My 2 cents on Marijuana.

This is not the truth about anything. It's just a personal opinion I've formed after more than 10 years of smoking marijuana daily. Not much at first, but in the end I smoked between two and three grams of pure hash or skunk without even feeling stoned.

People smoke for many different reasons and I'm not going to judge any other than my own. I think most people can handle it without any problems whatsoever, pretty much like alcohol. But some people can't and I'm one of them. I didn't know that when I started out, but that's just life for you. Sometimes we don't know that we're on thin ice before we're drowning.

The reason I'm writing this is not to reform or educate anyone. Every person's situation is unique and we have to make our own mistakes. We all have to take risks and deal with the consequences even they turn out to be different than we expected. So why am I writing this? Probably because of the odd chance that someone out there is about to realize that the ice underneath him is about to give in. In that situation it can be really hard to know who's advice to take. Most of his friends are probably having a blast on the ice and won't have any problems getting to the shore. Aren't they proof that marijuana is harmless? That it isn't addictive? If you're different, there must be something wrong with you, right? In my case the answer turned out to be yes.

I was recently diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. It wasn't caused by the smoking because I've had those traits since adolescence. But I didn't know. My reason for smoking was different. It was the only way I knew that could effectively dull my emotional turmoil. It didn't provide me with the sense of self that I'm somehow lacking, but it made me stop worrying about it. Marijuana was my armor, protecting me from the consequences of being hyper-sensitive to other people. In the end it became a prison, but for a long time it was still better than facing what people call reality.

For many years I was still able to function and have a promising career. I drove a fast motorcycle and had some hot girlfriends. I gave life to parties and entertained people with guitar playing and singing. But those things were only possible because I knew that there were a lot of joints waiting at home, ready to give me bliss and oblivion. And the good things didn't last. The girls always ended up giving me an ultimatum and I made the only choice I could. Depression after depression descended on me. Long sick leaves, weeks of not showering, piles of unopened mail and a kitchen full of flies.

But the thing is - I always bounced back. I could stop smoking for a week or two, clean up the apartment, take care of the bills and feel in control of my life. And then I crashed again. It was as if marijuana had its own gravity and I could never seem to escape it entirely. In the end I began losing faith that I would ever break free, and I knew that suicide wasn't far off. Not that I wanted to end my life, but I couldn't go on living like that either.

Six months ago I had a major breakdown at work and decided to give life one last chance. I went to a psychiatric emergency ward and put my life in their hands. They admitted me and took care of me for five months. They diagnosed my depression and gave me the medication I needed. They gave me individual and group therapy every single day, gave me healthy food and made me exercise. They trained me in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and held a mirror to my face. It wasn't too late, but it was pretty darn close. Now I've been clean for six months and I'm proud as fuck. I'd like to say that my detour made me a stronger person, but I just don't know. I spent my twenties in a daze and lost a lot of beautiful relationships and great opportunities. But that doesn't matter any more. I'm back.

TL;DR: Heavy marijuana use was hiding underlying psychological problems, almost leading to suicide. Broke free.