I always knew that there was mental illness in my family or instability of some sort. I smoked marijuana for 15 years of my life and never had an episode it just relaxed me and helped me escape.
I went through a horrible break-up which sent me just overboard. I went to live with my brother whom never smoked pot his entire life until he turned of age. I knew he had become addicted to spice (K-2) once he started playing college football because it was undetectable.
I know he was aware of my mental state at the current time and wanted someone to hurt me or end up hurting myself. I know the symptoms of marijuana but for some reason what we were smoking didn’t do the same, and there was a lot of it being consumed I mean it looks like pot, so I was too concerned.
The high was a very nasty dirty high that gave me tremendous anxiety and panic attacks. We got into two separate arguments: The first argument I ended up being transported to a regular hospital because I was just lost and had nowhere to go and everyone turned their back on me because I was supposedly going “crazy”!
The second I ended up running away because I couldn’t take what he was doing to me anymore my little brother. I called 911, and the dispatched officer said he remembered me and to stay put where I was.
He then drove me back to the hospital. I knew they would just release me again and because I had nowhere to go, I started to be suicidal to have some shelter. They made me take a urine sample which the test results came back not showing signs of THC in my system now in my mind I’m thinking to myself what the fuck is going on?
I was handcuffed to a gurney laying there I asked myself what type of high is this? How long will it last? Will I be like this forever? From the hospital, they sent me to a mental institution where I couldn’t sleep and heard screams also became very emotional.
They tried to give me medicine which I hide under my tongue even after swallowing water. I spent a week here getting to get my mental health back in order. I was about two and a half hours away from home in which they drove me back, and I ended up homeless on the streets for the next three months.
I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on anyone, not even my worst enemy unless you were a bad piece of shit soul that deserves it.
As for the new me, I no longer smoke anything- I am in tip-top shape mentally, spiritually, physically…
But part of me wonders am I an ‘evil’ being for partially wanting something to happen to my little brother very sinister like and a big piece of me wouldn’t hurt at all because of what he did to me?
He may be family but would plot on your demise before an individual you met a few days ago.
Moral of this story what your surroundings and what you smoke and put in your body, especially if you know that you’re consuming K-2 if you’re going to smoke just use regular pot don’t be in a state of idiocracy.
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