A Toasty Little Room

Pangs from an Old Addiction

I went downtown today, to go to a smoke shop to buy incense and rolling tobacco.

As I entered the smoke shop I walked past hookahs, Buddha heads and psychedelic images on the walls. I surveyed the merchandise placed underneath glass counters: bongs, knives, pipes, and flasks. Welcome to New Hampshire's counterculture.

I felt little pangs of desire as I visually examined the multicolored, glass-blown pipes. It's been almost one year and eight months since I last smoked marijuana, yet there is still a part of me that wishes I could buy a glass piece, take it home and sit back and smoke a little nug of weed. I'll just do it on occasion, I tell myself, but the plea is short lived. I know myself better than that. I wasn't a casual smoker, and I doubt I ever could be. When I smoked, I smoked up all the time. Before work, after work, before dinner, after dinner, before hanging out with friends, while hanging out with friends, before bed... all the time.

That's how it was, and then I stopped, cold turkey. I have not smoked marijuana since the day I was admitted to the mental hospital in San Diego. From the hospital I came back east with my mother, leaving my California life behind me.

Had I stayed in Cali, it would have been incredibly hard to quit; it was part of my routine and my social life. Back home in New England, I was divorced from all the elements that would have drawn me back to the drug. Sure I craved it and longed for it... and I still have moments of nostalgia for my favorite herb... but I know keeping clean is the best decision: research has shown that those who have schizophrenia and smoke marijuana are more prone to relapses. I don't want to put my mental health in jeopardy.

My thoughts were wisped away with a pleasant, "What can I help you with?" I looked up, and saw a young, attractive woman with plenty of piercings peering back at me from behind the register. "I'll take these," I said, placing three small boxes of Nag Champa incense on the counter, "And I need some rolling tobacco."

I left the store satisfied with my purchase: sweet scented sticks and my second favorite plant to roll up and smoke. Sure, someday I'll need to quit that as well, but for now I'm just happy to be sober.

Stars and Peanut Butter

As I stood outside in my backyard, all bundled up, smoking my last cigarette for the day, I looked up at the sky and a faint smile came to my lips. Now that most of the leaves have fallen, I am able to see the stars through the bare branches- something to be grateful for.

I thought about how much more I end up talking and laughing when my brother David is home. It is a good workout for my communication skills. For a long time after the episode I was really quiet and reserved, and talking with David helps shake some of the rust out. We discuss a range of topics, including movies, music, politics, and our lives.

During dinner somehow we got talking about peanut butter balls. The name pretty much says it all: balls of peanut butter, flavored with honey, rolled up with rice crispies for crunch. It is a simple, delicious little dessert that my mother would make when we were kids.

David and I decided to make some, so we drove to the supermarket to get the ingredients. Back home, we measured out the portions, threw it all into a bowl, and mixed it up with a spoon. After shaping little balls out of the mixture we put them in the 'fridge and waited for them to chill.

When they were ready we dove in, each bite bringing back memories of childhood.

Before I sign off, here is the recipe (it's a great thing to make with kids):

3/4 cup dried milk
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup peanut butter
rice crispies

Mix all the ingredients in a bowl, sprinkling in enough rice crispies to give it some crunch. Form into balls, then chill. Enjoy!

Smokin' in My Little Room

I fired up the heater in the little room my father built in the garage for smoking cigars in the last few years before he died. I now use it in the winter for smoking cigarettes- as I live at home with my mother and soon-to-be step-father, I cannot smoke inside, and my little smoke room is the next best thing. It reminds me of where I was at mentally when I last smoked in there, at the end of last winter.

I was just starting to come out of my idle days of laying on the couch and staring off at the ceiling or at the pictures on the wall. I had been sleeping at least 12 hours a day, had completely lost my sex drive, and had no energy, stamina, or motivation, and generally just didn't feel like "myself." I was experiencing what is considered to be the negative symptoms of schizophrenia, such as lethargy, apathy, lack of motivation, and lack of emotion, causing me to become much more withdrawn and reticent.

When I was in the hospital in California, they started me on a medication called Risperdal. Fortunately this drug quickly eliminated the positive symptoms I was having (the paranoia, delusions and hearing voices), enabling me to be discharged and taken back to New Hampshire to live with my mother. However, I suffered from the negative symptoms of schizophrenia, in addition to dealing with the side effects of the medication- which are actually hard to distinguish from the illness.

Finally, near the end of last winter my new psychiatrist (who I am very grateful to have in my life) weaned me off of the Risperdal and started me on a medication called Abilify. After some time the new drug started to assuage the negative symptoms and I started having more energy, my sex drive came back (although still being without a sex life) and I started reading and reading and reading. I would read for eight hours a day, punctuated by trips out to my smoke room. Sure, I was still sitting around the house all day, but my mind was starting to become more active, I grew more talkative, and laughter and smiles came back into my life.

Thoughts of all this came back to me as I sat smoking a cig in the little room.