After the shameful St Patrick’s Day fiasco, I recoiled and started staying home more.
Yet, typically, the darkness came with some light, as during this time, I became acquainted with a decent marijuana dealer and started thoroughly enjoying his product. I had tried smoking it before but never really got high or found the experience enjoyable, but now, instead of going to the pub, I started indulging myself at home, first by getting wickedly stoned, guzzling a bottle of Cape Town red wine, and smashing two pizzas.
This became my ritual. I had friends, but still hardly ventured outside my house on the weekends. I’d binge-watch movies and series for hours, likely damaging my eye further. My health spiralled, and I wasn’t in a good place. I even developed a large boil on my left shoulder.
Unbeknownst to me, my Horus Eye was deteriorating
I would avoid the mirror. I noticed that my eye and even parts of my face would “sag” when I was stoned or drunk. I would quickly move away and pretend I never saw anything.
I think my ego was incapable of accepting that something had happened to me.
Anyone could have looked at me and seen the signs; things weren’t right. I was depressed, highly negative, and morbid. Looking back, I should have found help. I should have reached out. I should have told my parents that suicidal thoughts circled me. I should have, but I didn’t. I numbed my reality and kept looking ahead.
Remember, I was rapidly balding, so no time for eye problems and suicidal thoughts. I had to keep making money.
One night, likely due to my neighbour’s nocturnal bellows, I popped on my headphones, lit a joint, and switched over to some jazz. God alone knows why, but it started with Kenny G
I know, Kenny G, I know
Anyway, dude, music and weed. A fucking revelation.
I tell you, music can carry you away, the highs, the lows, the building levels of sound in the background. I can still remember the bliss… For the first time in years, I felt genuinely happy.
A new habit quickly formed. Instead of smoking weed and watching movies, I would rather smoke a joint, light a candle, lie on my bed, put the headphones on, close my eyes and just listen for hours, often silently crying from the bliss. My favourite was Kygo and his tropical house vibes. I realised that marijuana made me much happier than alcohol ever could.
One of my all-time highs? Getting blitzed with two friends, in her car on the Cape Peninsula. We smoked at a lookout point, then drove along the winding coastal roads back home, Dash Berlin blasting through the speakers. It was the early hours of the morning. We felt like eagles gliding over the ocean.
I started to find happiness
It wasn’t all bad, I truly did have some great times during this indulgent period, and after a brief stint living at the top of Kloof Nek Road in Gardens, I eventually moved into a small, quiet apartment in beautiful Pinelands, where a preacher (the landlord) used to reside.
It was here, in this apartment, dwelling in the energy of a godly man, where my life would change forever.
Michael's musings 