It all began when I was just 15 years old—my first panic attack hit me unexpectedly. A friend and I were walking home when, out of nowhere, I found myself crumpled on the ground, unable to speak or breathe. My vision blurred, my hands trembled, and I felt certain I was on the brink of death. My friend rushed to fetch my parents, who quickly drove to pick me up, finding me curled up against a tree, overwhelmed by fear and confusion. That night was a blur of tears and panic, marking the start of my long battle with anxiety.
In the following months, I faced similar episodes, prompting neighbors to assist me in getting to the hospital. Each time, the doctors reassured me I was fine, but I felt anything but. I was trapped in a cycle of anxiety disorder, struggling to manage panic that would invade my life without warning. Despite therapy and various medications, nothing truly alleviated my suffering like cannabis did.
As life became more demanding, I turned to marijuana when stress levels peaked. Some months, I find myself needing it daily; other times, I can go half a year without a puff. But as I’ve matured and pharmaceuticals have become less effective for me, cannabis has taken on an increasingly vital role in my life.
For instance, narcotic painkillers only heighten my anxiety, so I rely on marijuana to ease discomfort from chronic back and shoulder pain. Sleep aids leave me feeling groggy and plagued by nightmares, whereas cannabis offers restful sleep without the side effects. It has transformed into a miraculous remedy for my ailments that other treatments have failed to touch. Consequently, I’ve found myself consuming more cannabis now than I did during my college years—as a functioning adult, wife, mother, and professional.
I prefer a simple “one hitter” device, taking just two puffs to alleviate my anxiety, pain, or insomnia. On particularly challenging days, I might use it two or three times. Given the recent legalization of medical marijuana in my state, I’m cautious about where I obtain it, relying on friends with medical licenses from other states. As a work-from-home mom of three kids under seven, I haven’t navigated the world of drug dealers.
When I share that I use marijuana for medicinal purposes, most people are surprisingly understanding. I explain, “I have a panic disorder, and marijuana helps manage my anxiety attacks.” My loved ones genuinely want me to feel happy and healthy, even if they occasionally express concern about my choice to seek relief outside conventional means.
I am eager to obtain a medical marijuana license as soon as regulations allow. My doctor supports this treatment, and together we await state legislators to broaden the criteria for qualifying conditions. Ironically, if I were a combat veteran, my anxiety disorder would already be recognized under the existing laws—such is the arbitrary nature of the current system.
I consider myself fortunate to live in a location where I can use cannabis without fearing for my safety or career. While the legality of my choices remains murky, I’m relieved that I can find some solace in cannabis when I need it most. Each time I sense that familiar tightening in my chest and the world begins to spin, I think back to that first panic attack. I reach for my one hitter, take a couple of puffs, and feel the anxiety fade away.
The fact that something exists to relieve my panic attacks is a tremendous source of peace. I no longer need to dread sleepless nights filled with sobs, dry heaving, and racing thoughts. My life has undeniably improved, and I have cannabis to thank for that.
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