Dear Marijuana Again! (Reflections of a Rehab Escapee)

If you read my post: Dear Marijuana

it will not come as a surprise that I found my ass in rehab. Well, at least it wasn’t a mental institution, though the difference might be lost on some people (me included). incase you are wondering I did not go willingly even though like a like a dumb fuck I packed my bags. Coercion and blackmail played the greatest role in getting me there unfortunately they were not enough to make me to stay. I skipped the joint after the first two weeks, on the night of my 21st birthday (It was also the final for Champions League) no less!

My parents were understandably less than excited to have the problem they had dumped in rehab wake them up at 1.00 AM on a Sunday, so i was promptly taken back. Two more weeks had me ready to ditch the place again this time for good. I had no intention of repeating my mistake to have my parents deport me, so it was me against the world. It may seem like I didn’t learn much but you’ll be shocked how much I picked up in four weeks!

Rehab sucks! I won’t lie, with the exception of the very cool people (read addicts) I met there, everything else made me want to slash my wrists. Unfortunately, I am kinda in love with myself and completely unable to cause myself any pain whatsoever. There are all sorts of people in rehab, it was not what I expected at all. My roommate was a delightful little heroine addict visiting rehab for the second time after a relapse, she held my hand and walked me through all the strangeness.

You’d think all animals are equal but apparently even in rehab some addicts are more equal than others. Alcoholics lorded over us thinking themselves the highest of all us lowlife junkies, the reason was lost on me, hazarding a guess probably because their vice was the most socially acceptable. I itched to tell them that until public demand shifted the scales of justice, puritans had made their drug of choice illegal just like ours, however i forgave them because their withdrawal was ugly to witness.

Lucky for marijuana enthusiasts, we suffer no withdrawal when separated from our beloved. Only one other person was there purely for cannabis and we got along splendidly with the other junkies . Users of heroine and cocaine made for great company after they emerged from the terror of withdrawal of serious narcotics. They were not as ill tempered as the alcoholics who seemed to be in constant need of someone to bash to make themselves feel better. Junkies had amazing stories of the escapades they witnessed in pursuit of their fix. We also shared the general misplaced feeling spanning from being locked up and forced into the AA program that held little insight or appeal to us.

The prison wardens (read counsellors) were the actual reason I could not abide. Being treated like someone not concerned or conscious of their own existence was initially demeaning though I thought I could grin and bear it while counting down my three months. i soon realized it got much worse, than being treated like a toddler, we were considered mentally unstable and incapable of rational decision making. The rebel i am, these unacceptable constants saw me clash with the ‘law’ and I was not ready to apologize yet I was right.

Captivity paired with the mind numbing boredom of having nothing to do but listen to the droning on during group counseling brings out strange things in people. There was this one crazy guy, well there were many crazy guy but one really got to me. He’d walk around muttering under his breath writing in a little notebook talking to no one but his charming self. When i was informed that most of the crazies, him included were normal upon arrival, I thought my newfound buddies were playing ‘scare the newbie’. Terror sank in as I observed him get worse in my month there, he stopped mumbling and started yelling rap verses (his original pieces) out loud, accosting people on issues they had no clue about and acting very bizarrely(he made grillz from paper foil wrapping margarine) amongst other things.

I needed no further encouragement, my sanity was not up for grabs and I couldn’t gamble on it. Truth was i could feel my ends fraying and I ditched that joint before they unravelled. It has been three months since I said adios amigos, no hasta la vista baby, unlike the terminator I will never be back.