I have a confession and it might sound a tad eccentric. I use cannabis.
Mama Ganja helps me from my brain, to my lady bits, and everything in between. But I'll be honest with you, I used to cringe when I found out about someone's "dirty grass habit."
What I knew about cannabis mirrored what I knew about sexual education, at the time. It was scary; and only for those destined for failure, welfare, or jail cells. I’d probably die if I had tried it! Seriously?
What started as seemingly routine anxiety, insomnia, and digestive issues, somehow escalated rapidly into a perilous ordeal. I felt like the longer I was sick, the sicker I got. Days stretched into months as one medical professional after another filled me with their analyses, I wondered if I could die from exhaustion.
My chosen family would tell you that I’m as hardheaded as they come, yet open-minded, if you can imagine the coexisting type? I’d say that that if I know it, I learned it the hard way— and thoroughly. I’m a believer in redemption and a seeker of healing, because I too know the feeling of hopelessness.