Self Medicating Depression? –  

March 3, 2020 – In my younger days, I never imagined I’d ever touch the stuff, though I grew up with marijuana at home. My father has suffered all his life from demons he can’t see. He used it to calm himself, open his mind, be rational.

I still remember the smell of herb snaking from his room as I tucked into bed. The thick smoke would curl out from under the door and into my room. I found the scent comforting, but my mother disapproved.

“Dope is bad for you,” she’d say. “I’m a doctor, I should know.”

“I thought you used it to help grandma with her cancer?”

“Just don’t use it.”

Terrified, I listened to her words, but in my head, I wondered. My father was, and still is, the most successful and polished man I know. None could guess such a fit, and clean cut man would be lighting it up in his bedroom.

My father didn’t seem like a typical marijuana smoker.



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