I grew up as a poor, nerdy kid in an apartment complex without much exposure to drugs or booze with the exception of the Budweiser constantly in the fridge for my alcoholic dad. The first booze I remember trying was as a young kid over at my grandmother’s apartment where she’d let me finish the rest of her scotch on the rocks when we’d play double solitaire and watch The Young and the Restless. This wasn’t a bad setup— an escape from home a few blocks over, my Nanny with her bleached bouffant Aqua-netted blonde hair and polyester slacks would always win since she cheated. She had a great laugh and would take me to the Purple Cow for ice cream at the King of Prussia Mall.
I don’t remember ever seeing weed in high school. I don’t remember anyone offering me booze but I was editor of the high school newspaper, anchor of the school’s tv morning news, and in all the plays and musicals, so wasn’t the type of popular kid who was invited to parties with booze or weed. In college, where I also edited the paper, I was a resident assistant in the freshman dorm and one night on duty I saw smoke billowing out of a dorm room. I knocked on the door. There was what I know now is a water bong on the table. I asked what it was. Laughter erupted and someone jokingly said, “We’re burning incense.” I said I was worried about all the smoke and they should open the window, and I left while one kid said, “coolest RA ever!”
Fast forward to my late-40s after raising four kids and 20 years of unrelenting migraines. A neurologist asks if I’ve ever tried medical marijuana to treat them. I told her no, despite finding a dead plant growing in my oldest kid’s closet once; she seemed to be a fan of the genre. Next thing we know I have a Maryland Medical Marijuana card and no idea what I’m doing or how to buy weed. It’s weird to get a “prescription” for something without any dosage information so you’re just on your own to figure out what to buy. It’s like a doctor handing you a blank prescription sheet off a pad and you walk into the back of a pharmacy to pick out medications but you don’t know what any of the names mean.
In the last decade I’ve learned about weed, working with my doctors and figuring out what works to treat my medical conditions: severe migraines, insomnia, depression/anxiety (BPD) and osteoarthritis/degenerative disc disease. I don’t like smoking joints because they just make me cough. I started out with a low dose (5 mg) gummy for sleep (or migraine intervention), learning the difference between indica (in da couch) and sativa. I know this is controversial but I did buy and become spoiled by (and not addicted to!) weed pens. I don’t use them during the day unless I get a severe migraine since one-two hits from a pen stops a migraine in the same way a migraine intervention pill does. I can only do that on a day when I’m not working. The only other circumstance I’ll hit a pen during the day is for extreme anxiety but that’s rare. I don’t operate in a world where I have the luxury of being high during the day. I wish I did. At night I take at least a 10 mg gummy though I think I’ve been buying high doses which are 40s and taking half because I think I wore out the 10s and my tolerance is higher now.
I fucking love being high. The only reason I’m up late at night is because of how happy I am high. I watch the news or movies, and I’m horny as all hell so porn and my vibrator or a very lucky partner are involved. I’ll write or hang out on social media or play games on my phone, have some Scooby snacks, read, or chat with people.
I think about the four decades that I didn’t get high with mourning, mostly because I raised my kids during that time. It would’ve been so great for them if I would’ve had just like a very low key amount of weed then. I’m not saying I should have wake-and-baked my way through all of motherhood, exactly, but since I was never a drinker, weed could’ve made a difference. Would this have changed outcomes for my kids? I’m not sure. I wasn’t the worst mom on earth but trust me, with a BPD mom, they didn’t always have it easy. A low-key stoner mom probably would’ve been very different. I would’ve preferred stoned parents.