Written By Christine L.
Cannabis—at first harmless. A little flower lifted my mood, made me feel alive. My ex-husband and I partied, laughed, lived freely in the US. Later, alone, I used it spiritually, searching for God, the Goddess within me. I thought I’d found my true nature. I felt guided by spirit. Wrong.
My favourite plant revealed another side. When I smoked, my mood shifted. I did “irrsinnig” things—like undressing in public, thinking no one saw. I became paranoid, irrational. I hallucinated justifications: giving up my home without finding another, living on the streets for years, losing custody of my daughter, and still smoking despite the consequences.
In 2016, after my son was placed in foster care, I surrendered. Therapy in Germany confirmed it: cannabis-induced psychosis. I couldn’t nurse my son anymore. I was put on medication.
From that moment, I had to face the truth: I was addicted. Now, eight months clean, I accept every bit of help. I’m in a self-help group, have a sponsor from marijuana anonymous, private counselling, and an addiction therapist.
I’m proud to say: I never want to touch cannabis again.
My motto is: Clean until the end of my life.
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