a supercut of weed
a well documented, surprisingly musical retrospective about my 6 relationship with weed.
Before you scroll, I recorded a very special substack exclusive song for you to listen to during your read.
I was 19 when I got high for the first time. I was in my friend Andrew’s dorm room, we got brownies off of a senior who was in a class with our friend Jillian.
I usually felt uneasy around the idea of getting high, but on this night I felt pretty game, usually, I was offered joints, but in this case it was a brownie, and a brownie seemed pretty doable. Plus, I had always been set on my first time being an edible because D.A.R.E actually worked on me. I always thought anything involving smoke was inherently worse and more powerful.
I was 19, naive, not the most drug educated, and too proud to admit that I didn’t know the difference between things like crack and meth because I had seen every episode of Breaking Bad.
I was late to alcohol too. It started with a sip at the end of Junior year, and by the last semester of high school, I was hoarding about 14 cans of Lime-a-Ritas in the back of my closet, which my parents eventually found and I had to answer for.
I’ve always been hesitant with substances, I didn’t even want to get laughing gas when I got my wisdom teeth removed. I’ve (lamely) said no to cocaine every time I’ve been offered it. I didn’t even participate in the smoking Smarties fad that took over middle schools in the early 2010s (x). I don’t like challenging control, I like where my disposition is naturally. I always worried that a new state of consciousness would bring new problems; I’d either say something I’d regret or I’d like it so much that my life would bend into a completely new shape.
When the brownie was given to me I didn’t feel the need for hesitation, I felt like I was long overdue for this. There were kids in middle school who spent their weekends getting high and developing their own deep, personal relationship with weed while I was busy scrolling Tumblr for Sherlock yaoi.
I ate and 40 minutes later I was rolling on the floor of Andrew’s dorm hotdog style, moving my body back and forth so both sides of my face could have a turn with the cold linoleum. Acquaintances and suitemates shuffled in and out. At one point I showed my breasts, and at another, I played Let’s Get Retarded by The Black Eyed Peas (x) and gyrated my body against Andrew’s couch so I could feel every fiber that made up its cover. I felt warm everywhere. The feeling reminded me of whiskey or vodka, but this was much deeper. It all felt so rich, everything was laughter.
I was delirious.
It was hard getting home that night. My walk from Andrew’s was a 2-minute straight line, but somehow I took a wrong turn and later got lost inside my dorm building after getting off the elevator on the wrong floor. Thankfully a girl I kinda knew saw me slumped against a wall, laughing, and offered to walk me home. I held her hand, and through laughter, tried to explain to her how funny a story all this was, but I didn’t really have many words to say, the story was what I felt- the story was my high.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to ★ I WILL DO WHATEVER I WANT ★ to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.