bud diary: depression

On most days I have this eclectic mix of symptoms of depression, ADD, and anxiety disorders all trying to play at the same time. Today I roll a joint of Tangie Cure.

by Cyn Marts · January 28, 2019

Monday, 3pm

On most days I have this eclectic mix of symptoms of depression, ADD, and anxiety disorders all trying to play at the same time. Today I roll a joint of Tangie Cure for its energetic lineage and incredible CBD content (13%!). I smoke while I work my editing job, with spreadsheets and manuscripts. The Tangie terpenes boost my mood and glaze over my cramps, while the CBD almost soothes me, allowing me to focus. The action of smoking itself gives my body something to think about while my eyes are locked on a screen. Except my legs, which jiggle under my desk like shivering pipes. Can’t cloud all the anxiety away.

Tuesday, 11:30am

I’m smoking a butt on the couch. I can tell I haven’t taken my meds yet because I have errands to run and the idea of it makes me want to curl up under pounds of blankets. I inhale the last of my mix—Root Beer Float and Mimosa—and anticipate the awkwardness of the food pantry I’m about to go to, alone, for only the second time. I think about reasons not to go (I don’t have any) and I think about how I wouldn’t have to go if we didn’t waste so much money (not true) and as I crunch the end of my joint into an ashtray, I remind myself that I’m spiraling, and it’s okay, and I push it all aside. It goes great.

Wednesday, 3:15pm

I light up the last of my stash, some so-so Mimosa, trying to focus on work while I have errands on the brain. I turn my time tracker on and read more about feminist economics and the histories that created and sustain economic inequality. Sometimes my job is weird. And great. And isolating. Reading a whole book in a few afternoons is not easy to do, and I get exhausted easily, especially with my own distractedness. But I smoke a joint and finish my work time with my eyes mostly on the screen. Acid Rain (by Lorn) comes on and I feel… groovy.

Thursday, 9am

My body is a cramped weight I feel too weak to carry. All I want is to roll over and ignore a world full of responsibility and need. I drag myself up and pour the coffee my husband left behind, then, bleary-eyed, gather my grinder, papers, bud.

I use joint rolling as a ritual, taking a moment to be here and nowhere, to be awake and alive, but still rather frantic. I use the time smoking to plan my day. With the first hit I feel more relaxed without being sleepy, and my body feels lighter. The Ogre I bought last night tastes diesel-y and sweet. It goes well with the coffee. I can breathe again.


Things have felt wrong today, a shakiness in my center, and sleep seems incredible. I light up a roll of Sizzleberry and tell myself it’s the last one of the day. It’s an attempt to keep myself out of the muck and get myself into bed—though I don’t think this strain will be doing me any favors in the sleep department. I worked a lot today but didn’t get what I wanted done. The knowledge sucks at me, and I’ve been gripped by the need to either get up and do something or go the fuck to sleep. I slept in this morning, and don’t want to again, so I’m hoping for the latter.

Friday, midnight

Seasonal Affective Disorder can be particularly weird when there isn’t anyone active in your life, forcing you to get better. I don’t just mean being alone. Rather when the people in your life are stagnant, or inactive in their personal health or activity, hobbies, or needs, it tends to drag you down. I light up my tiny spiral hand-pipe with a broken up nugget of The White. My body feels light and airy, my mind relaxes, my head gets heavy. I hope this fills my boredom with a desire for sleep. It’s weird to notice how your actions and inactions both breed their own kinds of loneliness.

You can tell I’ve only been taking half of my Zoloft doses when these are my midnight thoughts.

Saturday, 1:30am

I can’t sleep. It’s a full moon. I stop trying and light candles beside the bed, lighting a pipe of Mimosa and White. I journal, considering what in my life is working, what needs to get better. I look forward to a new year with intention.

Sunday, noon

I find myself in bed, pillows over my ears, trying to shut out the world. I’m sinking in a feeling of unfairness, feeling buried in the unbalanced labor in my partnerships and family. The mix I smoked this morning was meant to get me out of bed relaxed after waking up panicked, and it was nice for conversation, but now I’m stuck down, overwhelmed by the needs I don’t have the stamina to deal with. When I finally get up, I smoke a bowl of The White and a fragrant True Purple Berry, and I can see through the fog of feelings again.


I pull too hard on a joint of Root Beer Float. The budtender at my go-to suggested it as the heaviest strain on the bargain shelf. It tastes sweet and smoky and does leave a weighted fog behind my eyes, but it doesn’t feel like sleep and I think it’ll take two joints to get me there.

I look forward to the new year. To resetting my attitude, my work style, my ideas. We’re given all sorts of opportunities to reset like this, but we’re not always able to take advantage of them. Sometimes because of our situations, responsibilities, limitations, or selves. This year I want to do more, and fear less.


Cyn Marts is an east-coast Boricua living on the west coast, searching for her own path through life's bullshit. She spends her time practicing self-care, devouring pop culture, and working as a publicist and editor in Portland, Oregon. She writes a cannabis lifestyle zine series called Ganja Bruja and posts about it under her Instagram.