Three Months Without Getting High

I’m three months now without having smoked any marijuana. My emotional and intellectual clarity continues to grow, my dreams grow brighter, are recalled more deeply and make more sense to be than ever before, and my ability to relate to others, especially at work, is dramatically improving.

I miss getting stoned, occasionally quite acutely, but so far I’ve been able to resist the cravings, which after the first few weeks haven’t been terribly frequent [though I’ve had one or two close calls]. What is the hardest thing is actually also the most valuable; experiencing the loneliness I’ve kept hidden from myself by getting high all the time. It’s valuable because although it certainly hurts to feel it, it is honest pain, and by facing it I touch the ground of my own being. This is making me stronger, and understanding this with my heart as well as my head is what is holding me to my present path.
 
However I’m a long way from real stillness, from reaching the roots of my pain, accepting it, and coming to terms with it all. I’m not out and out running from it anymore, and I’m not celebrating it with angst [or worse], but there are many more ways to avoid yourself than simply getting high. I always knew pot was never my real problem, but rather a symptom of something deeper. Now that I’m not smoking I’m getting closer to that, and some of the details are coming into focus.
 
In actuality I haven’t achieved very much these last three months, beyond kissing ‘Mary-Jane’ goodbye. Very few nights have I sat still with all the feelings my sobriety has returned to me. Usually I’ll mess around on Q&A too long, watch runs of DVDs, drink alcohol or watch ****, and so keep at bay most of the truths I’ve recently dredged up from the repressed dark corners of my unconscious mind.
 
The *********** and the alcohol are the two things I’m most struggling with at the moment, for now they are carrying the weight that marijuana once did as the principle agent of reality avoidance [though promisingly I haven’t amplified their use since I quit]. When I first stopped smoking I did manage to reduce my drinking to the weekend, but more recently it’s got back up to three or four times a week. Often it’s only a couple of beers but it’s still enough to seriously **** with my emotional equilibrium.
 
I think I’m probably pretty close to kicking it altogether because, just like with pot before I quit, I don’t much enjoy drinking anymore. Just this Friday I had a beer after maybe a five day break and before it was even half finished I felt anxious and ill. This kind of anticipation is not uncommon these days, with all my vices. My spirit tells me pretty fast now what’s right and wrong for me. I just don’t always listen to it, and that night I continued to drink another three beers. I suppose I simply preferred that pain to the reality of my own feelings.
 
However alcohol never grew roots into me like marijuana did and I’m sure I’ll beat it more easily now I’m paying proper attention to it. *********** on the other hand is going to take much more work. This one goes right back to my teens and grows out of something much less conscious and which really deserves a whole story to itself. ************ is in itself not as bad, depending on the frequency of the act and the attitude that produces it. Sadly I’ve barely ever registered wanking as problem until recently, and frequency is something I’ve only just begun the struggle to reduce [and struggle is the word]. It’s all so bloody poetically ironic, self-absorbed hedonistic philosopher that I’ve long been.
 
*********** itself is something I can’t see myself breaking with in the foreseeable future, at least not without a real woman’s help. The problem is that I simply love it, dark moral ambiguity and all, and I’ve got to a point in my life where I can find and afford the really high-quality, mind-blowing stuff. What’s especially dangerous here for me is that very good **** is one of the things that most makes me want to smoke pot. Part of the problem [and I know many will scoff at this] is that there is a deeply personal philosophical problem for me wrapped up in the symbols of ****. It's still teaching me something. **** seems to be where my principle spiritual battle of the moment is being fought, and I intend to draw this thread into a proper essay. I desperately need to get a better grip on the problem.
 
I could go on and on really, though layers of addictive objects and behaviours, but these are the principle ones of my present moment. I should be able to get comfort food under control once I’ve mastered my drinking. If I can reduce my *******-off to around once a week I don’t even know what will happen but I’m determined to find out because I know it will be wonderful. I can hardly wait to discover what transformation will take place in my dreams once I achieve this.
 
My relationship to talking, arguing, shopping, DVDs, computer games and everything else must be transformed as well, but as much  as everything is connected, I suspect these issues will follow more easily once I better address the two above. And so the struggle goes on.