With all the misinformation and myth surrounding the “stoner” I thought it was time to share something you might not know about me; I’m a total pothead. I use cannabis regularly enough that it is fair to say that every story I’ve published on Medium has, at least partially, been under the influence of this “mind altering drug.” But I haven’t always been this way.

My Jr year of High School I smoked weed for the first time during the hour between school and play practice. In that hour I smoked part of a joint on the way to a friend’s house and took several hits from a steamroller. When someone gently reminded me I had rehearsal I was in the midst of trying to make a sandal float by concentrating on it super hard; that was my mental state.

The walk back to school felt like several miles even though it was only a few blocks. Fear danced in my head. What if I’m stupid now? What if I can’t remember my lines? What if I’ve damaged my memory forever?

When I made my way into the auditorium I was paranoid that I would be discovered, and my teacher would immediately report me to my religious mother. It wasn’t like I could just slink to the back and hide until it passed, literally every line in this terrible production was contingent on something my character had to say. I was given this role, in part because of my uncanny ability to memorize entire scripts by the second or third rehearsal.

Once we began practice my paranoia was replaced with intense amusement at an otherwise painfully stupid one-liners and “zingers” in the play. When the single act was finished it was an effort to contain my laughter and compose myself. I didn’t, as I feared I would, forget everything or need to look at the script at any point. My memory was just as sharp, but my perception was definitely shifted.

While I dabbled a few more times, I probably didn’t smoke more than a quarter ounce combined for the next 10–12 years. I found it too cerebral, and explained it like this when I turned it down frequently at parties and while living in Washington in my 20's:

It’s like I have, oh say, 12–15 things going on in my head at any given time, right? But when I smoke weed it’s like all those different parts of my brain I was using to concentrate on a bunch of things focus down onto one thing. So, I can’t control what I concentrate on and it gets really weird and I sometimes mostly get stuck in my head thinking about stupid shit.

The truth was probably closer to something along the lines of:

I’m really sensitive and awkward but have found incredible ways of masking this social deficiency. When I smoke weed some of the barriers I have in place break down and I do goofy shit. But I’m so afraid you’re judging me or I’m upsetting you with just being me that I get uncomfortably anxious. I would do it at home more but I haven’t dealt with a lot of my own personal issues so I’m not great at being with my own thoughts just yet.

The few times I did agree to toke up had such an effect on me that there are still inside jokes based on my behavior. One of which involves me pretending to be a spider so my upstairs neighbors/landlords wouldn’t know I was smoking out the window through a tube of dryer sheets. I thought the teeny tiny hit required to get me high off the laughably small pipe would be covered by this time old trick, but I was wrong. My rain fresh disguise was no match for their expert deductions and the next morning I found a letter taped to my door.

The letter basically said that “pot” smoking wouldn’t be allowed. I don’t remember much aside from the fact that it was typed, and printed out to be as professional as possible but they used the term “pot.” It makes me laugh a little today, but was enough to deter my behavior to other, more socially acceptable substances.

Later, while living in a state where it had been long decriminalized, I tried it again. I took a massive bong rip off my roommate’s 3 footer and then sat quietly watching Finding Nemo and snacking. About halfway through the movie a booming knock interrupted my solitude. A female officer stood facing me as I opened my door. She glanced past me to see the foot of green bong sticking up from behind the couch. She’d been called on a noise disturbance, and I assumed I was somehow underestimating the loudness of my movie and thought maybe the weed had distorted my usually painfully acute sense of hearing. It wasn’t until we faced more complaints and then eviction that I realized my roommate had been waring with our downstairs neighbors. Or that particular building’s policy regarding police visiting the property; three visits from them and you’re out, no questions despite the fact that the one involving me read “no disturbances noted.”

In my mid to late 20’s I could often be heard saying that I wished I could be a stoner. I had read that it speeds up your metabolism and my weight was steadily climbing. I also loved the chill attitude that chronic users are known for. I longed for the kind of persona that people would describe as “relaxed” or “easy going.” My personality traits, on the other hand, combined with my anxiety usually landed me with labels like “intense” or “dramatic.”

With only a few years of my 20’s left I started taking my health more seriously. I quit my nearly decade long smoking habit and eventually lost 70+ pounds. Before I understood what was happening to me, and how to mediate that with diet, I found myself nauseated and violently sick every morning. In order to fight the pain and face the day I began toking up with my stoner roommate.

This time, in a remote and secluded location, I didn’t feel paranoid or anxious. With my pain at bay I was able to take on daily tasks and accomplish much in the hours my twisting guts would usually occupy. I began to see cannabis as a powerful tool and the next few years would be the beginning of a revolution in popular opinion regarding consumption and the laws surrounding it.

Since I began regular use I’ve been more considerate and kind to myself, more invested in my future, and more present and able to enjoy my life. I have long term goals and career aspirations that a younger me would scoff at. I am more ambitious and driven to utilize my talents and build a future than I ever have been. I feel more centered, more balanced and find it easier to focus on the things that are important to me.

While medical and recreational use is more common and people are more open to it than ever, there remains a stigma. Because we’ve criminalized a mental heath crisis, anyone who depends on a substance can be labeled an addict. And there are those who argue, because I use it every day and have no desire to quit, that I am dependent if not addicted.

I don’t lay on the couch, eating Cheetos and watching cartoons all day. I’m not a drain on society or morally deficient. I’m not escaping my life, I’m embracing it in ways I never imagined possible. Or as Maia Szalavitz puts it in her extraordinary new book Unbroken Brain: