My Breakup Letter to Marijuana

When we first met, I was around three to five years old. I wasn’t sure who you were, really. At first, I’d smell you whenever my Dad was home. The pungent smell was gross to me, but still, I was not sure where it was coming from or what it was. After a few years, I quickly realized that when I smelled you, it went hand in hand with my parents fighting. I still wasn’t sure what you were, but most of the time, when that sour smell filled my house, my parents were at odds with each other. When my parents fought, the tension could be cut with a knife. The thick silence and lack of love between each other was loud. When I smelled you, I’d lock myself in my room, mostly because the smell of you disgusted me. 

Several years later, after my parents divorced, I figured out what you were. Marijuana. Weed. Cannabis. My mom would talk about you and how you destroyed our family. I hated you, and I was convinced I always would. After the divorce,  I pretty much forgot about your existence. Later, in high school, I started smelling weed again. My classmates would smell like it, and the smell still repulsed me. I even dated someone who smoked. I had a lot of resentment towards him for that. He was the prototypical stoner, skipped school, failed classes, and didn’t have a job. I even wrote his essays for him. Pretty lame. 

My stance on weed was clear. I wouldn’t ever be involved with it. In high school, I didn’t really go to parties. I wasn’t interested in being around weed or any other substances. Thankfully, I was never directly around weed in high school, let alone being offered to smoke it, until I went to a prom after party. My “friends” were wasted on a plethora of substances and cocktails. Once I realized that, I made the decision to leave. It was really late at night and my mother was  asleep. I dangerously let my drunk friend drive me home because I was so desperate to get out of that situation.

At 19 years old, while I was in college, I was with friends and they were smoking weed. Just to prove a point, when they offered it to me, I tried it. Nothing happened; I didn’t get high. I was confused. Why were so many people obsessed with smoking that they’d even risk going to jail over it? (At that time (2005) I was living in Florida and marijuana was seriously illegal). And, why would people let their families be destroyed over it? It didn’t make sense to me. 

Fast forward to 2010 when I was living in Tampa, Florida.  I started dating someone who had smoked weed before but wasn’t currently smoking. He kept raving to me about how awesome weed was, how it helped his anxiety and depression. At 21 years old, I was extremely depressed. This is the most depressed I have ever been in my life up until this point. I just wasn’t convinced that weed is what I needed since I was still so against the substance because of what I saw it did to people I loved. That all changed when I met my friend Amy.

We connected over having the same mental illness, shared trauma, and common interests. She told me that smoking weed basically saved her life. She had been through a lot of abuse and claimed weed gave her confidence. That is all I needed to hear. After my own trauma, my confidence was shattered. I was meek and withdrawn. 

Amy said she had “connections” to get her hands on some quality weed and that smoking it might help me like it did her. I told her I would buy some, and the next time we hung out, she gave it to me. I had already purchased a pipe to smoke it out of. I was slightly excited to try it, even though I had a long-standing stance of being against it. 

When I got home, I set the mood to smoke my first bowl of weed. I lit incense, turned the lights off, and mindfully packed a bowl with sticky, pungent nuggets of a plant I hated so much. After I took the first hit, I immediately fell deeply in love. I smoked a few bowls after that, and my mood was boosted, and I felt a type of giddy excitement. The guy I was dating at the time said, “I told you so.”

After that, I smoked weed every single day; I even smoked multiple times a day. For the first year of smoking, my depression and anxiety were almost gone (or at least I thought). I had confidence and my self-esteem skyrocketed. I was killing it in school by getting all A’s and B’s, and I was successful in my many internships I had.

In that first year of smoking, weed went from magic to medicine for me. I was convinced that this plant saved my life and made it exponentially better. Two years before this, I was diagnosed with a serious mental illness. And, I thought, all I need is weed! I didn’t need therapy or other medication. I found my lifeline!

But I was so confident that I was cocky and egotistic. I thought I was the coolest person ever. During that first year, my anger also got worse. When I would run out of weed, I immediately turned into a monster. I was pissed off and acted out until I could restock again. I remember my Mom telling me that my Dad would do this, and now I understand why. My medicine was gone and I needed it!

After the first full year of smoking, even my partner was getting upset at my weed usage. He told me that weed was all I cared about. Interesting for him to say that when he was one of the people who told me to smoke it. 

My anger, depression, and anxiety increasingly got worse. The relationship I was in continued to be abusive. I let my partner abuse me over and over again. I even landed myself in the psych ward and emergency room every few months. I had no idea why my mental health was getting worse. I had DAILY suicidal thoughts. I thought that this was just my life, and I always had to live this way. I had no idea weed was causing this.

I continued to smoke every day (now close to all day). I was still in college, but I wasn’t doing well mentally. I had so many internships and side jobs that I pretty much had a mental breakdown. Something had to give. It was such. a tricky time in my life though. I was holding down jobs and doing well in school. How was weed the probIem? Because I was living in this fantasy, I put weed first before everything else. 

In 2013, I graduated from college (after 8 years). I paid my own way and was dealing with serious trauma throughout my college career from abusive relationships and substance use.

A month after I graduated from college, I interviewed for a television news job in another state (far, far away). I knew that this could be my opportunity to start a new life, get out of my abusive relationship, and put weed behind me. 

I eventually got the job and had one week to pack up my life in Florida. 

Once I started my new job, I stopped smoking. I lived in a state out west that took marijuana crimes seriously. I didn’t smoke for a while, but I was still in and out of emergency rooms, wondering what was wrong with me. I was unaware that I was going through weed withdrawals at the time.

After working at the same job for several years, I decided I needed a change. Being a news reporter was fun and I am glad I experienced it, but it was not for me. I needed a work life balance for my mental health. Once I transitioned from that job to another job, I started using again. I decided to take trips to Colorado and Washington (eight hours away from where I lived) to fill up on weed. Oddly enough, I was doing well at my job. My addiction was a secret. I lived in a privately defined world and I was living the fantasy of functionality.

At the time, I was living with my partner, whom I had met at the television station I had worked at previously. When I would run out of money, he would get out cash advances to fund me getting my “medicine.”

We eventually got married, and the relationship turned abusive. I was in and out of emergency rooms (again), wondering what was going on with me. I even landed in a psych ward for several days. 

Eventually, my husband and I got divorced, and I was smoking more weed than I ever had. I was isolating and keeping myself inside more often. I didn’t hang out with friends. All I cared about was weed. My ex was right. 

Years after getting divorced, I landed a social media management job in the weed industry. At first, I thought, well dang, there is no problem with my smoking weed, I found a high paying job, and now I can help people discover the magic of weed, too.! But, eventually, even while working in the industry, I felt like a fraud. I had such a desire to quit smoking, but I couldn’t. My coworkers would know immediately. How could I recommend strains to people when I wasn’t smoking myself?

While scrolling online one day, I discovered SMART recovery. I went to a meeting and mentioned that I thought I was addicted to weed. I was laughed at and told weed wasn’t addictive. So, this desire I had to stop smoking went away. I didn’t have a problem after all. 

Several years later, I discovered Marijuana Anonymous. At first, I was a lurker. I didn’t share in the meetings. But I knew this was somewhere I belonged. Once in a while, I would take a two-week tolerance break. But, then, I was right back to smoking all day, everyday. I was still going to the emergency room every month and even weekly. My life fully deteriorated.

Even though I had picked up running as a hobby and even ran some marathons, I still smoked. Sometimes, I even smoked before and during runs! How dangerous is that?

I occasionally continued to go to Marijuana Anonymous meetings. I even tried to get sober a few times, strung together two months at a time here and there, but kept relapsing. 

In 2024, I even strung together over 70 days of continuous sobriety, but eventually relapsed. The withdrawal effects, I thought, were “too much” to get through. The constant throwing up, mood swings, irritability, and migraines were so hard to deal with. So, I gave up. I was convinced that this was my life, and it would never get better.

I was also diagnosed with Cannabis Hyperemesis Syndrome. The only cure is to stop smoking weed. These symptoms are similar to withdrawal, making it quite difficult to quit smoking. 

It wasn’t until May 18th 2025, that I decided to quit for good. My life had become unmanageable. I couldn’t sleep, I often engaged in binge eating fast food and candy. My health was declining. I knew I wanted to quit, and it was time that I did so. 

As I am writing this, I have over four months of continuous sobriety. Marijuana, I am done with you. You never served me. You went from magic to medicine, to madness. 

I deserve to live a life outside of the prison that weed had me in. My lungs deserve to be clean, and my mind deserves to be clear of suicidal thoughts. 

Now that I am more than four months sober, my life has significantly improved. I don’t have daily suicidal ideation. My mental health has drastically improved. I found a job where I feel valued, and I am no longer tolerating abuse.

I don’t have to accept a bare minimum life and stunt my potential. I can do anything I dream of. I am excited about life, and I have the confidence I always wanted. I love myself and I am not afraid to experience a full range of emotions.

Having a career, being in graduate school, and having hobbies that I love give my life purpose now.  I can run faster, and I am delighted with my overall health. I am training for my seventh marathon (my first fully sober one).

I still have intense cravings at times. But, I know wholeheartedly that weed no longer belongs in my life. Recovery isn’t easy, and I have to take it one day at a time.

I couldn’t have broken up with weed on my own. The people I have met in Marijuana Anonymous have been integral in my recovery. 

Weed, I am finally done. You are no longer welcome in my life. 

Goodbye, forever.

Love, 

Sober Patti