Day 59: A Runner from the Start.

Written at the age of five. Clearly, spelling was not always my for-tay.

In my ongoing attempt to understand why I smoked pot every day for ten years (and, in general, for far longer), it's worth examining what exactly pot had to offer. Sure, it was fun. I loved the ritual. I liked being high.

It also helped me ignore things I wanted to ignore - like the fact that I'm a runner and a hider.

I've always been a runner. When I was a little kid, I had a backgammon set that came inside a thin briefcase of sorts. It had buckles that snapped shut and a latch in the middle. Whenever I got really mad at my mom and then-stepfather, I'd pack my backgammon suitcase and make a plan to hit the road. (All I could fit in the case was one shirt and maybe a pair of underwear, but I was making a statement. A girl on the run needed a suitcase.) I'm not sure I ever actually left the house, but in my mind, I was out of there.

Later, in high school, I remember actually leaving a few times. I didn't go far, but I was determined to make my point. I'd run to my friend Tara's house and complain (in pitch-perfect teenage angst) about what a dick my step-father was. (In retrospect, I was kind of rough on him. I mean, he was pretty hopeless, but I delighted in pushing his buttons and setting him off.)

Even in college, the running motif continued. Every so often, when my friends and I were out at a bar (one of like, 52 that were within walking distance from our house), I'd get it in my head that no one was paying attention to me. I'd feel left out, I'd get all sensitive, and I'd decide to show them by walking home. I'd get home, sit there a few minutes, realize no one was coming after me, and go back to the bar. In every single instance, my absence had not been noticed (or, if it had, people merely assumed I'd been hanging out elsewhere). I'd rejoin the group and everything would be fine. (It should be noted that this only happened when I drank vodka. Vodka makes me ridiculously over-sensitive, which is why I hardly ever touch it.)

But the real running - the true running - has always been on the inside. I've run with remarkable consistency from expectations, hard work, pain, guilt, limbo, and, most of all, love. Pot helped me avoid looking at the pattern - hell, it obliterated the view altogether.

Sometimes I wonder if I've ever truly been in love. Sophie and Garp came closest ... but even in those cases, I was running. Why? Because true love is a terrifying proposition. There's so much to lose. It's a lot easier to run and hide. And so, in almost all of my relationships and would-be relationships, that's exactly what I've done.

It's actually a pretty neat trick, because for the longest time, it doesn't look like you're running at all. You're right there in the moment, filled with sincere passion, feeling real feelings ... you're the only one who knows you're building in emergency exits. There's the "I'm not attracted enough" exit, the "Not enough in common" exit, the "I'm not wanted enough" exit, the "Something is missing" exit ... you get the picture. The finale plays out like a game of emotional chicken: How much real love can you taste before the fear of losing it sends you through one of your exits?

It's easy to see why, after all that running, hiding can be such a relief. There are lots of ways to hide (overeater, hermit, workaholic, TV zombie), but the grandaddy of them all is to enter into a relationship with someone who'll never hurt you because you were never truly in love to begin with. Pot (at least for me) was crucial in pulling that one off.

But eventually, the hibernation period has to end. After all, who really wants to stay hidden? We all want to be found. We're desperate to be found. And so we emerge, and the cycle begins anew.

Without pot, running and hiding - in general - seem to be more difficult propositions. In fact, most exercises in self-sabotage are harder to execute.

If I were looking for another reason to stick to this experiment - especially on a night when I feel kind of shitty and wish I were stoned - I guess I just found one.