A Life Hack from San Francisco
I used to relieve stress from overwork with alcohol. Classic: 60+ hours, Friday, bar, hazy Saturday, Sunday recovery. Monday—start over.
A friend from San Francisco (well, where else?) advised:
— Why drink? Smoke some weed—it'll release the tension, and your head will be clear in the morning.
Sounded logical. And indeed: no hangover, no heaviness. Seemed like I'd found a life hack.
He didn't mention two things.
First: tolerance builds—doses and frequency increase, boundaries blur.
Second: in Russia, it's illegal—not just on paper, but in practice. Detention cell, court, narcologist.
The life hack turned into a lesson about boundaries, laws, and the price of self-deception.
Detention Cell: Three Days with Yourself
Friday. They processed me and sent me to the detention cell. Three days. Not because it was necessary, but because courts don't work on weekends. Monday—release.
Three days alone.
Solitary cell. Complete sensory deprivation.
No phone. No books. No internet. No conversations. No window. Just you, four walls, and time stretched like chewing gum.
What happens to your psyche without familiar supports?
First hours: panic. Thoughts in circles: what will happen, what to tell loved ones, how to explain at work.
Then: anger. At the police, laws, myself, that advisor from San Francisco.
Then: silence. Emotions burned out—only naked truth remains.
This silence presses harder than accusations.
No one to say everything will be okay. Nowhere to escape from thoughts. Only you and the realization: I brought myself here.
Sensory deprivation: without external stimuli, the psyche talks to itself. The most honest conversation of your life. No filters, no excuses, no escape.
Three days in solitary—a reboot of the operating system. Except instead of a computer—your head. After restart, many illusions no longer boot up.
After the detention cell—court. Administrative offense. Dodged a bullet, not criminal. But the hardest part started afterward.
Narcologist: Mirror of the Future
One year under narcologist supervision.
The hardest part wasn't the court or detention cell, but the narcology center.
Shabby Soviet-era building. A line of people whose lives went off the rails. Alcoholics with shaking hands and swollen faces. Long-term drug addicts looking twenty years older. People without jobs, families, themselves.
You sit among them. A programmer. With a job, apartment, plans. Ended up here because of "advice about a clear head."
Each visit—a look into a mirror of possible futures. You don't see yourself today, but who you'll become if you don't stop. If boundaries disappear. If "sometimes" turns into "can't live without it."
Therapy without words and lectures. Just a visual map of where this road leads.
Then the pandemic started.
COVID made adjustments: the center was converted into an infectious disease hospital. Had to find a new place for check-ins—didn't find one in time. Result: another year.
Two years instead of one. Not for using, but for bureaucracy. Funny and sad.
Manual Therapy: High Without Side Effects
Time has passed. A lot.
5 years without drugs. 2 years without alcohol. Half a year without cigarettes.
Not a saint, not enlightened. Just understood: escaping problems is a dead end.
Overwork, stress, burnout aren't cured by alcohol or weed. It's like covering foundation cracks with wallpaper. Looks good in photos, but in reality—the house will collapse at the first shake.
Learning to relax differently: not through disconnection, but through returning to the body. Through solving problems, not escaping.
For example, on Sundays—manual therapy.
The process isn't pleasant: like being disassembled into parts and reassembled. Kneading, twisting, stretching. Cracks so much you think something broke.
But in terms of effect—comparable to a "high," but without side effects.
After a session—lightness. Physically—like a beaten dog, inside—like dropping a backpack of stones.
Endorphins. Release of tension. Returning to the body—not escape.
Main thing—no side effects. No detention cells. No narcologists. No blurring boundaries between "sometimes" and "can't live without it."
Discovery: a high isn't escaping reality, but returning to the body. Awareness instead of disconnection.
Solve, Don't Suppress
Overwork? Problem of planning, boundaries, priorities. Learn to say "no," distribute, delegate. Not "drink every Friday."
Stress? Unresolved accumulation: conflict, toxic client, project you don't believe in. Address the cause, don't drown it in alcohol.
Burnout? Change rhythm, take a pause, find meaning. Or admit: work is draining life—time to change.
Alcohol and drugs are symptomatic. Like painkillers for a fracture: pain goes away, bone doesn't heal. Walk on a broken leg—it'll heal crooked.
I spent years to understand. Detention cell, two years with a narcologist, and the realization that I dug the pit myself.
The hardest part isn't quitting chemicals, but life without crutches.
Face the problems you were suppressing. Deal with overwork, boundaries, burnout. Find ways to cope—not through disconnection, but through working with body and psyche.
What Changed
Now:
- Don't smoke (not even cigarettes)
- Don't drink alcohol
- Don't use drugs
- Go to manual therapy
- Learning to work with boundaries and workload
- Solve problems, don't suppress them
Easier?
No. More honest.
When you don't hide from problems, they don't disappear. On the contrary—they become more noticeable. You see foundation cracks you used to cover with wallpaper.
But you can fix them.
Different feeling—not euphoria, but stability. Not temporary relief, but long-term results. Treating the disease, not symptoms.
Not afraid of "can't cope without it." I know—I can. Already coped five years ago. Cope every day.
Conclusions
-
Life hacks from Silicon Valley don't work in Russia. Legal in California ≠ legal in Russia. Detention cell and narcologist are reality. Geography matters.
-
Boundaries blur quickly. "Sometimes relax" → "regularly cope" → "can't without it." Slippery slope.
-
Solve problems, don't suppress. Alcohol, drugs, procrastination—escape. Problem remains and accumulates.
-
Relaxation ≠ disconnection. Return to body, don't run away. Manual therapy, sports, meditation work better than chemicals.
-
Laws are real. Thought "everyone smokes, nobody bothers." They do. And specifically.
-
A year with a narcologist is harsh. Hell among people who lost themselves. Constant reminder of who you'll become if you don't stop.
P.S. I'm not a victim. I made the decisions that led me to the detention cell and narcologist. Nobody forced me. It was my choice, and I answered for it.
This text isn't "feel sorry for me" or "how hard it is to live without chemicals." It's a statement of facts: in Russia, they really do detain you for three days for weed, then put you under narcologist supervision.
If someone thinks "everyone smokes and nothing happens"—that's their right. But facts are: they catch, judge, put on record. Not everyone—but specifically.
Everyone is responsible for their own life. Want to experiment—your choice. Just know the price in advance.
I paid my price and learned my lessons. Now living without chemicals not because "it's right," but because for me it's better.
