I was thirty-two years old. I arrived home from teaching my classes at Memphis State University. Feeling fine, I lay down to take my afternoon nap. I awoke and started to the kitchen to get a pan to throw up in, and in the dining room I began sinking to the floor in blackness. I thought that I was dying. My last thought was, "But the papers aren't graded." I awoke lying on the living room floor screaming in pain.
Then twenty-nine days in the hospital with 100 mg of Demerol every four hours, then forty-nine days in the hospital with 100 mg of Demerol every four hours, occasionally a dose of morphine. This pattern went on for two years. I was as addicted as one could be.
This is addiction: I not only strongly craved the effects of the drug but also the smell of the alcohol and the prick of the needle. I gave myself saline shots! Ever heard of an alcoholic drinking Listerine? I was depressed, and being depressed I was alone most of the time. I was miserable. Now I know how a young woman can steal her grandmother's ring and sell it for coke. She doesn't want to but she has to. She must find relief. You will not understand unless you have been addicted.
An R.N. friend came over one night and gave me some marijuana. I smoked every night in the privacy of my bedroom with a book or television. I could sleep. I am ashamed to say how long I continued with the nightly dose.
Then I decided to quit smoking, and I did with no problems. I appreciate marijuana for what it did for me . It kept me away from hard drugs and gave me relief when I was desperate.