I’ll never forget my first time smoking. It was a wonderful experience. It unlocked a new side of me and a new side of life that was lighter, easier and more fun. From that very first time, I could feel that cannabis was working as medicine for me, especially when the high wore off. I was left in a blissful, relaxed state.

The high itself came with some anxiety and a flood of thoughts, but that in itself became a kind of training. It built a mental fortitude for high-pressure situations. From ages 14 to 19, I’d walk into class high as hell, heart pounding, trying to act normal. I learned to manage my nerves, to control my thoughts in a way that felt almost like exposure therapy. Over time, I became less anxious—not just while high, but in my everyday life. My mind was being stretched in new directions, and I loved it.

Cannabis was doing wonders for me internally. I was entertained by things that used to bore me, I felt more in tune with my thoughts, and most importantly, I was calm. So why wouldn’t I keep using it?

The problem was and still is highly psychoactive cannabis is the only form available. I was far too young to be using traditional cannabis with any significant amount of Delta-9-THC. Knowledge about cannabinoids that don’t make you feel high, but can help with focus, mood or sleep) like CBD or the numerous other cannabinoids wasn’t around yet. Had non-psychotropic options been available, my entire life might have taken a different course.

Life Before Ganja

My early childhood is a blur of love and laughter. Life was simple, full of adventure, and my mind was free. But things changed mentally after a vacation.

I was eight years old when my family took a trip to Orlando, Florida. It was my first time experiencing warm nights, palm trees, and geckos darting around in the humid air. Disney World was fun, but what stuck with me most was stepping outside at 9 p.m. into the thick, tropical heat and staring up at a 50-foot palm tree in amazement. As a kid from Colorado, Florida was like another planet.

When we got back home, I just… couldn’t mentally return. My mind was stuck in Florida. I found myself lost in thought, daydreaming about the trip, the heat, the palm trees. Teachers would snap me back to reality, reprimanding me for staring off into space. But I couldn’t help it, I was somewhere else.

I wasn’t doing my schoolwork, and teachers started to worry. My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Schaefer, was a stone-cold bitch. I can still see her walking the hallways, arms crossed, eyes looking down. She had that aura - just one of those people who never seemed happy, never smiled. She isolated me, putting my desk in the back of the classroom, surrounded by walls. Then, my parents were handed a newspaper article about Attention Deficit Disorder.

At eight years old, I was being told there was something wrong with me. I didn’t understand it. Was I different? Broken?

Athletically, I was at the top of my class. But mentally, I was sent to “special” classes. That stuck with me. I still feel like an outcast sometimes, like I see the world a little differently than most people. Being told I had a disorder at that age was like being told, I know you better than you know yourself.

I still say; fuck that.

The Pill

This is where my awareness of mental health and my introduction to pharmaceuticals began.

My doctor was my first drug dealer.

My parents did everything they could to avoid pharmaceuticals. We tried EEG brainwave therapy, massages, and herbal remedies. But nothing seemed to work. And cannabinoids? They weren’t even part of the conversation. Even the natural practitioners we visited had no idea how cannabis might help.

After about a year of trying different things, we gave in. “The pill” was Concerta, a stimulant similar to Ritalin. At first, it seemed to help. I got more schoolwork done, and my parents encouraged me to stick with it. I called it my control pill. Looking back, that’s funny considering what we now know about Big Pharma. But at the time, I felt controlled. I hated it. I wanted to think like myself, to feel like myself, but I had to take this pill to be “normal.”I started skipping doses just to see how I felt without it. I realized how much it was altering my mind, and I didn’t like it. The more I experimented, the more I understood—I didn’t need this medication. I needed something different.

A Change in Medication

Everything changed when I found cannabis.

By this time, I already understood that taking something could change the way you feel. So when my friend Dusty and I smoked in that drainage ditch, I was curious. A week later, I was offered some again—this time, at school.

At first, getting high at school was terrifying. I was sweating, anxious, convinced teachers had to know. But after a while, I realized… they didn’t. As long as I acted normal, no one questioned me. And just like that, I learned how to control anxiety at a young age. Puberty was hitting, social dynamics were shifting, and social media was beginning to take hold of our generation. I was navigating all of this while self-medicating with cannabis. It was an experiment in real-time.

By sophomore year, I was buying regularly. I had completely stopped taking the pill. I’d smoke every morning before school, then again at lunch, then at night. It felt like I had finally found a rhythm that worked. Smoking also became the core of my friendships. If we weren’t at a party, we were smoking. The people with the weed naturally became social leaders, deciding when and where we gathered. We hid in alleyways, friend’s backyards, and, once we had cars, parked in lots or scenic spots. The ritual of the smoke session was sacred. Afterward, there was always the mission for food—gas station snacks, fast food, whatever we could get our hands on. Laughing, stumbling through convenience stores, it was all part of the adventure.

The Busts and the Lessons

Of course, my parents caught on. They were furious every time I got busted. They’d sit me down, lay out all the evidence on the table, and lecture me about how I’d never get anywhere in life if I kept this up.

That put a huge chip on my shoulder.

I wanted to prove them wrong. To prove the world wrong. The stoner stereotype was bullshit, and I was determined to show that cannabis didn’t have to make you lazy or unmotivated. But there was still the reality of getting caught by the law this time. After the third or fourth time, my parents put me in an outpatient rehab program. It was overkill. I sat in meetings with kids who were in actual trouble—some had serious addiction issues, and there I was, just smoking weed.

I had to call a phone line every morning for randomized drug tests. I hated it. But looking back, it did teach me something—cannabis is powerful. It is a drug, and like anything that alters your mind, it needs to be treated with respect.

Eventually, they pulled me from the program. The drug tests continued, but as soon as I was trusted again… I went right back to smoking.

Cannabis gave me something that nothing else did—relief. It opened my mind, reduced my anxiety, and connected me with people from all walks of life. I still believe that cannabis isn’t just a recreational substance. It’s medicine. It was medicine for me back then, and it’s medicine for millions of people now.

And my journey with it? This was only the beginning.