My Love Affair With Marijuana: A Break Up Letter to my Best Bud.

Listen, we’ve been dancing around this for years.

It’s not like you and I didn’t both know this was coming.

We’ve tried to make it work for over 10 years now.

I keep deluding myself, thinking that I can somehow incorporate you into my life without disrupting the very things that I seek to manifest in my life, but I keep coming to the same conclusion:

I have to break up with you.

You’re killing my productivity.

It’s not like I keep smoking all day, every day anymore; I’ve been able to give that up.

It’s that even waiting until the end of the day to take a few puffs, it ends up turning into a few bowls. Which means I get to bed too late, and then in the morning I keep hitting the snooze button because I am left with a residual hangover feeling that makes the bed too cozy and warm for me to pull myself out of bed for a workout or morning strategy session.

Good-bye, morning routine.

Then the rest of the day somehow slips away from me, and the cycle begins all over again.

It’s all making me grow weary. You’ve somehow become like a bad boyfriend that I feel like I am never going to get rid of.

It’s the same old thing.

But we’ve been together for so long; it’s bittersweet.

Every time I try to break free from you, I am hit with the nostalgia, ‘How am I ever going to move on without you?

Especially when there’s just no one physically present in my life who knows me like you do.

I mean, who like really gets me.

You’ve been there for me through the good times, and the bad times. Hell, most of the good times and the bad times were with you. I’ve done practically everything with you, Cannabis.

But there’s this tight feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I smoke. Like, really? Come on? You’re still doing this?

It’s not even fun anymore.

We used to go out, and have fun you know?

I’d take two hours to put on my makeup, listening to music and getting high with you.

We’d drive around, blasting music and getting lost in the rhythm and the lyrics.

We would go dancing. We would go to dance class.

That was always so much fun.

But then I’d just get soo tired.

After awhile, I’d have to get high again.

Then everything was fabulous again.

Until I needed to get high again.

Now, we don’t even do anything fun anymore. Adult life has set in in full force, and you no longer provide the excitement factor anymore.

You have become part of the routine.

It’s not like I don’t think that people can’t smoke marijuana and not be addicted.

They totally can.

It’s just that I truly, truly loved you.

And even though you’re not like a “real drug,” I know in my heart what kind of drug you are for me.

You are dangerous.

Dangerously good, because I can count on you to understand, and to be predictably sedating.

This day sucked ass — and you make me feel better. I can of course, feel at least, a tiny bit with you.

But then the crappy after feeling sets in, and all my internal thoughts keep prodding me with the head-talk that I am not living to my potential.

I know I can do better than you.

I know I can do better than this.

I know that I have to, because I deserve it.

It’s been over 10 years, and the notion that my lungs are probably black by now is a scary reality I have to face.

I probably should have dumped you long ago.

I know I am not a horrible person. I have definitely made a lot of mistakes, but my intentions have always been good.

But somehow, Marijuana, you have led me off path. And I let you.

I let myself escape with you, because for some reason, it was always the easiest thing to do.

Now that my 30’s are looming not so far ahead, Cannabis, I have reached the point where I just have to say good-bye to you.

You have always been my achilles heel.

But all the Tony Robbins in the world isn’t going to help me if I don’t feel in my very bones that you are the reason for nearly ever major mistake in my life; like that time you thought it would be a great idea that I started doing bachelor parties.