Marijuana, Mary Jane, The Devil's Lettuce, weed... whatever you want to call it, not to long ago I became her slave.

My drug usage started October of my freshman year of college and was merely a source of recreational fun on the weekends or maybe before a big party. But my relationship with Mary quickly became extremely toxic as she began to call the shots by begging for my attention at the worst of times, constantly persuading me to make wrong decisions, and altering the way I thought about myself and others. I thought she was my friend, but in reality she wanted to ruin my life, and everything I had riding on my education.

It was early December when I began to realize that I had a problem, and I was blatantly denying the hard truth that substance abuse and addiction ran in my family history. I was sitting at the kitchen table in my dorm on FaceTime with my boyfriend arguing over why I needed to smoke while he was trying to tell me that it was time to stop. I was willing to risk our relationship in order to get my next high. Winter break came along quickly, and since home was so relaxing, I didn't feel the need to bring my metaphorical crutch along with me.

Second semester came along, and it was a lot more stressful than the first, which is when my reliance on weed hit its climax. I began to spiral out of control. I had become a different person in every way imaginable, and internally I wasn't happy except for when I was high. I would finish my homework each night (somehow it was of acceptable quality), and then either hit up a dealer to buy a gram, or would desperately scrape the piece in my room for resin. I was searching for a sense of temporary happiness that my life wasn't giving me because things were going pretty bad in personal life. I remember on the nights I couldn't smoke I would sit in the bathtub or shower crying wishing that I could stop the world because I was done living in it.

In April, my parents realized that enough was enough, and gave me some much needed tough love and after trying multiple times... I finally quit. At this point, I was nearing the end of the semester, but I was physically and mentally unable to get out of bed for class. I think I skipped four days of classes and laid in my dorm room in the dark stricken with depression. I felt sick, I felt like I was worthless, and most of all, I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I begged my parents to let me come home for a week and a half, and that's what I did, but then I had to come back to school for finals which was not at all enjoyable, but then spring-summer break had arrived.

Over the months from May to August I slowly began to recover from the withdrawal I had been going through, and it is by far the hardest thing that I've ever done. I couldn't sleep properly, I was extremely anxious, I was paranoid about everything around me, and I lost an unhealthy amount of weight no matter what I ate. I developed hives all over my jawline when I got the slightest bit agitated, and for a while I isolated myself in my bedroom. During July I was feeling and doing so much better, as I was proudly three months clean, and things got much better from that point on.

They say that Marijuana is a harmless drug, and I agree to an extent. It is harmless IF you can mentally handle its long term effects, and unfortunately I could not because I am an extremely anxious person. I am all for the legalization of this drug, because if utilized properly it can do a lot of good, and does serve a purpose, but it does not belong in my life. Just be warned that weed can subconsciously change you if done long term, and to be prepared if you ever have to quit.