"When did you go crazy?" That's the most important question I've ever been asked. For a long time, I couldn't answer that shit. I thought it was just that I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. That wasn't it at all. I could not answer that question because answering it meant being honest with myself about my mental health. Answering that question meant I would owe myself the responsibility of taking my healing seriously. Was I ready for that? FUCK NO! Who the hell is ready and willing to admit that they are fucking nuts?! I damn sure was not. I felt like admitting or acknowledging there was a problem would make me a bad person. My mother was diagnosed as having bipolar disorder and she was........yeah, I'll leave that blank. I hated her for the things that I thought she was in control of, the things that being bipolar made her do. There was no way in hell I would become her! And admitting that I was crazy was what that meant for me. I was so afraid of becoming her that I didn't realize I was becoming her via a path that I actually paved!!! See, what made her so fucked up wasn't that she was bipolar. It was the fact that she never sought help. She never saw a therapist. She never took medication, homeopathic or otherwise. She did nothing. Instead, she used her mental illness as a crutch or an excuse for her undesirable behaviors. I hated that shit. So why was I constructing a path for myself to do the exact same thing? With the help of my therapist and loved ones I was able to put a plan in place to help my brand of crazy. And through that healing plan I was able to understand her more and forgive her for many of the things she did. So I guess at this point you're wondering what the fuck does that mean and WHEN THE FUCK DID I GO CRAZY!!! LMAO!!! Big Pharma....that's the culprit for my brand of crazy. I was in a car accident in 2012 that totaled my car and left me with severe migraines. I already suffered from insomnia and severe menstrual migraines, but the car accident made things exponentially worse. My PCP prescribed a little pill called amitriptyline. This was the cure-all for my migraines and insomnia. This magical little shit of a pill would have me knocked out within minutes. I took it for about 2 refills and then decided to stop. Why did I stop? I have never been a fan of Western meds and I hate taking medicine. I have always figured The Creator designed our bodies to heal themselves with nature. So I stopped taking them. I just wasn't comfortable with needing a drug to help me do something that my body was supposed to be able to do naturally on its own. Fast forward 6 months to my first suicide attempt. I felt like I was not in charge of myself. I began to display signs of manic depression, anxiety, and mood swings like you wouldn't believe. My loved ones could see it, and honestly so could I. But I couldn't grasp it. It was like I was having an out of body experience and I had no clue how to get back into my body. Eventually, I sought therapy. First, I turned to my beloved Mary Jane. I noticed a balance starting. My moods didn't swing so high and my anxiety didn't tell me the world was out to get me and everyone hated me and I was worthless anymore. My depression was still there. A friend suggested I begin to use marijuana medicinally as opposed to just using it in a recreational way. I could not fathom that! Weed was supposed to just be fun! Why would I turn something fun into a damn chore?! That was preposterous! But as time went on I began to see that I needed weed. It was the only thing that could save me. Weed became my sanctuary. At that point I had smoked weed for over 15 years, but that's all I did was smoke it. I knew life got better when I was high, but I had no clue why. So, in true nerd fashion, I started researching and reading every damn thing about weed. I researched the history of it being illegal, cultivation, benefits, uses, cultural influences....if it had anything to do with weed, my ass was reading it! And then I was able to draw the blueprint for how my healing was going to look. Fast forward 4 more years. I am having a casual conversation with a friend and he's telling me how he's been treating his teenage daughter's migraines with CBD. Awesome! He tells me his daughter has been cutting. Of course I ask what was up. Not knowing my history of taking amitriptyline, he mentions that his daughter has been feeling like she isn't herself ever since she stopped taking the amitriptyline for her migraines. DING DING DING!!!! Well, folks, there's your answer! It clicked like a fucking light switch. The damn prescription medicine that my doctor told me "if the migraine doesn't go away within an hour, take another one..." was the culprit for my brain's sudden fuck shit. I had never made the connection before he shared his daughter's situation with me. I was elated that I was finally able to complete the puzzle and really heal, but damn, now we gotta detox baby girl! Thankfully, I've padded my medical team with professionals who specialize and welcome homeopathic and holistic methods of healing. Basically, if the doctor ain't hippie, I ain't checking for them! *I sang that to the tune of Destiny's Child's "Soldier"! LMAO!* The first time I met my acupuncturist to get help with my migraines, before I told her I'm a big ole stoner, she asked if I'd ever tried weed and suggested Blue Dream. I instantly fell in love with this woman! She was the first medical professional to be honest with me about weed and all of its benefits. She basically told me I need weed. Little did she know I was already in love with Blue Dream! So what was the point of this blog post? This was me sharing a tiny step on my healing journey with my beloved Mary Jane. Regardless of what society would lead you to believe, marijuana is a healer. I am a living witness and I will continue to be. This blog was probably the hardest I've ever written, but if we don't share our stories and come out of the cannabis closet, how can we truly heal?