no tears left to cry by Ariana Grande

I first heard this song on Rick Dees but I never paid it much attention till I heard:

We’re way too fly to partake in all this hate
We out here vibin’, we vibin’, we vibin’

Comin’ out, even when it’s rainin’ down
Can’t stop now, can’t stop, so shut your mouth

It was specifically the “we vibin’” bit that caught my ear and I fell in love. I feel so fabulous when I sing those lyrics, especially the “can’t stop so shut your mouth.” I always finger snap at that point, whether in my head or an actual finger snap.

But that is not the lyric today’s post is about. This is:

Right now I’m in a state of mind
I wanna be in like all the time

In 2015 I had to go 21 days without drinking, smoking and smoking up because of my Monroe piercing. That was the longest I had ever gone without getting high and it was both incredibly difficult and incredibly eye-opening.

Below is part of an email I sent to a friend of mine detailing what I learnt from those difficult, eye-opening 21 days:

I have a dependency on weed and alcohol to help me cope with my mum’s situation at home. I didn’t realise how bad it had gotten. And I’m not talking about the musing, that’s awesome. It’s this thing called “decompressing” that I do. Or should I say used to do. I started by justifying that I need to decompress between work and home. That work is really taxing, and home is really taxing too. So I just need something in between, something to take off the pressure of work before I go home and face this immense pressure. Because I have such immense pressure at home, it’s really bad. Such that right now it’s one of the 3 reasons I don’t want kids. I don’t want first borns. I wouldn’t want my first born to ever feel the pressure I currently feel.
So what became a blunt and a glass of wine every so often at 5 became a must every single day. At 5 sharp I would smoke up and then drink my wine. So when I had to go without it … I noticed that I was snapping at everyone. So I stopped chatting because when I notice I am snapping at people, I go quiet, before I say something I will regret. That’s why when you texted me the Channing pic I didn’t say anything. I was in a shitty mood.

So I mentioned it to one of my oldest friends, who’s been to hell and back with addiction, depression, suicide … I told her how I am just in a shitty mood for the past few days, and I’m not coping well, and I just need a blunt and a glass of wine. She told me “that’s what drugs do. They make you feel like shit when you’re not on them” and at first I wanted to go “weed is not a drug’ it’s a plant” and then I thought about who is telling me this, and her struggles. And I realised she is right. So I started to look into jogging more seriously, and journaling, because I need healthier outlets. Or should I say healthy outlets.

This is obviously a WIP. Because I looove my wine and my weed. But I refuse to make it my coping mechanism. So I have decided to do what Adelle is doing; she says she does not drink when she is not emotionally okay. And for me emotionally okay is only pertaining to my mum. Boys, work etc that’s some basic shit. I will go all Olivia Pope and drink that wine. But for my mum, no. Reading too should help. luckily I’m trying to read 50 books this year ( Adelle says when you drink and you’re not emotionally okay it takes away you’re power and you feel worse (though that worse just sounds like a hangover)

I was hesitant about sharing that email because it is exceedingly honest. It showcases me in all my damaged glory. But there is power in vulnerability and if I am going to comfort and inspire via this blog then I have to be at ease with being vulnerable.

Back to this lyric:

Right now I’m in a state of mind
I wanna be in like all the time

Enter September 2018 and yet again I am getting high to escape. I really do not know why but my mum’s nine month anniversary was beyond difficult. My ex who introduced me to weed years back told me that smoking up is meant to be fun. When you use it to try and escape your problems then it becomes an issue. From the beginning of September I started to notice I was high more evenings than not and it was getting out of control. Being high was a state of mind I wanted to be in all the time.

I do some of my best writing high, not drunk. But it reached a point I was no longer writing in the evening because I was wasted. I would light up, pour some wine and it would just go downhill from there. October came and I was still doing the same thing. The day before my mum’s 10 month anniversary I saw a therapist who helped me realise that my unhealthy ways of dealing with grief are not doing anyone any favours.

So I minimised my smoking up to three times a week: Wednesday, Friday/Saturday and Sunday. I decided that smoking up less than half the days of the week is a fair compromise. But I quickly realised that weed and my newfound anxiety do not mix.

Embarking on 31 on 13 really brought out my anxiety. Anxiety I never realised I had. While 31 on 13 is a healthy outlet for my grief, it is also daunting AF! 31!!! posts. A few days after making that commitment I could not help but wonder what the fuck I was thinking. Especially as I was about to take my blog public and there would be external accountability. I know I can write, but 31!!! posts??! What if I only came up with 23 posts that were all so shitty it was better not to have written anything at all? I would get home to write but all I felt was anxious about this massive goal I had set. With time the anxiety started winning and I was barely writing.

So I decided to go on a weed break as of October 28 when I would have been running Stanchart XV. I have no idea when I will be back. I am playing it by ear. Maybe when I finish writing 31 on 13. Maybe when I get a handle on my anxiety. Who knows? But definitely not before my mum’s one year anniversary. Getting high before that momentous day may obliterate all the progress I have made since October 28.

By the time of this post there are 13 days to the 13th. It makes my heart hurt just thinking about acknowledging one year without the love of my life. I still have all the tears left to cry. How is that for irony?

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