I’d STILL be journaling about what I wanted to share instead of actually sharing it.
Because my thoughts would go off on tangents, and my energy would be zapped within minutes.
I’d STILL be slinking off to my car and hot-boxing bathrooms.
Because I had to hide the smoke, the smell, and the shame.
I’d STILL be married to a narcissist, settling for scraps and crying over crumbs.
Because I was too weak to give up and let go, and too numb to face why that was.
And it didn’t matter how big my desire was to do, be, and have more.
Because the weed would pull be back and hold me down every time.
The miracle plant that never was…
A miracle that I’m sharing this post…
And a miracle that you’re reading it now.
Thank God I quit weed.