Written by, Sashank V.
I imagine the brain to be an intricate Rube Goldberg machine, where a tiny stream of water flows over tributaries, spinning little water wheels, and setting tiny parcels afloat or aground based on the tide and logic of the day. Smoking marijuana is like setting a fire hose upon this delicate machinery, flooding every gate, and destroying the entire structure in a tsunami of rain. No longer is a little moment of pleasure, like hot soup on a cold rainy day, enjoyed as is. Instead it is enjoyed as PLEASURE, an assault on the senses of ecstasy and stimulation. Such a force is too powerful, making even mundane chores like folding laundry fascinating and meaningful. Soon I can no longer fold laundry without it. Soon I can no longer live life without it.
Now that I am sober some months, and have a steady conviction to remain sober, I find something interesting happening. I am building structures and ideas in the mind that slowly build on each other, week over week. I think I am beginning to mature and make spiritual progress, viewing and appreciating life in new ways. Otherwise, any durable insight I achieved would be erased at the next smoke, like an Etch-A-Sketch being shaken. All the newly learned information is lost, and I return to old habits like anxiety and despair. I am unable to think myself past life’s difficulties while in this perpetual fog. I started smoking at 27 years of age, and for the past decade, have been 27 years old ever since. Now that I am committed to sobriety, I think I am beginning to emotionally mature. Delayed at 37 years of age, I am finally beginning to feel 28.
