It Was My Medicine Before I Knew It Was Medicine.

I debated not doing this because some might see it as too personal, and I’m scared about being judged. But with May being Mental Health Awareness Month, I wanted to talk about my experience with mental health and cannabis. I feel like this gives people a chance to learn a little more about me and why I’m so passionate about the plant. It also gives me a chance to tell my story and face the stigma (and my fears) head-on.

I’m not really sure where the best place to start is, so I’m just going to jump in. About two, maybe two and a half years ago, I decided to start my mental health journey. I’ve always “had my issues,” but it got to a point where I realized I wasn’t going to be able to figure things out on my own. My wife was wonderful enough to help me find a therapist, and after a few weeks of procrastination, I got home from work, sat on my bed, and finally called to set up an appointment. I was hesitant, but little did I know how helpful it would be.

Growing up, neurodivergent wasn’t really a thing. Well, it was, but it wasn’t understood the way it is today. So if you weren’t severe, you were more than likely labeled the defiant kid. The one who had so much potential, or the one who could do so much more if he would just try harder. The kid who was too sensitive and took things too personally. If you were like me, you heard all of these.

I even had a fifth-grade teacher who would call me stupid in front of the whole class. That’s really when it all started. I didn’t know it at the time, but the migraines I was getting were from anxiety. I saw doctors, did MRIs, and no one could find anything wrong. I was “faking it” to get out of class or school. I just needed to try harder. Little did anyone know, I was trying my hardest and had no way to explain or express that to anyone.

I always knew I was a little different than the other kids. I just didn’t know what it was. I never really fit in. There was a lot of what would now be called bullying, but at that time, it was just “kids being kids.” And I wasn’t different enough where anything was obviously “wrong,” so I thought all the things I was dealing with were normal. Whether it was things at home, how I processed things, how my brain worked, all of it. I thought it was all normal. Boy, was I wrong.

By the time I got to middle school, I started to rebel a bit. And at 12 years old, before my first middle school dance, I smoked my first joint (sorry, Mom). And not surprisingly, I loved it.

I was high, having a good time, but I realized something… my brain wasn’t going 1,000 miles a minute. There was some peace. I was able to enjoy the moment without worrying about what was next. That was where my journey with cannabis began.

I wasn’t a daily smoker yet, but my interest was piqued. This plant, which people basically told me was going to kill me, made me feel sane. It helped me not feel awkward and weird.

Fast forward a few years. I lose my uncle, who was like a father to me. Friends meet new people and change, some for better, some for worse. A lot changes, but I’m still the weird, awkward kid who doesn’t really fit into one group.

I was nu metal before nu metal was a thing. I was the Puerto Rican kid who looked white, didn’t speak Spanish, and LOVED graffiti and hip-hop. But I also skated, rode BMX, and went to scene shows. I might be the most emo hip-hop head you’ll ever meet.

The one thing that tied all of that together for me? Weed.

Graffiti crossed over between hip-hop and the punk/emo scene, but weed was the one thing I was really able to connect with people over.

During that time, I started experimenting with harder drugs, partying, really just numbing myself from the world. Only I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. To me, I was just a 14, 15, 16-year-old kid having fun. Raging against the machine, if you will.

It all gets to a point where I’m doing blow off the desk in I.S.S. (in-school suspension), get misdiagnosed as bi-polar (I’m not bi-polar, I’m doing/experimenting with drugs), and I eventually drop out on the first day of school of my third junior year. Yes, you read that right. My THIRD junior year.

School was never really my thing, so what’s the harm, right?

At this point, I’ve been smoking every day for a while now. I’ve cleaned up a little bit, but I still party. Just more responsibly, and not every day. I work, I get my GED, and all of a sudden it’s 2007, I just turned 22 years old, and I meet the girl that I’m going to wind up marrying.

The funny thing is, the day I met her, after she left where we were hanging out, I turned to my friend, whose girlfriend introduced us, and said, “I could marry that girl.” We laughed because I had just said I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I had just gotten out of a serious relationship that kind of messed me up, and honestly, I was scared of getting hurt again.

A few months in, I’m on my way to her apartment with Chinese food for dinner, and I get a call while I’m driving. The cops are at my house with a warrant. It was a graffiti thing, nothing crazy, but it could have been. At that time, I had been out painting almost every night for a few years, so my “book” was thick.

Anyway, I spent a night in jail and got out the next day. And when I saw her and how worried she was, I realized if I didn’t slow it down, I was going to lose her.

So from there on out, after everything was dealt with, I fell back.

She was the one person I didn’t HAVE to smoke with or smoke around to be myself. I was still smoking every day, but with her, I could just be me. She made (and still does) me feel safe. I didn’t have to hide that I liked comic books and toys. I could be weird and not be judged for it.

But… weed definitely made it easier.

Fast forward to 2024. I’m married to an amazing woman, have an amazing son, a job I like. Everything is good. Great even, when I look around and see what it could be.

But I’m not.

I’m tired, burnt out, angry, sad, doubting everything I do every day, all the time. My brain never turns off. It’s constantly replaying every decision, conversation, and interaction.

Where did I fuck up?

How did I screw up?

I know I did somehow. I always do.

But this is normal, right? Everyone feels like this. I just need to man up and deal with it. Push it down and push through so I can take care of my family.

Only there was no more room to push anything down. It was already too much, and I didn’t know why.

So I made that call, and on Friday, March 22, 2024, I started therapy.

Little did I know that this was when things would start turning around.

I’m not going to lie. I went into that first session hesitant and expecting to hate my therapist. So I went in, had my session, and when I left an hour later, to my surprise, I didn’t hate her. I was still guarded, but over time I got comfortable with her, and eventually, I started to trust her.

A few months in, I realized I might need more than just therapy, and she helped me find a psychiatrist for an evaluation and possible medication.

And guess what? On top of the anxiety and OCD that I was already aware of, I was also depressed.

I remember my first appointment after my evaluation. When the doctor told me I had major depression, I argued with her and told her she was wrong, and I meant it. There was no way I was depressed.

She humored me and said, “Okay, let’s run through the questions again. Maybe you were having a bad day when you first answered them.”

Of course, I say, “Let’s go,” thinking I’m going to prove her wrong.

Turns out, I scored one point lower.

So I had no choice but to concede and hear her out.

I started on meds, and things got a little better, but a lot was still off, so we did more testing.

Here’s a new diagnosis: ADHD.

This one made a ton of sense, so I didn’t even argue it. I did, however, argue against medication. Not because I’m anti-medication by any means, but because my mindset was, I’ve dealt with this for 40 years. Why medicate now?

She explained the benefits, and I agreed to try a non-stimulant.

This went on for a few months and helped a little, but not a ton. We knew we were on the right track, but we were still missing something.

She gave me a link to take another test, and we scheduled our next appointment about six weeks out. I took the test, saved the results, and about two weeks before my appointment, I found out she was no longer with the practice, and I needed to schedule with a new doctor.

Did I mention how much I hate change?

I try to find one through the practice. No luck. So, I scramble to find someone new. Now remember, I don’t like change, and I’m not the quickest to trust people, so this became a whole thing.

I finally find someone, do my initial appointment, and decide I’m going to give her a chance and stick with her.

While building that relationship, I shared my test results with her and my therapist to figure out what the test was for.

Turns out it was the RAADS-R test, which is designed to identify autistic traits in adults, including adults who mask or camouflage those traits.

Cool… but what do my results mean?

Well, I scored a 202 out of 240.

So, it turns out we’re working with AuDHD, not just ADHD.

And suddenly, a lot of things started to click.

As the weeks passed, I built a relationship with my new doctor, and we got my meds

straightened out. She wasn’t crazy about the mix my previous doctor had me on.

Did the new diagnosis change anything?

Well, no, not really.

But at the same time, it changed everything.

It changed nothing in the sense that I can only treat part of the “problem.” But it changed everything because it brought clarity. I wasn’t broken, lazy, or not trying hard enough.

I was operating in a system that wasn’t built for me. I was trying to adapt in ways that were never going to work for me.

So what does cannabis have to do with all of this?

It’s what saved me.

It was my medicine before I knew it was medicine.

I may not be here typing this if it weren’t for the plant that is demonized by so many.

On the days that I couldn’t turn it all off, it helped turn it down enough to be tolerable.

And don’t get me wrong. I’m not sitting here preaching that cannabis is a cure-all. It’s not. But it is medicine, and I can personally attest to that.

And while I no longer smoke like Seth Rogen, I do still smoke every day. It’s one of the tools I use to help manage my mental health. It’s a part of me.

To me, it’s not just a plant or just a medicine. It’s a culture. A lifestyle. Something that has helped bring me peace and understanding. A place where I fit in and belong.

You know what really hit me while writing this?

I’m not broken.

I’m different. In a beautiful way.

It’s what makes me think outside the box. It’s what makes me experience and approach things differently. And that’s what makes me valuable. It’s what allows me to do what I do best.

I never thought I would have the courage to start something like Joint Venture, put myself out there, and share it with the world.

But here I am.

And I’m going to keep going. Because that’s all I can do.

Maybe someone reading this needed to hear that they aren’t broken either.

Maybe you’ve spent your whole life trying harder when the real issue was that nobody ever taught you how your brain worked.

I don’t have everything figured out. I’m still learning myself. But for the first time in my life, I understand who I am a little more clearly.

And honestly… that’s changed everything.