Why I Quit Weed And Psychedelics

I remember just sitting there sometimes, staring at the rolling paper, the buds, and thinking - am I lighting this up to add something to my evening and creative process, or to escape something?

It wasn’t like I was trying to be some rebel, deliberately stepping into the unconventional, or whatever. Nope, It was just me, trying to sneak a peek behind the curtain of ordinary perception and to see what might be lurking there, unnoticed. The day-to-day, the usual, it all just seemed... well, usual. A bit too predictable maybe? There's no harm in these substances, that's been proven, right?

What psychedelics and weed did initially was throw the veil off my day to day life and allow me to see the beauty in the world around me, kind of like putting a new filter on a familiar scene. With weed, the scene felt different each time, however even that feeling started to become a little too familiar.

With this different filter to my reality, it kind of borrowed bits from elsewhere, something that wasn’t genuinely me, or genuinely my life. And at first, it was cool, sort of a vacation from my own headspace.

But then, those trips, the highs, and the inner vision, they started feeling like they were loaned to me, and I eventually had to pay the interest in ways I was beginning to find out.

I mean at first, I was laughing, seeing things in the lights, feeling stuff I hadn’t felt before. But somewhere...

It was like sitting in a room watching a movie of my life, but the scenes weren’t all mine, the script wasn’t all mine, and I was both the viewer and the unwitting actor. A spectator, but also the spectacle, and it was oddly unnerving, this subtle, seeping detachment from my own self.

What I started noticing was, the more I leaned into these experiences, the more I sort of veered away from the raw, the authentic. Every trip, every high, it became less of an exploration and more of a deviation - a step away from my real life. Everything is just better using plants for a while.

Waking up from a high was like, I don’t know, waking up from a dream I guess? An elaborate, vivid, emotion-laden dream, and realizing it was just that - a dream. It wasn’t real, wasn’t genuine, and all that felt... off.

Life, with all it's natural functions and elements I had forgot - and here I was, distorting it, remixing it with qualities that didn’t belong, masking its true sound with layers of artificial enhancements.

So, I decided to unplug, to step away from the appealing but artificial world of cannabis and psychedelics, and to step into the real, undiluted, sometimes barring, but stable rhythm of life.

Getting off that journey, it wasn't some grand exit or anything. No dramatic flare, no stark revelations just quiet, slow steps backward, retracing where things kind of began to get blurry.

It took a bit to realize that all these experiences, while broadening perspectives, were also kind of diluting me. My thoughts, my creativity, they weren’t purely mine anymore. It was a mash-up of the genuine and the induced, and I sort of lost track of where one ended and the other began.

Remembering who I was before the add-ons and external plugins, the extra layers, it was oddly grounding. Simplicity, clarity, the rawness of emotions and thoughts – they have their own appeal, don’t they? Not refined or polished, but just blatantly honest and unaltered - the pure form.

When you’re crafting music, there’s this phase where everything is just basic, not mixed, not refined, but it’s genuine, you know? It’s from that core that you build up, adding layers, but never losing the essence of the original track. That’s crucial.

But with each joint, each trip, it was like adding an effect to that original track without really understanding its purpose, its impact. The real melody got lost, the genuine emotion, the unadulterated thoughts – they sort of took a back seat. And when you're drifting away from your own self, it’s a type of loss that’s subtle but also kind of profound, in a quiet way.

You enter into a haze, and you begin to forget clarity. The dependence is both psychological, and biological, but later on it starts to become spiritual.

Then there’s this gradual realization, you start to become comfortable with the quiet, the stillness. It’s not so bad, actually, it’s calming, grounding, in a way that’s new, different.

The initial period was the toughest, to be honest. Nights spent just looking at the ceiling, pondering where the paths had been distorted. The mistakes, the missed opportunities - in ways everything I was running away from and using the weed for, was coming back, but I had learned to find acceptance thought the process of letting go - so it was easier to reflect and find peace in these moments.

My mind and I, we became friends, finally getting to know each other without the interference of a third-party mediator. It’s kind of wild to realize you don’t really know yourself until you strip away all the distractions, all the additions, and are left with just you and your thoughts and your real reality.

Strangely, the creativity which I thought was amplified by the substances, didn’t vanish, it just transformed. It was no longer chaotic, wildly imaginative, or erratic. It was more thoughtful, more connected with the real world, more empathetic, and perhaps, more mature.

Exploring different realms under the influence, I thought the benefits were clear, tangible even. It was supposed to be an enhancement, a betterment, a heightening of experiences, and in many ways, it was, but at what cost?

But stepping back, peeling away from these illusions of enhanced reality, clarity presented a different score, one that was subtle, gentle, and genuine. And surprisingly, the benefits of existing in this undistorted, reality were unexpectedly profound and quietly spectacular.

As I walk into this ongoing journey of clarity and sobriety, it's like learning to appreciate the silent tracks in an album – the ones that give you a moment of pause, a breath, a space to simply be.

There’s a newfound appreciation for the natural course of life, the unaltered, the unenhanced. It’s not a downgrade, it’s not a retreat, it’s an embrace of what is genuinely, truly present.