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I'm a 33 year old man that's been smoking pot daily(or almost daily) for.....2-3 years or so. I started when I was 18. VERY sporadically. Once every couple months or so. The first time I ever smoked, I was in my parents backyard with my best friend and my sister'd boyfriend who was a year younger. I took one hit out of the metal pipe(lol), and after exhaling, the first thing that came out of my mouth was,"Shhhhh....do you hear that??? Is my phone ringing???", straight outta Friday when Smokey said the same thing. The funny thing was, I'd NEVER seen that movie at that point in time! My friends busted out in laughter after I sprinted around the corner to listen more closely. Then my dad got home early, and we all ran around the other corner of the house to avoid being seen. We were laughing about that for years afterwards. Eventually, my sister's bf(who I'd become good friends with) and I stopped being friends because he turned to crystal meth and dragged my sister into that sh*t. He tragically died in an auto wreck on Jan. 10th, 2000. My best friend and I were best buds all through our 20's, partying our asses off at clubs and college sorority houses, etc, until he thought I stole some of his CD's and thought I'd used his name to buy a cell phone which was never paid for and was a negative mark on his credit report. I never did either one. Our friendship ended on my 30th birthday, the last time I saw him in person. I guess he figured we'd be better off not being friends any more, after 20 years. I think the pot is what made him paranoid. He used to get the best Purple Kush around back in the mid-90's through about 2004. I've seen him through pictures he'd taken of himself and sent to my sister's cell. (We'd all been friends for 20 years). He looked like a dude straight out of the Taliban. That was over a year ago. I get texts from him once every 8 months or so just droppin a line saying, "I hope all's well with you...I'm pretty fu*ked." Stuff like that. I'll try to call him or text him, but I get no answer or response back. So...
I used to be very physically active. Played college football, would have played professionally somewhere, but I tore my ACL & MCL in 1997, which ended any hopes of that. I never smoked during the season, and would even hesitate once in a while to smoke at parties just because I wanted my career to be in the NFL, so I trained hard in the gym(3 hours a day/ 5 days a week) and rarely smoked at that point(once a month) because it would make running, harder on my lungs.
After football(1999-2004), I had some jobs where I worked with people, mostly young people in their early 20's and even late teens, and we'd connect on a 'deeper' level once out of the workplace by smoking a joint at a party every 2 weeks or so. I still remember one incident where about 8 of us were at someone's apartment sitting on the floor talking and passing a blunt around. Keep in mind I'd had about 4 beers at that point. I've ALWAYS had a huge lung capacity too because I played trumpet for 7 years. So I took a PHAT rip off the blunt, passed it, then started watching as the room started spinning out of control. I was sitting Indian-style, and the next thing I knew, I was swaying like a mf, until I finally fell all the way back, hitting my head on the coffee table. Immediately, I got up, stumbled around embarrassed and headed to the bathroom, where I puked my guts out. It was a move that almost got the girl too. Michelle was the hottest girl at work. 5'10" tall, 125lbs, long blonde hair, blue eyes. She came in after a minute with a cold wash cloth and put it behind my neck as she slowly massaged my back while my head was IN the head, LOL. I ended up passing out in the bath tub for a few hours while I slept it off. We had a connection at work after that. Then came the day when she was hosting a party, and I was the first she told. She said to be there around 7pm, which turned out to be about 2 hours before the rest came. In my stupidity, I started drinking when I got there. 1 Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, then 2, then 3...after about 40 minutes, I'd drank about 6. I was sociable and talkative, and Michelle and I were having a great time talking(I didn't know that she hadn't had a thing to drink @ that point). Then the masses started arriving with more beer and hard liquor. I was mixing drinks left and right not giving a F**k! And I felt pretty damned good! Then this badass wide receiver from the University of California Berkeley showed up with some of his homies. I sat at a big round table with all of em while we played cards and drinking games. Then, he rolled the biggest blunt I'd ever seen(still the biggest I've ever remembered seeing). It was as phat as a roll of quarters(an inch in diameter), and measured about 10 inches long stuffed full of some of the best smelling weed I'd ever had the pleasure. I took one Phat rip, then another(puff, puff, give was the proper etiquette), and passed it. IMMEDIATELY I stood up, grabbed my drink and went out the front door, finding a seat on the curb in front of her house. I remember swaying left and right a lot. Michelle came out to see how I was, I told her I was fine, just needed some fresh air. I don't remember how much time had passed before I suddenly woke up lying on my side as an ambulance and EMT's were arriving. I said I was fine, then I blacked out. Then I remember being strapped to the gurney and being rolled to the ambulance. Michelle was by my side asking if I was ok over and over again, until they loaded me up into the ambulance and took me to the hospital where I ended up having my stomach pumped for hours until it all came back up. Apparently I had alcohol poisoning and the weed tipped the scales. I ended up losing the girl after that. Something I'll always regret. Now, I'm not blaming weed directly, but I am blaming it indirectly. I was so embarrassed to go back to work because a lot of people were at the party.
So, I kicked drinking and smoking for a bit(6 months or so), until I built up the courage to give it another shot at another party. By this time, I'd quit that job and was working at Starbucks, where just about everyone smoked the ganja. Even the shift manager, a rasta-type guy, would bring his bong and pot in a specially-formed little duffel bag, and we'd smoke out on the patio after we closed shop. I'd only close once every 3 weeks or so. That went on for a couple years(1999-2000). I was still working out like crazy so I kept the smoking to a minimum. Then my best bud ended up going to college in Sacramento. His dad got him a house, paid his bills, and all he had to do was rent out the other 2 rooms and pay the mortgage with their rent money. That went on for 4 years. I'd drive up there every other week and go partying and drinking and smoking. Never got as f**ked up as I did at those parties a few years earlier, thank God. Learned to control how much alcohol to mix with pot.
After 4 years, he drank so much that he dropped out of school after flunking class after class and getting poor grades that the school kicked him out. He got so depressed that his roommates moved out and he couldn't rent the rooms to anybody because nobody wanted to live with him in that environment. So his dad said,"That's it. I'm done." Put the house up for sale, he continued to drink and smoke heavily. A few days later he rolled his 'baby'. His Infinity G20, which he took sooo much pride in, was totaled. His dad found out through his insurance company, and he ended up moving back home with his parents, much to the shagrin of his father. He laid off the alcohol, and focused on weed. Kinda like me. Now we were getting high every weekend, going out to the clubs in San Francisco, livin life! Or so I thought at the time.
We ended up working together at a company, and life was great. I had my pad, he was workin on gettin his. Then December 2003 hit, and I met a neighbor of mine who seemed extremely cool. She was almost a spitting image of Michelle. And she liked to smoke pot. So after gettin to know her for a few months, she convinced me to move in with her in February(I know, I know...what was I thinking?). This was a first for me, living with a woman. From Valentine's Day to May 12th, things were perfect. We both worked, we both got home, we both smoked bowls, make dinner together and end the night with some heavy makeout sessions that eventually led to you know what within a few weeks. (I was holding out, I felt I wanted to respect her...lol). My bud and I hung out a lot less. He'd come over and chill once a week or so. But now he was supplying me with bud, and I was smoking it up every night with her. Then came the day, May 12th. She'd lost her full time job and was getting money by cleaning houses of people she used to work with. She wasn't getting as high any more(which was strange to me because I was gettin high just fine), so she told me she was just gonna drive with a girlfriend of hers to go pickup some speed because she said she needed it for a job she had the next day, a 'really big house'. I begged her not to go. For over an hour I tried to convince her she didn't need it. She ended up taking off anyway, and I didn't see her for 5 hours. I'd tried calling her cell, calling her friends cell. No answer. I went to bed sobbing like a baby. I made sure I got super high though, to 'ease the pain'. This continued for another 5 months. I was in denial that she was still doing it, behind my back, at all hours of the night. Even my closest friends from work(mostly 18 and 19 year olds) were trying to convince me that she was on crystal meth. The constant fiddling with her hair, braiding it, unbraiding it, over and over. Rocking back and forth constantly. ALWAYS wanting to smoke more weed. Irritability, aggressive behavior, anxiety and especially paranoia. She'd grown completely detached. There was ONE clear day in July, after we'd gone to my family reunion in Tahoe together. My uncles noticed her 'habits'(rocking back n forth, etc) right away. But nobody said anything, they just treated her warmly with open arms, just like a great family does. On our last day up there(3 day weekend) she was hungry as hell, which indicated that she was starting to come down after not having any for 3 days. We all stopped at this great restaurant in Kings Beach. She ordered the weirdest sh*t ever! Clams, pizza, garlic bread and a mushroom salad. I was still in denial. We were driving home that night when we were passing Auburn, and she was feeling very ill. She couldn't even rest in the passenger seat while I drove 90 mph. So I exited the highway. She said she needed a restroom. But she didn't want me going with her. THIS was where my suspicions finally started to come out of hiding. After she'd been in the safeway restroom for about 30 minutes, I came in to check on her. She said she was fine, and would be out in a minute, which she was. We got back in the Jeep and started back home again. Not more than 5 minutes later she was in even worse agony. She needed a bathroom again, and at that point the closest one was at a gas station. After 5 minutes, I came in as she moaned in pain. I was terrified. Keep in mind this whole weekend, I wasn't stoned a bit. Which was a rarity because we were always smoking pot. So my mind was racing. She was in a stall and couldn't reach the door to open it for me.(I know, kinda weird that she wanted me there with her). So I slid underneath it, nasty floor and all. She was apparently having repercussions of the food she'd had, and was getting it out of her system out her rear end. It was gross, but it didn't matter to me. I was there for her whenever she needed it. I just held her hand, put a cool cloth on the back of her neck and told her everything would be fine. Afterwards, she said she just wanted to get a hotel room and drive home in the morning. I tried to persuade her otherwise but couldn't. The room emptied my savings account. $75 for a damned Motel 6! From 1am to 11am. She felt better in the morning and we took off for home. Once home 2 hours later, she got into bed and stayed there for 3 days straight. No food, some water, and that's it. On the 3rd day, I crawled into bed with her, put my arm around her and told her everything was going to be fine. She slowly looked up at me and got tears in her eyes. She held onto me like I'd never felt before, and then she said something that I will never forget. "Chad, no matter what, don't ever give up on me. Don't ever let me go." I said I wouldn't and I meant it. I called a drug rehab counselor and asked to make an appointment for her and I as a couple. 2 days later, she was out at all hours of the night again. I'd come home from work to find her gone with no note to let me know where she was. I called her cell. Straight to voicemail. I was devastated. I even went so far to try and save her, that I took a loan out to pay for an engagement ring. I had the perfect one made for her with a beautiful diamond in between 2 dolphins(her favorite animal). I proposed to her one night, as I was trying to get her to stay home and not go out to get more meth. She looked at me and said,"You don't want me Chad, trust me." And then she walked out. I was devastated. After a week I finally convinced her to go to the appointments at no cost to her, $100 per session to me, after I took the ring back. This went on for maybe 5 weeks before she thought that the counselor and I were "in it together to gang up on her". She never went to another session again. She was gone. Now I was starting to snoop around while she was out, and I found sooo much paraphanellia that when I confronted her, she just got pissed and jumped on me about going through her things. One night when she wasn't feeling so well and was actually home, she asked me to go to the store to get her some snickers and gatorade. While I was gone, she apparently aborted our unborn child, which I hadn't known about yet. I knew several months before that she might have been pregnant when we weren't being responsible while having sex. The EPT tests were positive but she wanted to confirm it with her doctor. I never heard a thing after that. That explained the weird food up in Tahoe. She called me while I was at the store to tell me she'd had a miscarriage. I found out later that she took abortion pills without talking to me first. I was devastated yet again. It just got worse from there. The paranoia, the anger, the gone all night nights. She asked me to move out in October and I finally gave in after trying to help her for so long. I got a better job earlier that month, but that didn't matter to her. She was gone. We made some really good friends while she was straight, that in the end, didn't want anything to do with her. A month passed, and I got a phone call at work from her begging me to give her a second chance and move back in. At that point, I just couldn't handle the stress anymore. So my boss, a tough old man named Ralph, answered the phone the next time she called, and told her that if she ever called there again and disturbed his business, he'd "call the cops on her methed-out as*". She got the point. I continued to smoke almost every day, with my best friend more often too. The next time I'd speak to her was 2 years later, when I called just to wish her a happy birthday. She told me that I'd made my decision, and that she never wanted to speak to me again. I told her that I was sorry, and if that's what she wanted, no problem. But I could hear the woman I knew before the meth, trying to call out for help, as she started crying. I told her I'd always be here for her. She owned a special place in my heart. And then she said goodbye. And that was the last time I'd speak to her. I'd continued smoking pot almost every day since.
I recently ran into an old neighbor of ours who lived next door at the condos. He asked how I was, I asked how he was. The usual chit chat. I got the courage to ask if he knew what happened to Kim, the woman I've been writing about. He said that a few years ago, the police came knocking on her door to evict her after not paying her mortgage and having a repo-man take her Jeep. And that she'd moved to her mom's place in Arizona, and suddenly killed herself. I didn't ask how, I just sat there stunned in silence.
Anyway, I've been smoking every day all day for the last year or two, never really wondering why, until a moment of clarity came upon me, 2 weeks after quitting smoking pot because I got pretty sick after eating half a pot brownie. I've had the flu and a cold right after the other for the past 2 weeks. I'm going through some pretty bad withdrawal now. The sweats are pretty bad, the shakes I get once a day it seems, I get hot then cold then hot then cold over and over, my immune system seems to be completely fu*ked, I get little migraines at night, I can't sleep for more than 3 hours at a time, my appetite is completely gone, I've lost about 15 pounds, I have no energy at times, I'm in a state of dizziness all the time, I have a nagging, phlegmy cough that isn't going away yet, I'm completely irritable, my moods swing 180 degrees and back within an hour, I have no patience, I feel light-headed and stupid because I can't concentrate and I'm always worrying if this is ever going to end or if I'm going to die because I've smoked for so long now that maybe it's too late for me, maybe I have cancer, I don't know, but the thoughts are constantly there which makes my heart beat harder and faster which in turn makes me feel hotter which in turn makes me feel sick to my stomach, and so on and so on.
Thank you Lord for this thread! I know I went off the deep end a bit, rambling for a while. But it really does help just being able to get it off my chest finally, after 15 years. I haven't even covered 50% of it. My family's been torn apart, my friends are gone. Pot just stresses you out more in the end. All it does is suppress all the pain. And all that pain will lead to something serious eventually. To know that there are physical symptoms to quitting is a measurable relief to me. I know it really, really sucks right now, but I plan on never smoking anything ever again. It's God's will. I kinda always wondered what he'd do to get me to stop. Now I know. Praise Jesus!

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After realizing all the problems pot has caused me I have also tried to quit. I'm on day one, sweats, anxiety, the works. Came on here for some support and good to hear other stories that are similar to mine.
Good luck and God Bless
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did you get clean???
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with drawl symptoms are very horrible. your brain will function in such a way you must continue, or else you may die of haunting fearful feeling, but if you over take with WILL power, this feeling will last long for 7 days. later you will be confident and peaceful.
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ahhh funny story....ur obviously on meth , looping in your own guilt,distortions and delusions.....

weak mind stays off drugs...or else it gets the hose again...

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"I took a PHAT rip off the blunt, passed it, then started watching as the room started spinning out of control. I was sitting Indian-style, and the next thing I knew, I was swaying like a mf, until I finally fell all the way back, hitting my head on the coffee table. Immediately, I got up, stumbled around embarrassed and headed to the bathroom, where I puked my guts out."

hahaha doubt you'll ever read this OP, but what you experienced this time was one of your friends putting tobacco on the blunt (like a spliff joint), but using wayyy too much. The nicotine poisoning will do that to you.

Source: I thought I'd save money by rolling spliffs, used too much tobacco, exact description as what you said.

Shittttttty feeling lol, and doesn't go away for like a few hours too!

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