Marijuana, pot, weed, hemp, cannabis. The many names of a mysterious plant. My first experience with marijuana was in 1976, when a couple of older friends took me out to smoke pot. We smoked six joints that night. All I remember is that I was hot (it was February in St. Louis), my eyes were extremely bloodshot, and there might have been some giggling involved. That night, I unknowingly fell in love with a medicinal plant. Throughout high school, I partied heavily, and marijuana was always around. I was considered a "burnout" even though I played sports, and although I had friends in most cliques, most people associated me with marijuana. I loved the feeling I got when smoking. It took my mind away from the stresses of life. I had what people would today call attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), and cannabis helped calm me down. I felt that marijuana was helping me. However, my parents, teachers, and the police were always trying to stop me from using it. I fought with my parents over the killer weed. I was arrested for carrying marijuana. I was even asked to move out of my parents' house because of my rumored addiction to cannabis. I never completely abandoned it, and, 40 years later, it's still a large part of my life. It has created some amazing memories, as well as some extremely difficult challenges. Had my environment helped me embrace cannabis instead of being ostracized for it, perhaps some events in my life would have turned out differently. Over the years, I would periodically step away from using pot. When my kids were young, I mostly abstained or hid in the shadows. However, every time I walked away from marijuana; I was drawn back to the plant. In 2004, having fallen and fractured my spine, I began a slow death spiral as an addict to legal opioids. For the next eight years, I battled depression and stomach ulcers. At the end of every month, I would face withdrawal symptoms, as well as the fear of running out of medication. At one point, I was prescribed 1,080 pills a month! More than half were opioids, while the rest were prescribed to fix the problems opium was causing. In 2012, I was rushed to the emergency room with bleeding ulcers. This happened again in 2014. I had lost almost 40 pounds during this time. I was killing myself. One night at the end of a month in 2014, I was facing imminent withdrawal sickness. Let me tell you: withdrawal sucks! I was not eligible for a refill, b