Today I went to the clinic to get my meds refilled and check in with my therapist. I decided to be honest and told him I had slipped by smoking a little pot. His response caught me off guard. He said, “That’s okay, I do it too.”
Not exactly the wisdom I was expecting. Helpful? I’m not so sure.
For me, marijuana is complicated. I don’t avoid it because I buy into scare tactics or old slogans. I avoid it because I know how it affects my mental health. I feel the shift when I use it. So when my mom said I should count it as a slip, I didn’t fully agree. My family tends to see everything through that old Reefer Madness, War on Drugs lens. Sometimes that way of thinking also conveniently lets them off the hook for how much their own stress, pressure, and expectations have contributed to my struggles with mental illness over the years.
Another surprise hit me at the clinic. When my caseworker refilled my meds, he noticed my Chantix prescription had run out. I didn’t even realize I’d been taking it this whole time. He suggested I see the doctor about getting something else. I told him no.
Not because I’m anti-help, but because I’ve learned something important through all this. Patches, gum, lozenges, pills. They all help. They all give you a boost. But sooner or later, the real work shows up at your own front door. No prescription can do that part for you. That’s the part where you sit with cravings, breathe through them, distract yourself, argue with yourself, and finally choose yourself.
And then there’s Whiskey Kitty.
She’s been snuggling with me later in the night now, curling up like she’s decided I’m officially part of her inner circle. I might sound a little strange saying this, but that’s love. And I haven’t had much of that lately. So this cat gets it all. Every ounce I’ve got to give.
No cigarettes today.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
SUPPORT MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS TODAY!!!
