At home mom asked how the appointment went; she asked, “What did the doctor have to say?” So I laid it on her. “She said from what she could tell I’m alright.” I went on, “She asked if I thought I needed anti-depressants and I said no.” I could tell that this gave her some relief; she was obviously glad to hear that I was feeling better. She asked a few more questions and I told her what she needed to hear; at last she asked, “So are you alright?” I quickly responded, “Yes, you don’t need to worry anymore.”

A lot had happened, I’d become aware of my depression and started to feel better again. I told my mother and she recommended a counselor, so I did that and it had helped. I had seen a doctor and learned that marijuana wasn’t bad, which by default made it good. And finally after some insight from the doctor, I told mom I was alright and gave her the information she needed. Things were quickly moving in a new direction as they always seem to do. It was all because of a mother, a counselor, and a doctor.

The doctor asked a few more questions unrelated to my self medication, then asked if I needed anti-depressants. Considering what I knew, I said, “I don’t want to take them, I’ve heard a lot of bad stories about them. Plus, I don’t think I need them.” She went on. “You can try them of you want, but if you don’t think you need them, there’s no point.” I didn’t take any of the anti-depressant samples.

The doctor stood up and said, “Sandy, I think you’re alright, but you should tell your mother how you feel. When she called she was quite worried, she needs to know you’re alright.” I listened to what she said. I was surprised to hear this from the doctor; I hadn’t really considered how worried my mother was. I’d been feeling better for awhile, maybe not enough to be vocal about it, but I still could have said something to her about it.

While I drove home I thought about what she had said; first that my mother was really worried and secondly that marijuana wasn’t too bad. I figured I definitely had to say something to mom when I got home, but what was I to say. I thought back, I must have said something to let her know I was feeling better, didn’t I?

My mother was still concerned about my depression; she suggested that I see a doctor. Instead of waiting for me to take action, she made an appointment with our family doctor. After she made the appointment she called me and asked if I could come home early the next weekend. I agreed, returning home Thursday night.

I went to the appointment the next day; I had never met my doctor before, so how was she ‘my’ doctor? Once in the office the doctor said, “Your mother called and said she was very concerned about you being depressed.” I was thrown off; she’d gotten straight to the point. I really wasn’t sure what to say, my mother was concerned, that was obvious. She must have thought I was really bad, but I felt OK; it had been a long time since I told her I was depressed, things had changed. I got straight to the point with the doctor. “You know, it’s strange but I’ve started to feel better lately. I don’t think I’m depressed anymore.” She wasn’t convinced so she asked a few more questions.

It eventually came up that I’d been smoking more marijuana lately, it had been affecting things, I said. “It seems to easy the depression.” The doctor gave me a quick look over; she was young in her late 20’s or early 30’s. Her young age must not have closed her mind. She said, “Yeah, marijuana isn’t that bad, just make sure you don’t smoke it every day.” I was surprised, not only did she say it wasn’t bad, but her only warning was not to do it all the time. I suspected she would have said more or advised against it, but she didn’t. Maybe she wasn’t able to say much more because it wasn’t within her family doctor job description.

When I smoked weed millions of ideas would flow through my mind, original ideas that I had never thought of before; things to do, jobs to pursue and places to travel. After Saint Patrick’s Day, Fiona and I started to see each other again, a mistake right off the bat.

I would often tell David about my ideas. “Hey David! I was thinking I could go to LA and become an actor.” David laughed and asked, “Did you think of that while you were high?” It became a joke; I would come up with what I thought was a great idea and tell David, he would laugh and call it a “High Idea.”

Marijuana opened up my mind and provided many new thoughts. I was more creative and able to come up with a lot of ingenious ideas. The ideas all coming out at once, I realized the world was full of opportunity, the opposite of what I had seen before.

One day while I was telling David about another far fetched idea he made a comment. “It seems like you have a lot of plans that would involve leaving, but none of them involve Fiona.” At first I didn’t really grasp what he was saying; then it became clear. I didn’t want to leave, I just wanted to get away from Fiona. I needed out of the relationship, I needed a clean break.

After the initial appointment I didn’t feel like I needed to go back again, I was feeling better overall; it was a neutral feeling, better then the depression of the past. I was starting to realize more and more that the world wasn’t as bad as I’d initially thought.

During this time, I realized that since my trip to Jamaica I had been smoking ganja more frequently, generally at night, after finishing my school work. I would smoke in the bathroom, oh the convenience of a personal washroom. Closing the door and lighting the pipe would create a hot box for one, music blasting from my computer just outside; I was really into the ‘Garden State’ soundtrack. When I finished getting high in the bathroom stall I’d leave the room, turn on the fan and keep the door closed; I didn’t want anyone else to smell it.

While smoking alone there is lots of opportunity for inner dialog; when smoking in a group and being social there isn’t much room for internalization. I didn’t have a TV so that was one less distraction, staying in the basement listening to music and reading stuff, I would occasionally talk to people through instant messaging; MSN was popular at the time. Sometimes I’d watch movies; I downloaded a lot and always had large selection.

I’m introduced to Karen, a middle aged overweight woman dressed extremely casually. Her shelves are filled with self help books, she must like them. The meeting starts low queue, she asks some basic information. How many people are in my family? Do I have siblings? How about my parents? I tell her what she wants to hear. She asks about family relationships, any bad ones? How come?

Most of the time we just talk, I tell her about how I feel and mention that recently I’d started to feel neutral. She gives some insight and suggests I work on my relationship with my father; she says it seems to be a significant obstacle in my life. It must be part of my neuro-networks, the feelings are habitual.

After an hour and a half, she has another appointment and ours needs to end. We step out of the office and toward a bookshelf filled with papers. Karen goes through the piles and hands me pamphlets explaining what they are about. She recommends that I read them over. “They will help.”

After the ritual she says, “We can talk again if you need, do you want to set up another appointment now?” At the time I don’t think I’ll need it; she can sense my hesitation and says, “How about you call and ask for me if you need to talk.” This works for me, so I say goodbye pamphlets in hand and walk towards the door.