It will have been noted by the more observant among you that an awful lot of this story so far has revolved around the presence of sickly sweet smoke. In those early days before we left Salisbury I was aware of both Man and Eyes' capacious appetite for it, but familiarity and Eyes' contacts in the town meant that it was just something that was always around, never a big deal, and certainly never lacking. What I never noticed then was that whilst Eyes would indulge quite happily of an evening, Man was toking constantly. The other thing which never raised it's head until we got to Brighton and the supplies ran out, was what would happen when there wasn't any.
I am older now and have taken in more over the years than people would expect for a dog. I know that Eyes never actually needed to toke, just that she liked to...and that she picked it's time and place. She wouldn't smoke pot in the mornings before doing her work. She rarely had anything during the day, only the odd puff amongst friends before retiring to whatever godforsaken hole was home at that particular time. And when there wasn't anything to smoke, it didn't matter. Hash was a pleasure, not a prison. It was an enjoyable thing to do when relaxed, not the only way TO relax. Sure, she was no angel - I later learnt that before I came along she had been tempted down the road of fiercer recreation in the form of Speed and Acid. But it bit her back hard, and by the time I arrived in her life was just one of those mistakes she'd made and learnt from. Maybe that was why she never got herself too deeply "involved" with cannabis on a personal level - certainly the capacity for going overboard was still there, as will be evidenced much later in this tale, but at that time it was as far from a problem for her as you can get.
Well...I say that...but there is such a thing as co-dependancy, and that was what proved to be her undoing. Co-dependancy is when the partner of an addict becomes as wrapped up in an addiction as the user themself. There are many reasons why people fall into this trap. In Eyes' case it became rapidly obvious that fear was the main driver. She wasn't then, and still isn't, a person with a great deal of confidence - despite all appearances to the contrary if you meet her today, but that would be leaping ahead again, so all in good time. It would be a trap she fell into more than once, and one which has shaped as great deal of our lives together as she has learnt to avoid it, and reacted against it in turn. It shapes the way she has relationships now, albeit in completely the opposite direction. It is every bit as insidious as addiction itself, and can lead to addiction itself in an attempt to break free from it's shackles.
But hang on a minute here, I hear you cry. We're talking about cannabis. Pot. Dope. Grass. Weed. That harmless natural plant beloved by all hippys since time immemorial, the antidote to the hard drug bad press. How the hell can anyone get into trouble with a bit of pot for crying out loud? The answer is simple. In moderation, cannabis is - for most people at least - no more damaging than a civilised glass of wine, a quick pint, or a strong cup of coffee to get you going in the morning. But what about when that glass of wine every night becomes a bottle? When that quick pint after work becomes 3 or 4? When you need an entire jug of coffee just to wake up, never mind function? Then you have a problem. And believe me, when it came to his hash, Man had a problem. A BIG problem.
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