I’ve been a lifelong pot smoker, something my shrink refers to as “self-medicating.” Honestly, I still think of it as an addiction, a moral failure I need to rectify, if only I could muster more will power and “goodness.” But modern psychology defines addiction a little differently than they did 30 years ago, so I suppose there is some hope for me after all.

In 2016, in an effort to cut back on my weed smoking, I began experimenting with vaping pens and liquid tinctures. Back then, I had a medically issued card to use marijuana to help with my insomnia and the constant feeling of “being rushed.” (I now know this could be characterized at PTSD or GAD, in psychiatric terms.) The medical marijuana prescription was issued at Amoeba Records in the Haight/Ashbury district, (upstairs! just follow the green arrow on the floor) by a real medical doctor from Chicago. He had a family practice in Illinois, but he would fly to SF 2x per month to hold office hours at the record store. (because he was no dummy! This is a greeeeen rush, get it while you can!) Walk-in, put your name on the list and wait your turn. Pay $35 and after a 10 minute conversation with the doc, you could easily get a medical marijuana prescription. Nowadays I think you can do it online, with even less friction.

With this silly replacement strategy fueling my decision, I went to SPARC dispensary, downtown SF. I also talked to Budtenders at The Green Cross in the outer mission, closer to my house. As well, folks working the counter at Harvest on Geary were in the mix of my information gathering, question-asking phase. These three dispensaries became my go-to, and at the time, medical use of marijuana had been legal in Cali for 2 decades (yay prop 215! I voted for The Compassionate Care Act in ’96) but recreational was on the November ballot, not yet approved. To say there were variations in the advice is putting it mildly. To say I believed anything anyone was telling me would be generous. I knew I was just going to have to experience it in order to know for myself, so I started trying new things.

I know the timeline is accurate, because I journal. Since I was 11 or 12 years old, I take notes on everything I do, because I don’t trust my own memory, and I know I often have a tendency to lie. (Especially if I am tryna sell something) Looking back on my journals – both analog and digital, I went from microdosing to overdosing in just eight days.

Processing and admitting what happened, took me a few months. And I’m still processing, really. This is part of my confessional healing, I suppose. But I don’t microdose anymore, nor do I vape. Weed on the regular, yes – but only in its God given natural state, as it grows off the plant. And I’m tapering that down too, learning to live with the intense emotions that happen when I’m not high. Those feelings, like the weather – pass, eventually. And I’ve decided weed usage is not core to my identity, just a handy crutch I use for almost any reason.