If you are your only audience what does that change? What does that change in how you act, how you think about yourself? What does that change in your work if you just remove the idea of anyone else being a witness and you witness yourself?
Weed is one of my favorite things in the world. Why? It opens up my perspective! I’m not spiritual or religious, but I do feel a deeper connection to myself and to nature when I burn.
The plant has a way of making me confront things that I deny, suppress, or ignore in less elevated states of mind. It has the power to make me worship my depression and question my happiness. Usually, it shows me things aren’t really what they seem or how they seem. It forces me to reinterpret reality with input from all senses.
Embodiment – a rare moment of peace in a disembodied world that wants to disembowel me and keep us divided. Divided society, divided self. Weed makes me whole. Makes me one. Fully alive, alert, and embodied.
I always felt shame for being a smoker, even though it’s part of the religious practice of my culture (one that I’ve distanced myself from – more on that another time). I enjoyed it in secret, in shame (bc not being where I wanted to be career wise made me feel like smoking EVER was a waste of time). It felt like something I could only enjoy once I’ve “made it” so pretty much at like 55 when I’m retired and finally able to travel because I’ve saved enough. It wasn’t until weed steered me out of an emotionally abusive relationship that I realized the true potency of the plant. If it wasn’t for weed I would not be free today. I might be dead, or be the mother of some unwanted kid trapped in a house with a man who controls my actions and thought.
Ivan the Terrible – this guy would shame me for smoking; he called me an addict and made me question myself. But when I pulled away from him, he’d contact me incessantly. At some point saying how he had smoked with his friends and he missed me so much. Weed isn’t so bad after all, he’s say, then apologize and beg me to come see him.
Throughout our relationship, the most notable times I stood up to him was after I’d been burning. I’d interrupt him while he spoke (because he never shut the fuck up. Literally – he would talk so much that I’d forget what we were even talking about). Everything he said to me while I was elevated would sound different. I could cut through his bullshit without worrying about hurting his feelings (being socialized as a female is a hell of a thing – we are constantly putting our needs aside to not offend anyone). I would ask direct questions. Corner him on the shit he’d spew and press him for answers and clarification.
When his guilt trips and mind games wouldn’t work on me it was always after I’d smoked. Being the adaptive fucker he was, he made talking less of a priority while I was stoned and would instead bury his tongue in my ass and pussy. My embodied body enjoyed this.
Once while we were “broken up/just friends” he begged be to come over. I was already high so I told him straight up I don’t feel like hanging out and constantly telling you I don’t want to hookup. (I’m more direct and to the point while high). He said “I promise you that’s not my intention. I just miss you and want to enjoy your company. Are you hungry, we’ll get food and watch Insecure.”
So I went. Half way through eating he was trying to get my pants off. I told him no: and don’t you remember what you said. His reply was “why are you here then? You knew what would happen and you came over here to tease me.”
The first time I called out his gaslighting I was high af. I specifically said “you’re trying to make me question what’s real. Common sense isn’t up for debate” and I left disregarding his protest. I didn’t have the language for that type of manipulation yet, but I knew I hated it.
Of course at this time I was younger, less established career wise, and fantasizing about getting my own place without a roommate. I did smoke often, but I usually ignored my inner self when she tried to connect with me. I spent several months trying to get away from Ivan before I was finally free. Three years later thoughts of him haunt me still. So my blog must take a turn. I need to write certain things, certain people, certain experiences out of my system. I need to write without fear of judgement from eyes I know. I need to write myself free. What would I do different if I’m my only audience? I would write with honesty to unchain my heart.