laid-back human. Obviously, I want to be that person without the substances. I struggle with how to accomplish that, though.

A part of me felt guilty for giving in to weed after only two months of abstinence. Sure, those two months felt like a fucking eternity. But, it was a good start. I just don't want to fall back into old habits. That's what scares me. If you don't count buying the pot in the first place, at least I'm being slightly proactive by purchasing the minimum amount possible so that it doesn't become a permanent fixture in my life.

Then again, maybe if I just stopped thinking about it all so much, I could learn to enjoy the moment a bit more and find my happiness. In the end, that's all I want.

Goodnight xo