Around 11 or 12 I was losing my grip on reality because of an abusive home life, ever since I could walk. Reality at the house was anything my country fuck of an ignorant republican step father would say. He actually thought basic training was the way to rear children, of course except his own blood children. So I was the main focus of hell for years.
I remember how my first toke swept away all the physical and mental stress instantly. I also was able to get my bearings straight and realize my step father was a giant abusive asshole plain and simple.
It saved me when I had no one or where to go, and when reality blurred and my head was spinning, it grounded me.
Of course I don't smoke as much as before but when my PTSD flares up, my first action is to take a nice big toke.
Peace to everyone who smokes weed!
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