The Making of a Marijuana Addict
I destroyed my life for marijuana — inspired by other stories of cannabis addiction on Medium, I’ve decided to share my own.
I will never forget the first time I smoked weed. The year was 1987. I was 13 years old.
My brother, who was ten years my senior and my chaperone for my first homecoming dance with a boy, took my date and me out to a cornfield just south of town and showed us how to smoke pot from a small metal pipe.
I can still taste that pipe, and I can remember walking into the high school high as a kite thinking, “Someone will know,” as the paranoia set in.
Fortunately, they didn’t and I had a wonderful night. My brother picked us up later, and we giggled about how much fun the dance was all the way home.
But the truth of the matter is, in Iowa, we were all committing felonies — and getting by with it made it more alluring than ever.
I continued to smoke weed throughout high school — here and there. It was never what I would call a habit, but if someone near me had it, you damn right — I was smoking it. And since two of my brothers were smoking it, I had ample opportunity.
