I had a relapse with weed. It didn't feel pleasant and it brought me right back to where I was some months ago. It happened because I went out dancing and I wasn't enjoying myself, so I went to a smoking club. The place was dark and depressing. I had a smoke and went back to the place to dance, which I did but in my typical spaced out i-don't-care-about-anyone attitude. I lost my jacket and it was a sad night overall. The next day I slept in all day, feeling supremely moody. Still, unexplainably I was tempted to smoke again to get me out of the rut. I slept through the day and then the night, and woke up in a much better mood.
I wish I could assure that the experience was a total turn-off, a confirmation that I don't want weed in my life, but I feel I peeked through the door to the pandemonium, the demons starting spilling out, and I'm still trying to shut it closed again. I don't understand how a negative experience can bring you to crave again. I must find that what I seek when I smoke, I experienced this in Cuenca, so I know it's possible.
I know—from experience with addiction—that the mind-trick I will want to play on myself is that a couple of days or weeks will pass by and I will think "Ok, I smoked once without falling into it again, I can smoke again and let a couple of weeks go by", and this is the downfall. I even feel afraid of stating "one more strike and I will attend a AA meeting", because this would give me room for one more strike. I can save myself the trouble, thank you very much. And yet, I must make this promise, lest those demons take control of my life again and wreck havoc with the newfound stability I have found in Madrid.
On Saturday I went to yoga in the morning. The day was gray and gloomy. Droplets of water were suspended in the air, wetting me I was biking to the studio. I felt a degree of relief: the weather is shit, I don't have to feel bad about being indoors. After yoga I shopped for a new pair of jeans. I've gained weight and my old jeans now look like tights. Then I went back home and washed my clothes and spent a guilt free day doing my chores. How strange it is to be happy with what you have, simply because you didn't have access to what you could have.
I haven't written about my new living situation. On Dec 31st I moved into a room in a shared apartment. It's a co-living thingy (fancy name for a shared apartment where people are selected by an agency and not by your roommates). When I visited the apartment, two rooms were available. One was medium sized, almost no natural light, but large private bathroom and shower. The second one was a very large bedroom with a lot of natural light and a wonderful sight for a large city like Madrid.
I pained over the decision of which room to take. Then I thought "I will do this by feeling", as I did with the other room I visited, so I entered one room and sensed myself, then the other, and the winner was the room with the nice views.
I wrote before that I would write a report on Sundays of which new things I explored. That same day I went to Retiro Park and read a book. I was new to me but... yawn. On Saturday I went to the before-mentioned night out dancing alone (my girlfriend is in Perú), this is my first time in Madrid.
I shall write more about what happened. I arrived. I felt inadequate alone. I knew I could dispel this feeling with weed. The place was just couple of block away. The place had the same depressive atmosphere of all weed clubs in Spain: people slumped on sofas checking their phones. Indifferent attendants. There was a cheerful attendant in Barcelona, but she didn't smoke. I really thought "wow, this is what it does to you, it sucks out the life from you". Yet I went to buy a joint. The joint was an outrageous 9 euros. I still bought it because I thought: this is the first and last joint I will smoke of this period. I tried to leave with my newly acquired joint. I was told by the people at the entrance that I must remain at least 30 minutes inside.
I went back inside and tried to light my joint. I noticed I didn't have a lighter, so I went to the bar and asked if I could borrow one. The lady said they didn't have any. "Well, do you sell lighters", "yes, we do sell them, 2 euros each". So I took out a 10 euro bill and light up as she was looking for change. "I'm sorry, I don't have change" she said. "Well, that's OK, I don't need a lighter anymore" I said, and I went to sit down.
After smoking a bit I put it out, and I noticed I wouldn't be able to smoke anymore if I didn't have a lighter, so I walked up to the bar again and said to the lady "I'm sorry, do you accept credit cards for the lighters?" (they don't accept for weed) "yes", "well, can I please buy that lighter that you used the last time? I realized I do need it". She made a smug triumphant smile and charged me the two euros.
I went back to the entrance, and announced "I have done my deed and smoked, am I free to leave now?" to which they smiled and opened the door for me. Then I went back to the club.
At the club I was much loosened up and dancing, but I was in total autist mode. I didn't give a fuck. I danced until they turned on the lights at 6am. I left my jacket in a corner, but in my haze I wasn't sure where. I asked some waiters. They told me to go to the wardrobe. They didn't have it there either. It was a jacket that my girlfriend gifted me for Christmas.
It felt like a bad omen, and I accepted my fate. We will break up when she comes back from Perú.