So last night was the first time I smoked pot since August, and it reminded me why I stopped smoking pot entirely. I launched into a total mental and existential crisis, was literally shaking and gasping for air, and had to take some benzos to be able to sleep.
Luckily this time I had my girlfriend by my side talking me through everything and comforting me while I was barely functional and freaking out over the notion that I had once again eaten of the forbidden fruit and once again was cast out of the garden and into the shit-abyss.
The worst part of it was how super, no, HYPER-forgetful it made me, such that any comforting thought either from myself or her only lasted a fleeting moment before thoughts of doom and catastrophe crept back in and swept away all semblance of serenity.
I woke up this morning feeling the residual effects of it, and I hope to the gods they dissipate quickly with time. Luckily, I'm in a much better context than I was in August, visiting Maine for the weekend with my girlfriend before one more month of school till summer. I've been spending the past couple hours actually being productive on my report on Plutarch and deriving some good insights from the residual high.
It just sucks that I could never learn to control my high and use it to generate new insights and FOLLOW through on them before simply forgetting them. I know myself a lot better now than I did last August, so (unlike last night) I don't expect another death-spiral into depression. Just sucks that I now know for certain I can never smoke pot again.
