Indica vs Ativan; Benzodiazepine Against Marijuana Pros and Cons

Popping pills versus smoking grass for PTSD. First hand stories.

Deliberately open-minded towards situations that would normally worry me, I promised myself that I would follow any path of treatment prescribed to me by my new general practitioner for my PTSD with precision. Even if I didn't necessarily agree with what might be recommended, for my family and for myself, I would swallow the mother-f*****g pills.

PTSD is volatile. Moments of calm-clarity can torture someone who has PTSD because those moments of calm-clarity give a point of reference in which to compare harder moments against. Always in a failed search for the calm-clarity you suddenly and recently lost track of. When you find it again, who knows how long it will stay found. Relaxation. It's difficult to attain.

Some people ask, what is it like having PTSD? Well s**t-head, to each their own Mother-F****r. What's it like having O-Negative blood or parting your hair from the f*****g left? You curious little F**k!

But, I digress. Maybe I shouldn't be so coy. But, it's not like 'all' of us with PTSD are going to lose our minds one day. We are not time-bombs, we are the haunted. So PTSD or not, keep reading.

Sick of being feared by those who have felt my true intensity, those who truly recognize my internal struggles, I went scrambling through the pharmacist's foot-locker to find some drugs.

Sometimes you have to do as much as you can during a moment of clarity. Efficiency is key. For it is true that these moments of clarity, for the PTSD-burdened-one, don't last forever. In fact, a single bad day can obliterate positive-social-progress and multiple day's-worth of hard-built-positivism almost instantaneously and may even set you back so much farther back in your space and in your time than you ever could have imagined.

How to prepare for such calamity? Nobody likes it when s**t f***s with our space-time. It’s science.

When one loses self-control and openly displays their PTSD symptoms for any onlooker within society (PTSD symptoms are initiated and continuously generated by one who is constantly living in an extended time-frame while being withdrawn from normalcy due to experiencing; severely-negative sequences of 'felt-to-be' subhuman-thoughts, the engaging of deeply-corrosive and self-loathing behavior and the wasting away of subdued-time which results in one feeling trapped and perpetually more hopelessly lost deep inside a layered, relentless and toxic state-of-mind), it's easy for society to remember and hard for society to to forget.

What makes the news headlines about PTSD is ruining our place in a community as open-sufferers. It's like we are being conditioned to suffer alone. People end up fearing us, the haunted ones. Pretty counteractive to "inclusive" if you ask me.
I'm so sick of this build, destroy and recover existence. Drugs need me. I was built for drugs. At least it seems that way sometimes.

So, I went out and did some drugs.

Benzodiazepines. A lot of em.

Well, how should I describe the effects of benzodiazepines? Hmmm. Have you ever seen one of those flashback segments on a sitcom and there is a character telling a story about how sophisticated of an occurrence they had recently and how motivating it was, but the character's best friend remembers the situation perfectly and in actuality that falsely-remembering character was a belligerent drunken fool who was snorting chopped-up champagne corks and barfing on their own crotch interchangeably?

Ativan, the benzodiazepine I stuck with, had this effect.

While I have never actually snorted chopped-up champagne corks, i have barfed on my crotch. Wait. That's not the point. The point is... Ahh f**k, what was the point again bud? This doobie is slowing me right down eh.

The point is that, while deep into the benzodiazepines, 'you' are not who 'you' think 'you' are. Everyone 'is' who 'you' think 'they' are, but truly, 'your' consciousness and 'your' inner-monologue shifts into some kind of a bliss and delusional facade of emboldenment, comprised purely of over-zealously and chemical-confidence. Sure, no anxiety anymore but that's because you are nothing but a statue who thinks you are a speed-boat. Ativan in a nutshell.

For example, I now shall divulge a tasteful story of an occurrence filled with embarrassment and regret that my wife and I experienced together once while I was riding full-steam the wild-ride that is the benzodiazepine-puddle.

When my wife and I moved back from British Columbia to Ontario, she was 7 months pregnant and we were technically homeless. Does a mini-van with two large dogs, two medium-sized humans, a chubby black cat, four stinky fish, an adorable aqueous frog and a chill bearded dragon inside of it count as a home?

Luckily, a friend of mine had a place for us to crash at until we got our s**t together.

Our third night at his place, I was sleeping peacefully next to my wife and on my Ativan. I woke up and quietly got dressed before I walked softly to the bathroom for a piss. Ha! That was me speaking in bizarre-o world! The inner-reality of one stuck in the benzodiazepine-puddle.

This is what really happened that night.

I passed out way before everyone because, really, I was wasted on prescription drugs.

I think 3 pills, twice a day was a tad too heavy their doctor! The PHD drug dealer was scared. Trying to silence the 'threat'.
So I was passed out, snoring like a banshee screams. I was also buck-naked.

My buddy, who we were crashing with, has Cerebral Palsy and requires some assistance from his attendants during the night to help him out. So once in a while, a worker comes in who has permission to enter unannounced, without knocking.

One thing about Benzodiazepines is that it numbs you. In every way. It even turns your swinging soldier into a pile of mashed potatoes, if you know what I mean. Your ding-dong sings a bad song. Flaccid-Frank. Slippery-Sam. Jelly-Jake. You know, Floppy-Phil.

However, Sergeant-Swollen eventually makes up for his lost time on duty, as all good soldiers really should. When the drugs begin to ware-off, mid-sleep, your awareness is welcomed with a steel-hardened samurai sword of a c**k. As hard and high as the god-damned Appalachians.

The night went on and I continued snoring, while bare-backed, well into the night. My wife, somehow, managed to fall asleep. I was awoken from my nude, medication-induced slumber when I was startled from the front door opening. It was an attendant. The drugs were apparently warring off because, well, I was awake. And, I had a viscous erection.

"Wow I have to piss." I thought to myself in quarrel due to the current attention of my wild-warrior. Hard to pee with a "making-up-for-lost-time" dink. "I'll just have to piss through it." I decided. It can be done. Focus.

At this point, the attendant was in my friend's room helping him with some personal care. I helped my friend out for long time with his personal care, so I am familiar with the routine.

In my mind, like I said earlier, I got dressed and took a pee. One small glitch with my perception though. All I put on was a god-damned t-shirt!

I proceeded to exit our temporary room (my samurai sword pointing and breathing in the pure and unfiltered air), walk across the living room in front of my friend's open door, look into his room, stop for a second to say "hi, nice night eh?" and then enter into the bathroom fully-thinking I was fully-clothed. In my mind I was impressed with my genuine cordialness. They both were mortified as much as they were offended. My wife began to stir.

Needless to say, we had to leave the next day. My friend wanted us to leave that night but, I was f*****g wasted on my doctor's medicine. So, he was tolerant one last time.

Homeless because of drugs. Sound familiar? Next time throw some change into the veteran's hat when that hat asks for help. Next time don't judge the homeless man on the street that seems "physically-able to work" and "selfishly in need". PTSD is not that simple.

If only I would have realized then that a high CBD Indica would yield even better results.
Now I don't do drugs. Just weed.

Stay Clean, Stay Green

Conshinz

Author's Note

If you cough at the same time you think about peanuts you poop yourself.