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 🧈❌.
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