Written by, Don S.
There was a time when I didn’t think I would ever be writing this. I pretended and wanted to tell myself that this day would never come. When we first got together and for the first couple of years of our relationship, this ending was not on my bingo card.
I am writing this letter to let you know that I am officially breaking up with you. It is finally time for us to go our separate ways. You should also know that I met someone new – her name is recovery.
We had a solid run. It was not all bad. You made music sound better. There were instances where you made being outdoors feel like I was having a spiritual experience. You made random gas station snacks taste like 3 Michelin star meals – who knew honey roasted peanuts could taste so good. You helped me relax. You helped me slow my mind down (most of the time). You made doing absolutely nothing feel like a full day and night event. You could probably say you made doing nothing feel like it was a personality trait of mine. And, real talk, that is really impressive. I have to give you that. I bought in a lot to what you were selling and I did it for a very long time.
But fast forward to 2026. Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome has entered the chat. And, since we’re being honest, CHS has been a part of the chat for a loooooooooonnnngggg time.
CHS was never a fan of what we had. It disliked what we had so much that it took all of its anger and resentment out on my stomach and fed me so much anxiety during episodes that if the anxiety were water, it would be enough to drown a fish. What was once “chill and relax” had become “why am I suddenly awake at 1:30 in the morning negotiating with my nauseous stomach and anxiety like it’s a hostage situation?” I better get up, go run a blazing hot bath at full speed, and throw up in the toilet before I projectile vomit all over my bedroom. Too bad for anyone in the household that was hoping for a full night of sleep. CHS did expose you in a way. For me, you’re not that super chill and laid back presence that you pretend to be or so many think that you are.
It’s 2026 and I’m tired of being on the losing end of the above mentioned hostage negotiations. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. Our relationship is toxic – literally and figuratively. You made me lay on the bathroom floor or in the scalding hot tub next to the toilet and I barf my brains out – that is if there even is anything left to barf. And yet, even after all of this, time and time again, I came crawling back to you. Literally and figuratively. Fuck, who does that? My stomach and anxiety have tried to get a restraining order on you more times than one. Obviously the judge never signed off on that up to this point, or you found a way around it and slid back into my life like a baseball player sliding into home plate.
I’m not even mad at you bro. That’s 100% honesty. I’m not. My stomach and anxiety are. But I’m not. I can acknowledge that even though I don’t hold a grudge, we are no longer good together. You are going to keep doing your thing and there are others out there where you will contribute positive change in their lives. Despite all we’ve been through, I can respect this. But this isn’t about what you give to society and others as a whole, this is about us and just us.
Recovery has entered the chat. Today, and every day, I choose recovery. I choose not to make myself sick. I choose not to wake up in the middle of the night throwing up. I choose not to run a bath at 2am on full blast because I feel like I need it in order to survive, all while questioning my life choices. 4 out of 5 dentists say the bathroom is not the best place to question the choices I have made. I choose drinking water and other liquids and not throwing them up. I no longer want my stomach to be against me sitting down and enjoying a meal with family or friends. My dog is my emotional support animal, not the bathroom and not the toilet. I’m choosing mental peace. I’m choosing to feel normal and not sick. I’m choosing to no longer listen to that voice in my head that constantly asks me “will doing this make you sick?” I want to be able to go on and enjoy vacation without having to worry where you are or stressing over the fact that you couldn’t make the trip.
I’m choosing to admit that I am powerless over you, and that you’ve really made my life unmanageable. One hit is too many, but a thousand wouldn’t be enough.
So, this is goodbye. Forever. My feelings towards you are not hard, but the choices to start making better decisions for myself today and every day are, and that’s what I’m choosing. I want my stomach to feel better. I no longer want to live in the bathtub. I no longer want to feel comfortable throwing up to feel better.
All the best to you (from over there).
Don S.
