Citation: Dan. "Here I Sit Now, Reflecting on 8 Years: An Experience with Cannabis (exp39558)". Erowid.org. Mar 31, 2008. erowid.org/exp/39558
When I was 13 I first smoked pot. It was with my 2 best friends. We will call them ‘Tim’ and ‘Gareth’. We were all the same age and all went to the same school, it was an all boys school and in one of the most teen troubled areas of the city. At the time most kids our age didn’t smoke pot, most were out drinking their livers to an early grave instead. Anyway, Gareth had recently moved house to a farm, with a massive house on a quiet road-metal street, hundreds of meters from the nearest house. Perfect for midnight sessions.
It was briefly talked over and without much memory we obtained some pot from an acquaintance at school, who ironically ripped us off pretty bad. Seeing it was our fist time we didn’t really know. This was not going to be a typical Friday night for sure, I recall waiting the hours tick by as the impending darkness set in over the valley, and we had to wait for Gareth’s parents to fall asleep. Once they had we snuck out the back of his house, easy to not make a sound considering the size of the place.
We walked about 500 meters down the road and stopped behind some trees, with an old unused pipe I ‘borrowed’ from my dad (who used it for tobacco) and loaded the cone and spent the next 10 minuets puffing away. Initially it didn’t really hit me, I couldn’t tell if I was stoned or not, which lead me to believe I needed more. We were all newbies so we didn’t want to rush or get in over our heads but there was no need to worry I soon found, half way through a puff I recall seeing the flame of the lighter and became lost in its contrast to the dark background.
It was bliss, and for the first year it was easy to pace myself to only doing it socially once a month or so. It was fun, each time was as intense as the last, the buzz was strong, and we were all small and new to the game. Good times indeed. I never did it for ‘cool factor’ or a peer pressure, I did it for an escape, a new experience and the chance to do the typical rebellious teenage phase in style. For years I kept it from my parents. Had my dad found out I would have been on the street, had mum found out I would have lost her respect and a degree of love.
My need to smoke fluctuated with my social life and I found it drawing me in more and more. Time rolled on like this for a while, it was a daze of what must have been a year. It was easy to keep it a secret as I only did it off my property and it was only once a month or so, that is until I got my fist real job. Income made it easy, I soon had myself a new habit which would only grow worse. By this time I was in my last year of school at 17. I had managed to keep it to a once a week thing, but slowly over a few months it escalated into a daily habit. I share this habit with Tim to this day.
Its social factor had diminished to nothing, its control took me over. By this time I had finished school and was attending a computer course in which most days were a bore. That is until I met “Kevin”. Kevin had just arrived from England and had just snuck into the class before enrollments closed. He was a big stereotypical English-man, and smoked a fair bit of pot. Our lunchtimes soon turned from a joint into the bush to buckets in my car. Things started to get out of control, spending most of my conscious day stoned. It took its toll on my wallet, I was still at study with my course but knew quitting time was a long time away.
My dad passed away that year from cancer, and it left the family (brother, mother and I) shattered. We ended up moving house and my brother moved out. Life wasn’t looking as good as it once did but the bud persisted to be a major part of my life. By this stage it was getting hard to hide the habit, coming home stoned daily and finding new ways to avoid eye contact. Mum soon sat me down and asked me straight up about it, to which I gave a straight up reply. Why I did it, and what it has done. I explained my mental and physical condition and change as a result and in turn I find myself now smoking daily in my room, pot and bucket sitting on the desk, stoned off my nut while walking to mum in my doorway.
Here I sit now, reflecting on 8 years of smoking. Daily for just over 2 years.
The effects it has had on me are slow and slight but noticeable. I cough constantly, my flem is black or brown and I get pain in my chest at regular intervals. My mind is fine in my own personal opinion, I am social, maintain relationships, hold back a full time mentally challenging job and keep my family life running smooth. Where it takes me I don’t know. The paranoia is gone, being high is just another state of consciousness. But I love it. I fit in with a common New Zealand stereotype I guess. I am mentally addicted to weed, I wake to it, fall asleep to it. It has so much evil, but it brings so much insight and pleasure at the same time.
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