As far as I’m concerned, Marijuana saved my life. As I relate in my book, I came to an extraordinary fork in the road/my life after being in therapy for a number of years trying to find help for my intense suicidal feelings. I thought I had finally found a therapist I could trust. I was set up with him on a one-to-one basis weekly as well as enrolled in his therapy group.
On the first date the therapy group convened, we were met not by the therapist we expected – but by one of his associates, also a therapist. She took a deep breath, sat down and bluntly told us “I’m sorry. Bill hung himself last night.”
She asked us how we “…felt about that!” No one spoke.
To say I was shocked is an understatement of vast proportions. I could hardly move out of my chair. I had reached the end of my Hope. I was numb and desperately afraid that the inner torment I had been fighting for so long was going to devour me since all hope had been invested in this therapist.
Another member of the group – a gay man – who knew how deeply vulnerable I was – took me by the arm and insisted he come home with me. “You don’t need to be alone.” He sat with me for hours. We drank coffee and talked and talked hoping I would pull out of the emotional hell-hole I had fallen into.
Finally we had to part – and I found myself alone – shattered – familiar pain beginning to circle around me – taunting – sure it could overcome any defenses I had…my resistance had left. I began to pray because I truly believed I was about to die. I noticed part of a marijuana joint someone had left in the ashtray. I felt a nudge to pick it up and smoke it. I picked it up and with intention I took a deep drag and within seconds I felt the pain receding – my head began to clear and reality asserted itself. I was still aware my therapist had killed himself, – however the nightmarish torment had left like a black fog lifting and I was sane, safe…and grateful.
I learned thereafter, I could totally defend myself by two or three tokes of marijuana – and it never failed to keep me safe. I knew, of course, I must find what the “demon” consisted of – so it could be “exorcised” completely rather than depend on Marijuana the rest of my life to keep it at bay. I relate in my book how I did so.
My book: THE ONLY GOOD INDIAN…subtitled”PTSD: A Native American’s Story of Survival” can be found here: http://SBPRA.com/RonnieFellows
MY EMAIL: firstname.lastname@example.org
Further discussion of PTSD: PTSD and War