I don’t smoke weed for fun. I do it because it’s the only thing that slows the noise. I’ve tried being clean. It didn’t fix anything. Without it I drift into worse compensations, like reckless driving, compulsive sex, alcohol, or starting fights. Weed is the lesser evil. It lets me keep a job I hate, live in a place that drains me, survive around people I consider cognitively dead. I don’t get anything out of sports or regular hobbies, they bore me or feel like pretending. I don’t connect with the people here. When I talk, it’s like explaining my life to someone who’s missing the vocabulary. That drains me. It’s even worse online. Arrogant ignorance makes me lose my temper, and it’s everywhere, even in my family. I’ve tried books, but often they feel hollow, like filler. I’ve thought about leaving, but there’s nowhere stable to go, and I can’t afford to throw away the one bit of security I have. My mind doesn’t help me, it turns against me. My awareness makes it worse. The addiction isn’t really to weed, it’s to softening the blow of existing in a world that feels too stupid, too loud, and too limited. Weed just happens to work.