My Goodbye Letter to Marijuana

Desert landscape at sunset, one person walks in front of a camel on a lead and another person walking behind them

Written by, Karen E.

Dear Marijuana,

Fate was cruel for introducing you to me, and I was foolish for hanging onto you for so long.

The 14th century Persian poet, Hafiz, wrote:

“Learn to recognize the counterfeit coins
That may buy you just a moment of pleasure
But then drag you for days
Like a broken man behind a farting camel.”

Marijuana, you dragged me for decades, and now it is time for me to let go and to finally say goodbye to you.

Your warm waves of pleasure led to stormy seas that left me isolated and all alone, where light didn’t shine. I felt powerless and in fear. In the darkness, I let the Universe know it would be okay if I drowned.

I was left in your hands and I let you take control of my life. I did not realize, however, that I was giving my power to a liar and a thief. You made me believe that sleeping with you was the most delicious thing in the world. In actuality, you left me shaking, shivering, and slouched on a couch – sleeping by myself.

Your hands were not helping hands. They were slowly strangling my life out of me, and I found it harder and harder to breathe. You filled my mind with ruminating thoughts of pain and suffering. You stole my focus, strength and motivation to do anything about it. My inner compass was broken and I was lost.

Yet, I still believed that it was you who was filling a hole in my soul, not realizing I was already whole. You were breaking my spirit into thousands of little pieces and each time I felt broken, I returned to you to fix me.

Your help was just an illusion, like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

After 37 years of hanging on to you daily for survival, and trying many, many times to leave you, your grip only became tighter. Those counterfeit coins you offered me cost me my entire adult life. Now, I must come to terms with the regret, resentment, guilt, and shame that you have left swirling inside me like a storm.

I wonder, how could I have shown up in the world without you?

What kind of career could I have pursued?
What kind of marriage could I have had?
What kind of mother could I have been?
What kind of daughter, sister, aunt and friend?
What kind of life?

Somehow, in the distance, the dim light of a lighthouse made its way to me, and it let me know that I was not alone. You, on the other hand, left me weak and stranded, but I was no longer powerless. It took all of my power to make my way to the shining light for help.

I learned I was not alone. There were others in the same boat as me, and there were people who were willing to help. With the helping hands of others, I made the single decision to wave goodbye to you. I am committed in my heart, mind and soul to never be with you again. It is a firm boundary that I will never cross, as I never want to get lost again after being found.

It is now time for me to take a voyage inward, without you, for centering and balance, and to receive what you could never offer me – nourishment from my true Higher Power.

I know the flow of life can be unpredictable and uncomfortable, but I am willing and able to ride the waves and set my sails toward calmer and more peaceful waters. My journey ahead may not be an easy one, but I am equipped now more than ever to work hard to sail away from you as far as possible, and become the whole person I was meant to be.

I am done wasting my precious time here on Earth with you, Marijuana. I will not give you the satisfaction of focusing on what I gave up because of you. Instead, I will remain curious about where I am going and have faith that it is someplace good. In times of need, I will drop the anchors of humility and gratitude, and pray to my Higher Power. I will focus on everything I have to gain by saying goodbye to you.

I made my final decision on June 14, 2026. It was a full moon – a time for new beginnings and a brand new course for my life.

It is time for me to Let Go and Let God.

Goodbye Forever, Marijuana,
Karen E.
July 23, 2026
(39 days without you)

Published in A New Leaf – October 2026

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