On Drugs and Being an Accused Dysfunctional Addict

I can’t say I write this with a whole lot of experience. While I’ve researched absolutely no statistics on what percentage of the population uses drugs – hard or soft (heroin or alcohol for example), my limited experience has introduced me to a small sampling of people who abstain, who use just a little, who use way too much, or who no longer use. Whether it’s a representative sample of the drug-using population at large, I don’t know.

It’s worth adding the caveat that the vast majority of this experience is roughly 25 years old, with a hint of experience in the last 3 years using marijuana, and includes little to no direct experience with prescription drugs. So, like I wrote, not a whole lot of experience.

But since my reputation has been slandered as a highly dysfunctional addict, accused of wanting to do heroin, I thought educating the most righteous of individuals on the little I know about drugs and drug users was worthy some commentary. As well as sharing every painful detail of my own drug use, capable of boring any reader to tears.

In a recent conversation with a no-longer-friend, came the topic of him wanting to know what it was like to do heroin. My no-longer-friend who doesn’t even like marijuana outside of a sleep aid, had never spoken of doing drugs or wanting to do drugs, suddenly would like to try heroin. I couldn’t and can’t be of any help, in conversational fun and ideation, or actual execution.

My experience with heroin – watching people in movies in what appears to be the slums of the filthiest hell of a run-down house that has merged with the earth and all it has to offer including the wildlife and environment around it. The people slumped over on mattresses or furniture barely recognizable, in clothes that appear colored but were probably once white, faces splattered with pock marks, wrists and arms scarred with injury of use, and bodies that look sick and near death. But as we all know, apparently there is something about heroin – an insanely addictive euphoric feeling that keeps people running into the most horrendous states of physical living while their minds soar to a place not many of us can imagine or ever want to find out.

As someone who does yoga, used to eat well, and finds the greatest escapism in rotting my brain with movies and well-done shows, I’ll never do heroin. I’ll leave that to the most curious and bravest of souls daring to go to a place no person should go.

But this post isn’t intended to be about heroin, as my education and knowledge has been solely acquired from filmmakers who arguably are good at dramatizing life.

I’ll start this post with my experience from the harshest to the least harsh drug.

I dabbled with cocaine for about a year around the age of 22 or 23, roughly 25 years ago. It was always in powder form. I never really had any of my own, but it floated around parties I attended. A stimulant. One in which I could not take or use unless I hadn’t had anything to drink or barely anything at all. My body won’t tolerate more than one type of drug at once. It’ll just spit everything right back out at me. Not a good trait to have at parties, even if the occurrence is isolated to a bathroom. I’d say I came across it once or twice a month.

A friend of mine was a frequent user. Her husband had killed himself, leaving her and her two young kids. She was the bread winner of the family, worked a lot. Her husband took care of the kids. So, while she was always capable of financially providing, and if my memory is correct, being parentally attentive was her husband’s strong suit. I can’t imagine anything she possibly felt or was going through at the time. I do believe she is doing very well now. At the time a habitual cocaine user. Admitted smelling nothing due to the dime size hole in her nose. Needless to say, she never had to offer me mints or gum. She was one of two of the smartest, funniest, wittiest, most capable women I have ever met in my life. She was a powerhouse. Even during her initial habitual drug use. Longer-term I think she began to suffer from the use and from the company she started keeping. And while I know she does well now, I don’t know any details. She was always highly functional, earned a good living at least initially, and stumbled around motherhood with the best of intentions and kids she loved and that loved her.

I used with her and within that network of friends. Our nights together were so much fun. Nothing insane. Small groups. Sometimes a bar, or pool, or just hanging out at a house with way too much conversation, too many jokes, laughs, and fun. I would see the sunrise on weekends, then go to bed. I figured the only way to not get sucked in was to find a whole new set of friends. So I did. That also meant finding a new job, which I did. I was friendless for a while. But knew it had to happen.

That was my short stint with cocaine. That’s all I know. I’ve never met anyone who uses since. Those aren’t the circles I travel in, nor are they the circles I’ll ever choose to travel in. Though I will say, we had one sober friend that kept us company sometimes, was in recovery, but somehow strong and brave enough to remain sober through it all. Women and gambling became his things, but at least not drugs or alcohol. And one of the kindest, funnest men I’ve ever met.

I won’t do cocaine ever again, for countless reasons. One reason being because for every high, there is a low. The low coming off cocaine is worse than any form of sadness, anxiety, or depression (to me) one could experience. I could tell the random, occasional drug users from the habitual. Sometimes based solely on one aspect being that habitual drugs users had other types of drugs to help them come off, or down from, the drugs they had been using. And so, the circle of use went for them. How does one find so many drugs I always wondered. I have the fortunate of not being social enough, that I know I’ll never find out.

Again, I never did prescription pills. I think I tried Xanax once. Again, I don’t even know how people get that stuff. All I know is that Xanax can put people in the hospital and rooms of AA and NA just like any other type of drug – which is likely known or obvious to most.

I drank when I partied. Sometimes too much. The problem was being out with friends for hours and hours on end. It got me in trouble twice. The first part of the brain that alcohol impairs is the part responsible for making decisions. Hence, alcohol = bad decisions. Pretty simple and obvious to most.

I started drinking by myself some. Because I left the friend circle of people who did well more than drink, I spent an enormous amount of time alone. I was in a highly walkable part of the city, so it was even easy to walk about town and grab a glass of wine or cocktail by myself. How sad, so many others were smart enough to know where and how to invest their time to build a future life full of peace, happiness, and security. I just flat out didn’t, and it didn’t occur to me. I read, watched artsy films and documentaries, painted, learned about different things (psychology, Buddhism, etc.), walked about the city, exercised, worked too much at times, and went to plays. Most of it by myself. Drinks here and there were good company. I had the occasional social outing on a date, with a friend passing through town, or random coworkers. I drank responsibly and other times too much, alone or with others.

After getting 2 DWIs and paying the enormous price tag for both of those - emotionally, financially, socially with the stigma - I changed and then went to graduate school.

Unfortunately, by not drinking I was just addressing the side effects of my real problem. Through not drinking as much is always a good decision for anyone in and of itself. Little by little, I drank less, going back to school, working more, taking up yoga, volunteering, trying to be less of a party girl and more responsible.

For the most part, straightening up worked. There were hints here and there of the old me that wanted to come out and occasionally did by drinking too much. But largely I worked too much and spent too much time in a yoga room (yes that’s possible when you have other things you should have been doing for yourself) without balancing out a life, and planning and building a future for myself. Dating endlessly never resulted in much as I hadn’t yet identified my real problem in life nor understood it needed to be addressed before being able to build a truly healthy relationship. But I gave it a good college try.

Fast track to 3 years ago, when out for an entire day with friends who drank for 8 hours straight, resulted in me simply consuming too much water (many times), with a boyfriend who stayed up drinking while I gave in to sleep versus drinks, with almost every outing being with water or a mocktail because I had grown too cheap to pay for an Uber and enjoy wine, with work events never including a drink, with a boyfriend of 5 years and a relationship that was healthy enough though not without flaws, with long-term acquaintances I could rely on for shared birthday wishes and an occasional outing, with a couple of really close friends who really knew me, which was all I needed, with a career at its peak, and with a life that had turned around and had been turning around inch by inch for 20 years.

Then my Dad died. My childhood got drudged up and not due to my actions or speech. But my reactions to the drudging up of events were veiled in trauma responses that were dusted off and my old character took root in my personality and behavior all over again.

All at a time when I was at the peak of my career, after years of work and education chaining me to hours on end behind a computer, in the office, head down in books or classes. All of it, stumbling backward toward my old character, feeling wasted.

I started using marijuana to stuff those painful childhood feelings and get through them thinking they would go away again if I just carried on and worked hard, ate well, continued my new habits of yoga, eating well, etc.

I quit the job I had when my Dad died due to work and emotional burnout, and grief. I took a job that was fucking miserable after and went back to work too soon anyway. All the while smoking in my personal time to get by.

I stopped smoking by the time I took a third job. I actually felt a feeling of excitement for work I hadn’t felt in a while. But one alleged misperception on that job, and my boss never let me out of the doghouse with forgiveness and support. Everyone knew it. Being treated like crap wasn’t hidden. At some point after, I started smoking again, at night mostly.

Eventually my work reassigned by a new boss, no new assignments or direction given. And then the bullying, harassment, following me, and eventually hacking my phone and sabotaging my work ensued. It was around the time my boss reassigned my work that I started smoking a bulk of the time in my personal time. Not all the time, but a bulk.

I wasn’t drinking much. Some, but really very little. I didn’t like to mix the two. It’s too much. And not necessary. I didn’t need my eyes rolling in the back of my head. I just wanted my mind to wander off away from reality because I had never learned how to cope through the really bad stuff without substances.

Dave Chapelle would argue marijuana should not be classified as a drug at all. A predictable opinion by a habitual user, I suppose. But a highly successful, highly intelligent, and funny user none-the-less. I would agree with him but more so speaking to the hippie’s form of marijuana. Marijuana was way better before man started messing with it, taking the CBD out, and making it too strong.

There’s using marijuana and then there’s really using marijuana. So there’s use ranging from taking a gummy or a one-hit at night to go to sleep. To smoking before one sits down to paint, or create, or write, or watch a funny movie, or organize a sock drawer - to smoking from a big bong multiple times while one’s eyes can barely open and everything and nothing at all is funny or requires a snack. There are all sorts of ways one can use marijuana – for most, though not me, use is social. Not yet mentioned, there’s medical marijuana use as well.

It’s a drug that is less harsh than alcohol. It doesn’t feel nearly as bad the next day. It doesn’t have the potential to knock you off your feet like alcohol (that I know of any way or clearly, I wasn’t smoking enough).

There was even a time I had to quit smoking for a few weeks just so the marijuana would actually have an effect again. I had to do this a couple to a few times. It started doing nothing for me because I had built a tolerance and could no longer feel the effect. And yes, believe it or not, I actually couldn’t stomach smoking or doing more than I was in any one sitting. That was gross to me. I only liked doing a little at a time. No more, no less. I make bad decisions, but I’m not dysfunctional in a way one would think or in a way that I am accused.

I am a true marijuana lover in that I believe the plant is meant to be enjoyed. If too much is consumed at once, at least for me, it’s not enjoyable or I just pass out. And then what was the point.

One can argue smoking marijuana is not okay in any circumstance, legal or not, medical or not. That’s fine. I wouldn’t argue with that. I wouldn’t argue with medical marijuana use. Nor would I argue with Dave Chapelle. To each his own. And it’s not hard to see multiple viewpoint on one issue.

I used marijuana sometimes to brainstorm. To let my mind wander in ways I felt incapable of without it. If it wandered in this way, it might find something I hadn’t thought of doing or creating yet.

I used marijuana to read the news, to enhance my taste buds for the dinner I made at home, to draw, to watch my favorite show Severance.

At my most frequent use (again, I didn’t smoke mass quantities at once) I started using marijuana when I woke up in the morning. It made a hot shower feel even better. It made doing my hair and make up less of a chore. I had such long mornings. Shower, hair, makeup, make coffee, make breakfast, dog breakfast, pack lunch, pack yoga bag, find something to wear, walk the dog, pack the work bag, pack whatever I needed for after work errands (and anything else). Sure, I could have done some of this at night. I was doing other things at night and honestly sometimes nothing out of being depressed about my job and giving up a life I loved for said shitty job.

I’m not proud of smoking before work. But I was never on drugs at work, nor did I do drugs at work. I make bad decisions, but their not entirely atrocious. I typically woke up around 5-5:30am and got to work around 9am.

I was never smoking up a chimney and only on rare weekends did I eat a gummy. Gummies and edibles weren’t my thing. When I smoked, I could much more accurately gauge the impact of the drug. I couldn’t with gummies and I didn’t like that.

I only subjected one friend to my marijuana use. An ex-boyfriend. And only once did I take a gummy with an acquaintance in my home and watch a movie. I can honestly say, other than that, people didn’t see me high. It was an at home thing. It was in small quantities thing. In more frequent small quantities on the weekends at home.

That’s it. All my non-alcoholic drug use in all of its splendor. No heroin. No eyes rolling in the back of my head or barely open. No falling down my stairs or breaking bones intoxicated. No psychotic phone calls or texts to people under the influence. The rare times I learned not to mix substances by throwing up or passing out on a sofa included. Live and learn.

This is the story of the accused “dysfunctional raging addict” I suspect I am said to be over the last 2 years. Not true. But I was dysfunctional at getting 2 DWIs 25 years ago.

Yes, I smoked too frequently over that years of grief or hating my job. Didn’t drink much when I smoked. But had some wine on occasion, yes.

Took a long hiatus from too much substance use for much of my late 20s, 30s, and 40s.

And after not smoking anymore after July 2025, learned to sit with my trauma, my recovery, and the destruction of my life that ensued after I quit smoking.

With all of the lies said about me, all of the assumptions, misperceptions, judgement, and criticism, with all of the psychological warfare, bullying, hate, abandonment, surveillance of me in my home and through my phone, with all the worthless and insane fucking accusations, and with being shut out from society, from getting a job, from every having an honest, healthy, real connection with another human again – why would I not smoke again?

All of the above unfolded and happened largely after I stopped. Since my life was ruined by the privacy invasion, by the false accusations, by the reputational damage of others – why not just be who I am and smoke? It’s by far less worse than I am accused anyway. No one talks to me in an honest, non-insulting, respectful, direct way anyway. No one trusts me. No one will work with me. Why not smoke anyway?

All I did was fail to give up on a job I gave up my whole life for. I failed to see I couldn’t turn it around no matter how hard I tried or how long I hung in. I wasn’t ever going to be allowed to turn it around.

All of this should have painfully evident to me from the first alleged misperception I had on the job in May 2024. Sadly, I wasn’t using marijuana at the time. So, my judgement was the same with and without marijuana.

I would never bore anyone with these stories. Never be so full of myself to think anyone gives a fuck about any of this.

But I am accused of being a raging addict.

Really, I’m guilty of not having healed childhood pain decades ago to be a healthy adult that makes better decisions and is capable of being a better person to people. At the end of the day, the real problem has little to do with substance use. The side effects of the problem have everything to do with substance use.

If I were a raging addict, I’d be living in a state where marijuana was legal and I’d be enjoying my absolute favorite cocktails. Neither of which I’m doing. But again, there’s no reason now in life not to be doing these things. Not. A. Single. Reason. And the reason of loving myself is now irrelevant in life.