My Addiction to Mary Jane

I’ve known about drugs my entire life, my earliest experience was playing in a bag full of white powder with my sister. My parents left us in the kitchen while they ran outside for one split second and our curiosity took over. My mom caught us, hands covered in what I later realized was cocaine and washed us off. Shortly thereafter my parents were jailed for selling cocaine and child neglect because their place to deal was our one bedroom, one bathroom, worn-down house.

In high school I tried weed for the first time, I remember the scent of weed from a child that always made me want to try it one and I knew I would enjoy it. The first time didn’t get me immediately hooked, after the first occasion I only smoked once in a blue moon. None of my close friends were smokers, we were still excited about getting new shoes and our first cars to be consumed with smoking weed. It was my freshman year in college that I started smoking every day, my boyfriend at the time and I would smoke outside with other classmates in what we’d call “cyphers;” then we started smoking on our own, eventually that turned in to me smoking on my own, and it became apart of my daily routine. I was a complete stoner. I got high before class, after class, sometimes I skipped class, just to get high and chill. I’m realizing 10-plus-years later that I made myself dependent on weed for so long that I became addicted.

I always thought that you couldn’t get addicted to weed, my testimony shows that’s the furthest thing from the truth. When you wake up and the first thing on your mind is smoking or getting smoke (newsflash you’re addicted to marijuana). It wasn’t looked at that way in college and I never pinned the fact that I didn’t graduate on time to my love for weed but in reality that was my truth. Eventually I started smoking by myself, copping by myself and I found myself not interested in doing extracurricular activities like going shopping, getting my hair or nails done — I spent most of my time getting high. I remember I was so happy when I signed my first apartment lease, half of me was excited to have my own space but the other part of me was just happy I didn’t have to smoke outside or in my car anymore. At 19 I wasn’t responsible enough to have my own apartment, I wasn’t taught the importance of saving money for a rainy day, paying bills on time and credit, I just liked having something I could call my own, but after a while it became more important to have my supply of weed than it did making sure paid my rent. I remember only buying small things to eat at the grocery store just to have enough weed to last me through the day and night; then I’d be mad at myself that I didn’t have any money left for food.

And sadly I lived like this for a couple more years, still not aware that I was deepening my addiction, still not being responsible enough to see what drugs had done to my parents and what it was doing to myself.

I made sure I worked but I never maintained a home, car note, or any bill, I remember for the longest I would write out my pay checks and include how much I would spend on weed, if I didn’t have enough to get some smoke I’d skim some of my bill money to make sure I could get some smoke. I realized I was down right powerless over weed and I knew I wanted to change, now when I have two children, no degree, no husband, no car, no house, and was deeply depressed — I knew I could no longer use weed to be my clutch to get me happy.

“An addiction is the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity.”

Even though I had grown to believe that marijuana had no addictive substances, for me it was the opposite. The habits I had picked up in college carried me into my first pregnancy, hell the day before I found out I was pregnant I had a big session at my house, the next day I went to an ER thinking I had a bladder infection and the doctor tells me congratulations you’re pregnant, and you’re going to have to stop smoking marijuana because your child is getting high also. So I immediately stopped, cold turkey while I carried my son.

I used to stem my drug addiction to my parents drug addiction, because they were addicts I was bound to become one; that was always my mentality and reality. Now I know that’s the furthest thing from the truth. “Your past, or parents past, does not define you.” My memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be, my patience is very thin when I don’t have any weed but I know the withdrawals will subside soon. I know that I’ve been addicted for a while and once I realized and fully admitted to myself that I was an addict I started looking for ways to start my sobriety. It took me a while but I found a Marijuana Anonymous online and I’ve been going through the program to get my life back on track.

I just wanted to share with someone who may be feeling beside themselves about their weed smoking habits. If you think you’re addicted you are, but their are ways to recover. It all starts with admitting and wanting to change.