jonnynobody
Well-Known Member
I'm 32 and have happily toked daily since the age of 15. It just recently became apparent to me that the psych medications I've been on since the age of 19 may actually be harming my well being and state of mind. I successfully quit both medications over a period of 3 months, and brother let me tell ya, it was a motherfucker of an ugly ride that I would never put myself through again. I'm not sure if I could have done it without the help of pot. I then found myself experiencing feelings and thoughts (and a personality) I haven't experienced in nearly half a lifetime. It was intense, scary, thought provoking, and refreshing as if I woke up from a 13 year coma.
I found myself waking up from said coma in a high stress bullshit job that I never would have taken if I had been myself and not under the influence of those psych drugs. 2 weeks after ending my final psych med and long after withdrawals ended, I had a nervous breakdown and was written out for 1 week from work by my doctor and urgently referred to a psychologist.
Rather than return to my job, I turned in a letter of resignation and sacrificed a job that paid me $700/week. It had to be done and I don't regret it one single bit. In an effort to open up my job opportunities, I decided I had to quit smoking in order to pass a saliva / urine test in the interest of finding a good job after going jobless for a month and maxing out all of my credit cards. The first night wasn't so bad. The second night was pure fucking hell and I remembered all of the reasons I ever started smoking to begin with. I had to take a small portion of one of my old psych medications just to get to sleep and subsequently soaked my bed sheets 2 or 3 times during the night. On night 3 I slept a little better, but my mental state continued to be in disarray. I considered suicide as often as I had the urge to piss and let me tell ya, I drink a lot of coffee and I piss a lot. On night 4 I wasn't in despair as much as the previous nights, but the thoughts of suicide only intensified. I looked up how to tie a noose on youtube. I thought of buying a bottle of booze and heading out to the woods with a leather belt and making an ornament of myself on a tree limb. I knew I was experiencing some withdrawal from quitting smoking, but as I went into day 5 which is today, I realized that the suicidal thoughts had nothing to do with withdrawal, those thoughts were my own and within me for other reasons.
After abusing lots of coke, ecstacy, and acid in my teens, I permanently lost the ability to appropriately regulate my sleep pattern. I found out that when I had pot though, I slept well and I felt good. When I ran out for a day or two, I couldn't sleep and my mood was up and down like a whore on dollar day. I always just attributed it to psychological withdrawal from weed. I now know that to be untrue.
I'm now at a point where I remember why I began smoking pot and why I accepted that it would always be a part of me for as long as I lived; it silenced the dark thoughts in my head that I could not control on my own that stem from a childhood of domestic violence, abuse, and trauma. I tried all of the standard issue pharmaceuticals such as anti depressants, benzodiazepines, mood stabilizers, and antipsychotics; none of it worked well and all of them caused dependence and horrible physical and psychological withdrawal.
I now ask myself the question; do I need pot to survive? The answer is complicated. Can I survive in this state of affairs? Yeah, sure. You could also put me in a 10x10 jail cell for the rest of my life and sure, I'd survive. Survival isn't necessarily living. I'm discovering that we as humans are imperfect and we spend our imperfect lives seeking the tools and methods to make life easier and more palatable so that we can live well and most importantly, live happy. Some people find balance with alcohol, some with prescription drugs, some with manipulating other people, etc. and so forth. I find balance with pot. I compare my discovery of pot with my discovery of my wife of 12 years; I just knew we would be together forever, because that's what brought balance and happiness to my life. Marijuana truly is medicine, and I will never let a job dictate my well being again. If I had decided to hang myself a couple nights ago, who gives a fuck what job I had or how well I was being paid?
Tomorrow after work, me and my old friend are getting reacquainted and we will never be separated again so long as I have life in my body. Jonny signing off...
I found myself waking up from said coma in a high stress bullshit job that I never would have taken if I had been myself and not under the influence of those psych drugs. 2 weeks after ending my final psych med and long after withdrawals ended, I had a nervous breakdown and was written out for 1 week from work by my doctor and urgently referred to a psychologist.
Rather than return to my job, I turned in a letter of resignation and sacrificed a job that paid me $700/week. It had to be done and I don't regret it one single bit. In an effort to open up my job opportunities, I decided I had to quit smoking in order to pass a saliva / urine test in the interest of finding a good job after going jobless for a month and maxing out all of my credit cards. The first night wasn't so bad. The second night was pure fucking hell and I remembered all of the reasons I ever started smoking to begin with. I had to take a small portion of one of my old psych medications just to get to sleep and subsequently soaked my bed sheets 2 or 3 times during the night. On night 3 I slept a little better, but my mental state continued to be in disarray. I considered suicide as often as I had the urge to piss and let me tell ya, I drink a lot of coffee and I piss a lot. On night 4 I wasn't in despair as much as the previous nights, but the thoughts of suicide only intensified. I looked up how to tie a noose on youtube. I thought of buying a bottle of booze and heading out to the woods with a leather belt and making an ornament of myself on a tree limb. I knew I was experiencing some withdrawal from quitting smoking, but as I went into day 5 which is today, I realized that the suicidal thoughts had nothing to do with withdrawal, those thoughts were my own and within me for other reasons.
After abusing lots of coke, ecstacy, and acid in my teens, I permanently lost the ability to appropriately regulate my sleep pattern. I found out that when I had pot though, I slept well and I felt good. When I ran out for a day or two, I couldn't sleep and my mood was up and down like a whore on dollar day. I always just attributed it to psychological withdrawal from weed. I now know that to be untrue.
I'm now at a point where I remember why I began smoking pot and why I accepted that it would always be a part of me for as long as I lived; it silenced the dark thoughts in my head that I could not control on my own that stem from a childhood of domestic violence, abuse, and trauma. I tried all of the standard issue pharmaceuticals such as anti depressants, benzodiazepines, mood stabilizers, and antipsychotics; none of it worked well and all of them caused dependence and horrible physical and psychological withdrawal.
I now ask myself the question; do I need pot to survive? The answer is complicated. Can I survive in this state of affairs? Yeah, sure. You could also put me in a 10x10 jail cell for the rest of my life and sure, I'd survive. Survival isn't necessarily living. I'm discovering that we as humans are imperfect and we spend our imperfect lives seeking the tools and methods to make life easier and more palatable so that we can live well and most importantly, live happy. Some people find balance with alcohol, some with prescription drugs, some with manipulating other people, etc. and so forth. I find balance with pot. I compare my discovery of pot with my discovery of my wife of 12 years; I just knew we would be together forever, because that's what brought balance and happiness to my life. Marijuana truly is medicine, and I will never let a job dictate my well being again. If I had decided to hang myself a couple nights ago, who gives a fuck what job I had or how well I was being paid?
Tomorrow after work, me and my old friend are getting reacquainted and we will never be separated again so long as I have life in my body. Jonny signing off...
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