adxict.com: Humble Spider

I used to play this dice game called 10,000 🎲

Humble Spider — Mon, 30 Mar 2026 19:15:36 +0000

We’d play it at my house—the one my brother and I had to ourselves. My friends from high school would come back into town for the holidays, staying at their parents’ places, and then drift over to mine like it was some kind of escape hatch. We’d sit around a table, pass a bong packed with my homegrown weed, and roll dice for hours.

That’s where I started noticing something strange.

Through the fog of being stoned, I remember rolling triple 5s—three dice showing 5, worth 500 points—and just… freezing. I could feel the strategy gears in my head try to turn and then completely jam.

What should I do?

It felt like there was no clear choice.

I could take the 500 points. It’s not bad. It moves you forward. Or I could roll again with the remaining dice and try for more—but risk losing everything I had just earned.

And I did both. Sometimes I’d play it safe and take the points. Other times I’d go for it… and lose the whole turn. I remember that feeling too—the quick drop in your stomach when the dice hit and nothing scores. So much for that turn.

But triple 5s always felt different.

It wasn’t like rolling something obviously bad, or obviously great. It sat right in the middle. Just enough to take. Just risky enough to question. Every time I saw it, I hesitated. Every time, it felt like a trap.

I didn’t realize it then, but I was living my life the exact same way.

I was smoking weed every day. As much as I wanted. And honestly, it was great. It made everything easier, softer, more interesting. Days flowed into each other in a way that felt… manageable.

It was a solid 500 points.

Not amazing. Not terrible. Just enough.

But underneath that, there was this other feeling. Like I was quietly limiting myself. Like anything more ambitious—school, growth, really showing up for my life—was just slightly out of reach. Not impossible, just… harder than it should be.

And that’s what made it so difficult to change.

Because nothing was wrong.

Taking 500 points isn’t a mistake. You can win the game that way. Slowly, steadily, stacking decent turns. And I told myself that all the time. This is fine. I’m fine. I don’t need to push it.

But it started to feel like a loop. The same turn, over and over again. The same 500 points.

And eventually I had to ask myself something I couldn’t ignore:

How do I actually feel about taking 500 points?

So I tried to stop.

And it was awful.

It felt like I stopped taking 500 points and immediately started scoring 0. I’d try to push through, to “roll again,” and I’d lose the turn completely. I was emotional, unstable, restless. I needed everything—video games, shows, food, my partner, sleep, space—just to not smoke.

It didn’t feel like growth. It felt like failure.

Like I had given up something that worked just to be worse.

So I went back. Of course I did. Back to 500 points. Back to something that felt stable, predictable, safe.

But the idea didn’t leave me.

That feeling—that triple 5s feeling—kept coming back. That sense that I was stuck in this middle space. Not failing, but not really living the way I wanted to either.

It took me almost two years to actually commit.

Eventually I joined Marijuana Anonymous. I just knew I couldn’t keep playing the same turn forever.

And then I made it 90 days sober.

That felt like scoring 1,000 points. Like finally getting on the board.

And here’s the thing I didn’t understand before:

Of course all those 500s would have added up to more over that same time period. That’s the safe way to play.

But I didn’t want to just accumulate points.

I wanted to change the way I was playing the game.

After that, life didn’t suddenly become perfect.

I still had turns where I scored 0. Still do.

But I also started having turns where I scored way more than I ever used to—moments where I showed up for my education, actually grew as a person, built deeper relationships, got to know myself in ways I never had before.

Those weren’t 500-point moments.

Those were the result of being willing to risk losing the turn.

I don’t think the lesson is that “mediocrity is bad.”

It’s more specific than that.

It’s about that exact feeling—the one you get when something is good enough to stay, but not good enough to feel proud of. That middle space where leaving feels dramatic, but staying feels quietly disappointing.

The curse of the triple 5s isn’t that it’s a bad roll.

It’s that it makes you hesitate.

It makes you question whether you should risk anything at all.

For a long time, I kept taking the 500.

Now, I’m just trying to play differently.

Even if that means sometimes I roll… and lose everything.

How Many Anonymous Recovery Groups Are There 🧐

Humble Spider — Sat, 04 Oct 2025 02:05:25 +0000

What’s an “Anonymous” group?

Peer-run recovery fellowships (like AA, NA, OA, etc.) where people meet to share experience and support—no therapists, no dues (self-supporting), and privacy by design. Most follow 12-step-style meetings, are decentralized (groups set the tone), and welcome anyone who wants help.

Substance-Focused Anonymous Groups (15)

Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) – The original 12-step fellowship (founded 1935) helping alcoholics stop drinking.
Narcotics Anonymous (NA) – Fellowship for drug addiction in all forms (founded 1953).
Cocaine Anonymous (CA) – Focused on recovery from cocaine and other stimulant addiction.
Heroin Anonymous (HA) – Recovery from heroin and other opioids.
Crystal Meth Anonymous (CMA) – For people addicted to crystal methamphetamine.
Marijuana Anonymous (MA) – Fellowship for those addicted to cannabis.
Nicotine Anonymous (NicA) – For quitting smoking, vaping, and nicotine in all forms.
Pills Anonymous (PA) – Recovery from prescription pill addiction.
Chemically Dependent Anonymous (CDA) – For anyone seeking freedom from any drug or alcohol addiction.
Dual Recovery Anonymous (DRA) – For individuals with both addiction and mental health disorders.
Dual Diagnosis Anonymous (DDA) – Recovery for co-occurring substance abuse and psychiatric illness.
Recoveries Anonymous (RA) – Open to anyone with any addictive or self-destructive behavior.
All Addictions Anonymous (AAA) – Generic 12-step fellowship addressing any addictive substance or behavior.
Primary Purpose Big Book Study (PPG) – Big Book–focused 12-step recovery meetings emphasizing the “primary purpose” of carrying the message.
Kratom Meetings - Offers a Kratom 12 Step Group meeting.
Caffeine Addicts Anonymous (CAFAA) – 12-step fellowship to stop caffeine (coffee, tea, energy drinks, etc.).

Behavioral Addictions (15)

Gamblers Anonymous (GA) – Recovery from compulsive gambling.
Bettors Anonymous - A fellowship to recover from a gambling problem.
Debtors Anonymous (DA) – Fellowship for compulsive debting and money dysfunction.
Underearners Anonymous (UA) – For chronic underearning or financial self-sabotage.
Workaholics Anonymous (WA) – Recovery from compulsive overworking or work avoidance.
Clutterers Anonymous (CLA) – Fellowship for compulsive hoarding and clutter.
Procrastinators Anonymous (PA) – Support for overcoming chronic procrastination.
Rageaholics Anonymous (RA) – Recovery from destructive anger and rage.
Internet and Technology Addicts Anonymous (ITAA) – Recovery from internet, smartphone, and tech addiction.
Gaming Addicts Anonymous (GAA) – Fellowship for compulsive video gaming.
Online Gamers Anonymous (OLGA) – For compulsive online gaming addiction.
Media Addicts Anonymous (MAA) – Recovery from compulsive use of all forms of media.
Spenders Anonymous – Niche group for overspending.
Artists Recovering through the Twelve Steps (ARTS Anonymous) – For creative individuals blocked by fear, procrastination, or perfectionism.
Cleptomaniacs And Shoplifters Anonymous (C.A.S.A.) – 12-step support for compulsive theft/shoplifting.
Liars Anonymous – Fellowship for compulsive dishonesty; emphasizes rigorous honesty.

Sex, Love, and Relationship Groups (10)

Sexaholics Anonymous (SA) – Early fellowship for sexual addiction recovery.
Sex Addicts Anonymous (SAA) – Fellowship for compulsive sexual behaviors.
Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous (SLAA) – For destructive relationships, romance obsession, and sexual compulsion.
Love Addicts Anonymous (LAA) – Recovery from addiction to toxic or dependent relationships.
Sexual Compulsives Anonymous (SCA) – For compulsive sexual behavior, with roots in LGBT communities.
Sexual Recovery Anonymous (SRA) – Fellowship for sexual addiction recovery.
Porn Addicts Anonymous (PAA) – Recovery from pornography addiction.
Sex and Porn Addicts Anonymous (SPAA) – For both sex and porn addiction.
Codependents Anonymous (CoDA) – Fellowship for those recovering from codependency.
Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA/ACoA) – Recovery for those raised in alcoholic or dysfunctional families.
Recovering Couples Anonymous (RCA) – A program for couples working recovery together.

Food and Eating Groups (7)

Overeaters Anonymous (OA) – Recovery from compulsive eating and food obsession.
Food Addicts Anonymous (FAA) – Recovery from food addiction, often sugar/flour focused.
Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous (FA) – Fellowship addressing food addiction with structured abstinence.
Eating Disorders Anonymous (EDA) – Recovery from any eating disorder.
Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous (ABA) – Fellowship for anorexia and bulimia recovery.
Compulsive Eaters Anonymous – H.O.W. – Structured recovery for compulsive eaters using the HOW method.
GreySheeters Anonymous (GSA) – 12-step fellowship using the “Grey Sheet” food plan.

Emotional and Mental Health Groups (11)

Emotions Anonymous (EA) – Fellowship for mental and emotional illness recovery.
Depressed Anonymous – Recovery for people suffering from depression.
Obsessive–Compulsive Anonymous (OCA) – Recovery from OCD through the 12 steps.
Suicide Anonymous (SA) – Fellowship for those with suicidal ideation or history of attempts.
Racists Anonymous – Treats racism as an addictive behavior. (Niche group, limited spread, often church-based.)
Survivors of Incest Anonymous (SIA) – Recovery for adults who suffered childhood sexual abuse.
Sexual Assault Survivors Anonymous (SASA) – Recovery for survivors of sexual assault.
Self-Injury Recovery Anonymous (SIRA) – 12-step peer support for those who self-injure and want to stop.
Emotional Health Anonymous - Fellowship for improving emotional health and stability.
Chronic Pain Anonymous - 12-step support for people living with chronic pain and related challenges.

Crime and Abuse-Related Groups (3)

Gangsters Anonymous – Small groups for former gang members seeking recovery.
Parents Anonymous – Support for parents seeking to stop abusive behavior.
Violence Anonymous – A 12-step program for people recovering from violent behavior.

Family and Loved Ones Support Groups (12)

Al-Anon Family Groups – Support for family and friends of alcoholics.
Alateen – A branch of Al-Anon for teenagers affected by alcoholism in the family.
Nar-Anon Family Groups – Support for families and friends of drug addicts.
Families Anonymous (FA) – Fellowship for relatives and friends of anyone with an addiction.
Gam-Anon – Support group for families of compulsive gamblers.
Gamer-Anon - Support for family and friends affected by someone’s compulsive gaming.
S-Anon International Family Groups – Support for partners and relatives of sex addicts.
Mar-Anon Family Groups – Support for families and friends of marijuana addicts.
Infidelity Survivors Anonymous (ISA) – 12-step recovery for spouses/partners healing from betrayal/affairs.

In total, this list includes 83 Anonymous groups!

If I missed any let me know 🤓

90 Days Sober — And It Only Took Me 21 Months

Humble Spider — Mon, 29 Sep 2025 00:50:28 +0000

It took me 21 months, a ritualistic bonfire, a pound of weed, the constant support of my partner, and one very chill doctor to finally make it 90 days sober. This is not advice. This is a warning and a confession — and somehow, also a success story.

Month 0: Professional Stoner 💨🎮🍕

I thought my life looked decent on paper. I had a house, a lover, and just enough stability to pass for an adult. Then COVID hit. My job demoted me, so I quit in a blaze of indignation and promptly applied for unemployment and food stamps.

What that actually meant was I had just engineered the perfect setup to smoke weed all day without consequences*.

And I did. Morning to night. I even grew my own supply in the garage, like some proud suburban farmer. I told myself I was finally going to pursue my dream of becoming some sort of programming expert and went back to college online for computer science. But instead of coding, I was playing video games and watching my favorite shows while forgetting what snack I’d just eaten.

Attempt #1: Padlock Strategy 🔒 (Days 1–30)

Eventually, the illusion cracked. My throat constantly hurt, and I was doing the minimum at school. So, I made a dramatic declaration:

“I will quit weed for 90 days!”

My genius solution? Lock the weed in a bag, padlock the zippers, and hand the key to my loving warden. Did I ask if she also wanted to quit? Nope. I just decided she was now in charge of my weed consumption. I stashed the bag high up in the garage — a place only I could reach. Brilliant.

Naturally, I began nagging her for the key. At first, I was subtle:

“Just a little bit for tonight?” 🌙

She said no. Strong boundaries. I respected it for a few days. Then the requests turned into more than just nagging... Eventually, she had enough:

“Here. Take the key. Do whatever you want.”

And so I did.

Attempt #1 limped to 30 days before I caved. Then I went right back to smoking heavily, and months slid by in a blur of fog, snacks, and shame.

The Butter Phase 🧈😬 (Rock Bottom Between Attempts)

Since smoking shredded my throat, I thought edibles would be healthier. And when I say edibles, I mean eating straight weed butter.

I’d cooked up a batch to make brownies, but that got old fast. So, I just ate the butter. Not on toast. Not in cookies. Just... spoonfuls of green sludge.

It tasted like a crime against cows. But I stayed high, and that was the goal.

Attempt #2: The 60-Day Tease 🎉➡️🔥 (Month ~10)

Months after crashing out of attempt one, I dusted myself off and declared, once again:

“This time, 90 days. Forsure.”

The reasoning was simple: my throat needed healing, my brain needed clearing, and surely three months would reset everything.

But I’d learned from my padlock fiasco. My partner didn’t need to be my warden — she needed to be spared from my nonsense. So instead of handing her the keys, I decided the best option was destruction.

One night (without her blessing) I built a fire and dragged everything outside: jars of edibles, cartridges, and close to a pound of weed from my garage grow. My partner was annoyed, she didn’t want to quit, and weed isn’t cheap!

“Fine. Take what you want as your personal stash, I’ll burn the rest.”

She salvaged a little. The rest went into the fire.

Of course, when she lit up her personal stash that same night I, of course, wanted in. Over the next week, I smoked through every last bit of what she had saved. 🫥

But then, technically, there was no weed left in the house. Which meant I could finally get sober. And, again, against her will but with her supportive participation, my partner was dragged back onto the sober train with me.

We made it two full months. Wow! 60 days was a new lifetime record for me! I must celebrate!

It also just so happened to land on New Year’s Eve. A few joints just for tonight couldn’t hurt, right?

Except one night became two, then a week, then full relapse. My brain flipped back into loophole mode:

“Already smoked today, might as well keep going.”
“I’ll quit next week.”
“This doesn’t really count, right?”

And just like that, 60 days went up in smoke.

The Doctor Visit 🩺😅 (Month ~16)

By now my body was waving white flags 🏳️. I kept getting shortness of breath at random times, so I went to a clinic convinced COVID had wrecked me. They ran some tests. Everything came back fine.

Half-joking, I asked:

“Could it be the five joints I smoke every day?”

The doctor didn’t laugh. I did. But something clicked.

Weed wasn’t my escape anymore. It wasn’t creative fuel. It was just a leash, dragging me into anxiety, exhaustion, and isolation.

Attempt #3: Finally, Help 🙏💪 (Months 19–21)

That’s when some online research led me to find Marijuana Anonymous. I told myself:

“If I relapse again, I’m going.”

Spoiler: I relapsed again.

So I went. Nervous 😬. Skeptical 🤔. Desperate 😩.

They recommended I do 90 meetings in 90 days. It sounded cliché, but I committed. I stopped dragging my partner into my chaos and focused on me.

This time, it stuck. 30 days. Then 60. Then — finally — 90 ✅.

Why 90 Days Matters 📈🧠 (According to Science, Not Just Me)

Brain function: It takes about 90 days for your brain to stabilize. You start thinking clearly again. Your mood improves. Cravings decrease.
Body healing: Sleep improves. Appetite normalizes. Your gut stops hating you. Your throat thanks you. Even your vision might get sharper.
Routine returns: Sobriety stops feeling like a battle and starts becoming your baseline.

“It can take up to 90 days for the brain to begin significant recovery from substance use.”

— High Focus Centers

The Truth ✨🚶‍♂️

I didn’t get here cleanly. I failed constantly. I wasted time, money, and emotional energy. I tried dumb fixes, dragged people down, and relapsed a few times.

But I kept showing up. Eventually, that was enough.

If you’re stuck in the cycle, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m saying it’s possible. And if it takes you 21 months too, at least you’ll have one hell of a story.

Just… skip the butter 🧈❌.