Breakup Letter

It never takes very long before I’m reminded just why I tend to avoid you altogether.

Our relationship has been what I like to describe as contentious. Like any good relationship there has to be some push/ pull…some give & take. Some great moments that live on in the cosmic highlight reel and some moments you’d wish you could forget. Stealing glances, late nights together, truly delighting in the raw sensation of one another. I loved to smell you and taste you, to light your body on fire…

As magical as it was, putting Disney to shame with its caricatured grandeur, it seems that our love carriage has hit a snag.

I’d rather not suddenly start to second guess all my friends and their intentions,
I’d rather not have a hard time making basic eye contact without overthinking it.
I’d rather not spend the next 20 minutes in the shower trying to figure out if it’s right or left for hot water,

I’m not good at smoking weed.

Shit…I guess I’ll have to take that line off my résumé.

In one of my most unoriginal moves, college was the time where I started smoking weed more frequently…and I used to really enjoy it. I can vividly recall rocking many a room with my impersonations, my antics, and my newly reinforced commitment to giggling. If I wasn’t taking on the role of Jim Carrey of the living room, I’d often try to instigate some type of lofty adventure based on far too much ambition for a room full of people who just got high. Something involving blueprints and coordination and possibly hard hats or flying in expensive European consultants. The type of mission that would make that rocket scientist kid from October Sky call the whole thing off. These schemes usually stalled out somewhere in pre-production but my determination would hardly ever settle for less than a longboarding excursion or at an absolute bare minimum—some frisbee.

As fun as it was, at a certain point it all changed. I went from exceedingly giggly and gregarious to highly uncomfortable (pause) seemingly overnight. I kept trying to give it another chance, but like seeing the Jesus face in the grilled cheese, it was consistent and seemingly irreversible.  I’m over it. I’m done. Weed has turned its back on me and it appears time I return the favor. Picture me, nonchalantly dusting my hands clean of the whole situation.

I got extremely lucky that my natural disposition tends toward the positive. I’ve been told I have a proud chest and a mischievous smile. Someone once said I “couldn’t be” from New York because I grin too much. This is not to say I’m naive, but at least when I’m thinking clearly I know everything will ultimately pass.  When I’m stoned my thought process can only be described as anxious, apoplectic, apocalyptic. This could hardly be any further from what Jah intended when he blessed the herb.

I truly do not need anything external to make me happy, to put me in touch with the present moment, to ease my pains, or to quiet my thoughts. THC completely flips my mind on its head and makes me feel the complete opposite. Weed, it appears, does not quite agree with me. And full disclosure: I ate half of a cannabis cookie earlier; that’s what kicked this off.

Now, as I’m coming down, I’m less stratospherically high (thank you Zeus, Zuckerberg, Allah, Kanye, etc.) and I’m starting to experience some of the positive effects. I’ve felt my body loosen up a ton and I feel like I’ve self-administered an excellent chiropractic session in the past few minutes. The chipped playoff hockey rink of my brain brought out the Zamboni to smooth over the ice; my thoughts are less obscurely cataclysmic and more of their amusing standard.

I literally just unlocked a tension in my back that has been living there rent free for longer than I care to remember. Now I’m halfway to convincing myself that I need to smoke all the time. In reality it seems clear that I should just try microdosing somehow.

I need to figure out how I can write and do all this great impromptu physical therapy without getting so high I get annoyed being in the same brain as me.

Until I am able to do that, I think we should call this quits. You’ve only just blossomed; you’ve still got some of the best years of your life ahead of you… and I just don’t see this relationship going much further. I’m confident you’ll find someone else who you can make happy and who will do right by you.

I think it’s time we broke up. We’ve tried taking breaks, we’ve tried the friends thing. Time and time again one of us proves that’s all in vain. Do what you must. Call me names. Tell all our friends what an asshole I am. Write a nasty Facebook post about me if you want. Just please don’t bother texting me to know if it made you feel better.


Ryan Charles Dent

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