Dear all,
For today’s analysis, I invite you to revisit this week’s poem:
You’ve probably guessed it by now—this text sheds light on a plant that needs no introduction : the sunflower…
Alright—fair enough. It’s not the sunflower.
A Touch of Storytelling
Today, I wanted to share my own empirical, deeply personal experience with weed. Through this lens, I aimed to highlight a side of THC consumption that is far less often discussed.
Even before talking about effects, there has always been something about this plant that fascinated me: its aesthetics and its unmistakable scent. To me, it always carried a certain allure—like a succubus mistress: beautiful, seductive, enticing… but not necessarily benevolent.
That’s where the poem opens: an entry through beauty, quickly caught up by the reality it generated in my own life.
About twenty years ago, as a teenager, I was fascinated by this plant. Forbidden, yet omnipresent, cannabis already had its own iconography: a symbol of pop culture, coolness, lightness, and even a form of soft rebellion against authority.
And above all, it carried this persistent reputation of being a drug… without really being one.
That is precisely the point I wanted to linger on, because this sugar-coated image often conceals a far less pleasant reality for those who—like me—used it, or still use it, excessively.
When I started smoking, it was occasional, with friends, in small amounts. I loved the sensation it gave me: a sense of detachment, a distancing from reality, as if a thin veil had been draped over the world.
To me, weed was the equivalent of a large, warm blanket on a winter evening—enveloping, reassuring, comfortable.
But fairly quickly, the experience no longer satisfied me within a social context. Already inclined toward solitude, I began consuming alone: making music, watching films, getting high.
Over time, I became a heavy user—to say the least. My daily life gradually organized itself around weed. It had become a kind of fuel, something I could never afford to run out of.
On top of that came more insidious effects: the constant need to plan ahead to keep a supply, to find a dealer (since it wasn’t—and still isn’t—legal where I come from), to have the necessary funds, and everything that entails mentally.
That’s the forgotten reality I wanted to bring to light.
Because while recreational use may seem acceptable, almost harmless, we too often forget that cannabis remains a drug—and that it can lead to genuine addiction.
Smoking had become a refuge, an escape… and paradoxically, a mental prison. Dreams had faded away, I grew increasingly isolated, my mood could swing dramatically in the face of problematic or conflictual situations. Not to mention my first thought every morning: getting high as quickly as possible, by relighting the survivor from the night before, still sitting in the ashtray beside my bed.
Make no mistake: I wasn’t living like a recluse. I had friends, a stable job, a social life. But joints were always there, lingering in the background.
I went through several periods of abstinence—one of them lasting several years. Yet even during those fasting periods, this mistress would continue to make herself known. Like a former lover you’ve left, whose absence still calls out to you—sometimes insistently.
Whenever I stop after a few days of smoking, I always tell myself that this time, it’s over.
Then the idea returns, little by little—sometimes turning into obsession. And even if I often manage to stay in control—control addict that I am—I have to admit that flirting with this former mistress remains tempting… sometimes even irresistible.
And when I start smoking again, between two periods of abstinence, the effects are immediate: that urge to “deforest” quickly, accompanied by depressive episodes, loss of confidence, mental confusion, memory lapses…
What About You?
Have you ever experienced an ambivalent relationship with a habit, a substance, or even an idea—something both comforting and limiting?
How did you learn to live with it… or to let it go?
Peace & Bliss
Aaron
Yes -- all the time. I think getting away from destructive habits -- even changing environment so one can see a little more clearly -- is big. Also having a practice (religion, meditation, exercise or whatever) to retreat to -- this can help stabilize the mind. The question you raise is a good one that I'm sure most people could talk about for hours or days. So thank you. {at