THE RIGHT TO BE STUPID

There are many mechanisms that cause me to regress—or rather, that hold me back.

Shyness is one of them. It is a genuine coil of barbed wire wrapped around my throat, stripping me of the right to speak and share my ideas. I constantly wonder if my opinion and my vision of things are even worth hearing.

In the face of strangers or thrown into a crowd, paralysis strikes. I prefer to blend into the silhouettes, proving my presence only through my posture and my gaze. If I could, I would erase my mouth and let only my eyes speak.

Recently, I had to attend a workshop on "better living together" and critical thinking toward the media. On one hand, causes I fight for daily; on the other, the internet and the dangers of information. These are two subjects I am passionate about, things I could debate for hours. Yet, I spent the day nodding in silence, speaking only when absolutely forced to.

And then, there is self-destruction. The kind that invites depression, absences, and sick leaves to permanently unpack their bags in my life. My health deteriorated as my blood became saturated with toxins, and my sociability went up in smoke, leaving me unable to connect with others.

But in all this chaos, what has slowed me down most—academically, romantically, and professionally—is cannabis. It marked a dead stop for my hopes. It was my soulmate throughout my destruction, burning the little fuel I had left while hollowing me out. I’ve been through it all: the stars and laughter of the early days, the overconsumption, the attempts to quit, the failures, and the collateral damage to those close to me. The body in freefall.

But today, after eight years of use and with a newfound lucidity, I understand. It took me nearly ten years to realize how it was actually helping me, but I believe that deep down, it is saving me for now.

An ADHD brain that has known death, psychosis, acute delusional episodes, ugly traumas, and betrayals is a machine that never stops. For me, lucidity is a continuous wound.

Some would say smoking makes me a vegetable. But as someone who has been through actual chemical straightjackets—Largactil and Loxapac—I know it feels very different for my poly-addicted body. Cannabis has the ability to make me stupid. And that is exactly what I’m looking for. It shuts down my over-understanding, rests the machine, and finally lets cognitive biases take their shortcuts.

My mind is far too vivid; it produces at an accelerated rate. Cannabis is the only way I've found to grab its arm and tell it that it's going too fast.