i havent smoked weed in two months. officially.
i think its the longest ive gone in three or four years, which is sad — especially for someone who never wants to rely on substances for happiness
[its ironic that im pumped full of medications that inhibit my natural brain function on a daily basis, but theres not much i can do there.
ive accepted that.]
weed helped me feel less alone.
i think it connected me to myself when i felt like i couldnt connect with anyone else? maybe it just made being alone more bearable?
im not sure if that makes sense.
weed let me tap into my creativity in a way that, honestly, ive struggled to do so since mania
i dont feel creative. i dont feel funny.
though i think, for me, those two things work in tandem.
and, at times, i dont feel.
maybe its depression creeping in; maybe its just a slump
regardless, im not afraid.
i trust myself. mood is always in flux.
everything is always in flux.
its easy to get hung up on the bad, but life is never always bad — one has to remember whats going well
what the trill is going well for you?
appreciate the good.
find the good.
i dont miss weed, really. i know im innately funny and creative without the assistance of anything — even when i dont feel i am
i mean, have you met me? im perfect
and ive been able to weave funny and creative through the folds of depression throughout my entire life, regardless of being high or sober —
sometimes its just harder.
sometimes its harder to do that.
sometimes its really fucking hard.
and thats okay.
maybe i dont feel creative or funny rn, and maybe writing isnt coming naturally to me, but id much rather this than my relying on weed.
i have a lot of good right now.
/im pausing for a minute to let it fill my soul/
/im breathing for a minute to let it fill my soul/
i want to live this beautiful life.
i want a full life —
not a distorted, distant, disconnected version of it.
i want to build a life that fulfills me so much i dont need anything toxic/supplemental/fake
i want the real.
when i die, i want to have lived.