By Remy C.
I have a problem. I can’t eat, sleep, or smile. I’m not smoking yet. I just have untreated depression and anxiety and can’t afford therapy. When I find access to marijuana, I think my problem is solved. I can eat. I can sleep. I can smile.
I can at least until I smoke so much that I forget how.
I smoke chronically for a decade. Somehow in that process I find my partner. She doesn’t approve of me smoking, so we agree I will only use twice a month. I continue to use every day. Eventually she and I get married, and less than a year into our marriage, things fall apart. I end up in a psychiatrist’s chair. I know I experience life with anxiety and depression. What I don’t know is that I experience life with bipolar. I discover that my highs were often microepisodes of mania. I discover that if I don’t stop, my mental health will continue to deteriorate.
I don’t stop.
I forget the psychiatrist’s advice, and for five years I take a fistful of meds every morning and still use marijuana every hour of every day. On a vacation I run out of weed and fiend for more. My wife demands that I admit I have a problem. For her I say yes, if she lets me borrow her car to go get more weed. She acquiesces so long as I agree to stop. When we get back home, I start going to meetings to save my marriage. I learn about recovery, I get a sponsor, I accrue a few months of clean time for her. I am sober for her.
I am not recovering.
I forget to stay sober one night and get drunk, take a bunch of pills I’m not supposed to take, and decide it’s a good time to pick up. A $50 vape costs me $20,000 as I total my wife’s car on the way to the dispensary. After the cops show up and the tow truck arrives, I summon an uber. I should call my wife and tell her what happened. I should go home and pray. I should recognize this moment as a confluence of my higher power and my privilege as I am not arrested for a DUI.
I forget all this and direct the driver to the nearest dispensary and pick up anyway.
The next day I tell my wife. She is furious. She is going to leave me. I keep going to meetings to save my marriage, and I keep relapsing. I talk to my mom. She knows I have a problem with weed. She’s dismayed at times but always supportive. I ask her why when I’ve failed so many times to keep the promises I make.
Because you’re worth saving, she says.
I don’t believe her.
But something changes.
I stop going to meetings to save my marriage. I stop going to meetings to persuade my wife to stay. I stop going to meetings to try to control something that I cannot change.
I start going to meetings to save my life.
I accumulate days again. This time I find the clarity of thought that sobriety can bring. I take care of my physical body through exercise and eating healthy. I take care of my mind through reading and writing. I take care of my spirit through prayer and meditation. I start becoming the person I want to be. My wife notices. She stays.
The invaluable spirit of love and support in the rooms reminds me daily that I am worthy of love and support. I need that reminder. I am prone to forgetting.
Today I remember that I can eat, I can sleep, I can smile. Today I remember that I am worth saving.
