I grew up being opposed for the most part to cannabis use.
There are a few reasons for this.
The simplest and most obvious is the early exposure I had to people who were classic cases of stoner burnout. I knew a lot of people in high school who were really, really nice, but who I watched decline from eager, bright-eyed students to red-eyed airheads whose main idea of ingenuity was trying to hot-box the school bathroom without getting caught.
Then, there’s the horror stories of people who got into marijuana thinking it’s just a harmless plant and ended up in a drug-induced psychosis.
But foundationally, I just never really liked the idea of having a drastically altered state of mind. Growing up, I never really felt in control of my body (a common theme amongst people with chronic health conditions, and particularly things like tic disorders). The few chances I got to feel completely centered and in control were precious to me. The idea of putting myself into a state of further haze and loss of agency over my own body was inherently and immediately off-putting.
Yet, I am currently a medical marijuana patient.
What changed?
Over the last couple of years, I’ve had all sorts of tentative diagnoses (of which some stuck, and some didn’t). Resultantly, I’ve had all sorts of different treatment plans. When we thought that I was having epileptic seizures, I was prescribed anti-epilepsy medications. When the main hypothesis was migraines, I was prescribed migraine medications. When the thought shifted to “We have no idea why you’re seizing, but maybe it’s somehow mysteriously connected to Tourette Syndrome?” doctors wanted to do a drug trial with various sorts of medications commonly used for Tourette Syndrome.
I won’t sugarcoat it: being on this rapid-fire medication trial was awful. I felt sick as a base-state, but most of these medications made me feel even sicker. I existed in a drugged-out haze in which I was legitimately so high that I was indistinguishable from someone tripping out on recreational drugs. I made embarrassing mistakes, forgot important things, and misunderstood social situations in ways that led to accidental offense to those I care about. I had to take a hiatus from my beloved research position because I was too high to hear myself think. I lost dangerous amounts of weight. I passed out from blood pressure crashes at the slightest rise in temperature. I lost most of my hair when on the second week of one medication I tried it began coming out in literal clumps in the shower. This was the most psychologically disturbing thing (to me, anyway) that happened throughout that time.
I reached a point where I still had no idea what was wrong, but I realized that trying to figure it out by pumping me full of medications that - without any exaggeration whatsoever - felt like literal poison was not the way to get healthier.
Someone suggested medical cannabis to me, so I tried it. I first bought a bottle of CBD oil. It wasn’t magic, and it didn’t take all of my symptoms away, but it helped. I genuinely felt as improved on it as I had on the anti-epilepsy medications I’d tried (the only ones that had actually done anything for me), sans the extreme weight and hair loss. Using CBD oil allowed me to start taking control over my own health management and taking the edge off of my seizures. They didn’t stop all of them, but it greatly reduced the amount of time I spent lost in blackouts. And it absolutely reduced the time I spent lost in a drug haze.
So, I thought I might as well bite the bullet, get over my past hangups, and try the real deal. I applied for my medical marijuana card and went, having never used marijuana before in my life, to the dispensary to pick up my first real concentrated dose. I was strangely nervous about the whole situation - I had horror scenarios playing through my head of losing my mind in a constant high like my old high school acquaintances.
But I went home, I took my first dose of medical marijuana (delivered via inhalation from a vaporizer pen), and then went on with my night as normal. The whole mental buildup seemed a little silly, in retrospect.
The payoff of using it was so worth it. As it turns out, not only does medical cannabis stop my seizures in their tracks, but it also makes me feel the closest to just plain not having Tourette Syndrome at all that I’ve ever felt in my life. As soon as the medicine hits me, my tics (usually constantly present and a nagging presence in the back of my mind that take energy to ignore) just melt away into practically nothing. I can just relax and not worry about my body acting without me, much like I imagine neurotypical people might feel in their daily lives. It makes me relaxed, but at the particular dose that I take it does not impair my cognition to any noticeable degree. Because of the way that it eases my symptoms, there are many instances where I can legitimately function at a higher cognitive level after taking cannabis than I can without using it.
Don’t get me wrong. Medical cannabis is not a cure-all. It is not for every disorder, and it will not cure most things. Even as much as it helps me, it is not a cure. When it wears off, I still have TS and FND. Even on it, I do still have some symptoms (although far fewer than I’ve had on literally any other medication or treatment method I’ve ever tried). And, cannabis still carries the same risks as it always has. It is not for everyone. Some people (particularly those with a predisposition towards psychotic disorders) should not take it, and should especially avoid THC. It can legitimately induce schizophrenia in at-risk people. And, it’s still a medication with side effects. Like other psychoactive substances, in high enough doses it will induce changes to cognition, energy levels, etc. To put it less elegantly, if you take too much too often you will probably end up drugged out much like the stoners I knew back in high school.
But the benefits of medical cannabis used responsibly definitely make it worth consideration as a treatment option for those with neurological conditions like mine. I view cannabis as my medication, and despite my previous negative feelings towards it I’ve reached a point where I never want to be without the option to use it as a rescue medication for an FND flare or a bad tic day. It helps me to feel normal and function almost as someone who doesn’t have all of these medical conditions, without the horrific side effects which were caused by the other medications I’ve been prescribed for my conditions.
Cannabis is a medicine. Like any medication it has its limits and its risks. Don’t try to use or peddle it as something that is universally harmless.
BUT.
If you are a person who - as I was previously - is skeptical of the potential medical benefits, consider talking to your doctor about whether it could be the right choice for you. You may find that - also like me - letting go of past biases and giving cannabis a chance to help you could enable you to live a fuller, less symptomatic, and freer life.
