Adulthood has been a rough journey, and it all began in my mind.
Let me clarify: with every year that has passed since I became an “adult” (i.e. turning 18, going off to university in an entirely different continent, and learning to live independently from a family that was I was quite dependent on) I have suffered more mental, physical, and emotional distress than I can count on my hand as a child.
I grew up in Amman, Jordan with two incredibly supportive, motivating, and loving parents; an older sister that seemed to always have her shit together, and a younger brother that was coddled a bit too much. I wasn’t without my health issues, however.
As a baby, I suffered from a disease that required a panel of specialists to cure me halfway across the world. Of course, I don’t remember this at all, but my parents remind me of this every time we visit a new doctor and give them my medical history. When I was 14, my appendix came very close to bursting and so I was rushed into emergency surgery. At 18, I had gone through numerous endoscopies and colonoscopies for a slew of stomach concerns. Fun fact: the day I graduated from high school, also at 18, I had an extreme reaction to alcohol (of which I only remember consuming two glasses of, and this was certainly not my first foray into the world of drink) that burnt my esophagus so badly and required immediate treatment with cortisone. I was told if my bad eating and drinking habits continued, I would need to one day replace it with a tube (and this scared me shitless!). Months later, I also underwent a surgery to correct a badly deviated septum and, admittedly, a cosmetic rhinoplasty to improve the appearance of a nose I was always insecure of.
Reading the above, my issues throughout childhood might sound serious, but eventually I was able to overcome most it by following the Doctors’ Orders. My appendix became a non-issue, I eventually learned how to manage my stomach problems, and my nose looked incredible!
If I could pinpoint where exactly my issues started, really, it would land right at that point following the corrective surgery. Funny; for something so rewarding in the long-run, I had begun to spiral towards an addiction I didn’t know could happen.
In order to correct my deviated septum, which caused severe congestion, I began using Otrivin – a nasal spray that consists of a chemical called Xylometazoline and provides instant relief. I felt like it was a miracle. Two sprays, and I could breathe better than I ever had before.
If only I knew that, 10 years later, I would still be reaching for a bottle at least three times a day, if not more.
Did you know that over-the-counter nasal spray with specific types of chemicals can cause an addiction so bad you’ll feel on the verge of a panic when you go without? I didn’t. Yet, here I am, 27 years old and addicted to nasal spray, of ALL things. But it’s not the only thing. I’m currently on Day One of my quitting journey, and it is not an easy one at all.
But I digress, because Otrivin is only one of the addictions I seem to have developed in my adulthood.
The other one? Cannabis. Yes; the natural drug we are always told cannot cause addiction quickly took me under its spell. And again, here I am, nearly 9 years after taking my first puff, going through the worst bout of withdrawals I’ve ever experienced.
Coming from the Middle East, Cannabis was more like a faraway fantasy to me. Throughout my childhood, I knew it existed but barely, because here in Jordan its incredibly illegal to smoke this substance, and if you’re caught, you’re pretty much f*cked.
Yet, when I was passed my first joint at 18 when I moved to Toronto, Canada for university – still young, impressionable, and eager to fit in – I fell in love. And so began years of struggles – mostly mental and emotional, but they have eventually manifested physically.
I’ve always struggled with chronic sleep issues, so weed had opened my eyes to what a beautiful, deep, relaxing sleep would feel like. And so, by my second year, and once I’ve moved out of the dorms that I felt had stifled my ability to smoke at my own leisure and into an apartment with my sister, I began to smoke every day.
I didn’t know I was addicted until my first trip back to Jordan for the holidays, and boy was that a wake-up call.
Appetite? Gone. Sleep? None to be had. And hello Anxiety.
I dropped weight very quickly because of my inability to feel hunger without weed. I went through days of sleepless nights, to the point where I had been described as Zombie-like for at least a week. And when I did manage a few hours of shut-eye? Sleep paralysis had gripped me on a nightly basis. Realistic nightmares where I think I’m awake but unable to move, speak, breathe, even scream out for help was the norm. And when I would wake up, I’d be drenched from head to toe in sweat.
It was not pleasant, to say the least.
Unfortunately, this experience was also not enough to convince me off the flower. I return to Canada following my break, and the first thing I do is light up a joint with my equally-addicted friends. Every time I’d attempt to quite, which was not that often, I would go right back within a few weeks. The longest I lasted was nearly 3 months, and then the stress of life set in, and back to cannabis I go. And so the cycle began.
For 8. Damn. Years.
Here I am today, sitting in my Lazy Boy in my bedroom back home in Jordan, on day 18 sans weed, and only now am I beginning to feel semi-alive.
But with the withdrawals that came, and oh wow did they come – possibly the worst time, and I’m almost certain is due to the decline of my mental health – did the doctor visits and medical tests begin.
My parents were undoubtedly concerned. Only last year, I suffered a breakdown during Covid-19 that lead to severe depression and anxiety. I decided to finally talk to my doctor back in Canada and admit to the struggles I’ve found myself in, and that’s when I began a prescription of Zoloft. To this day, I think this was possibly the best decision I’ve made when it comes to medications. While, yes, Zoloft – or any SSRIs – cause dependency, and quitting would also lead to withdrawal, but for once I was focusing on mending the imbalance in my mind.
However, as Arab parents, they don’t really understand the need for mental health medications, and once my father discovered that I’m on Zoloft daily, I was rushed to a slew of doctors.
My blood tests came back, and they were concerning enough that I was taken to a number of different specialists. My hormone levels were off – which could explain my severe cramping and heavy bleeding during my menstrual periods; my Vitamin D was below 9 – it has always been quite low, living in Canada, but this was a whole new level of insufficient; my iron? Very abnormal, and suggestive of a disease called Haemochromatosis – which we, thankfully, ruled out. A food intolerance test suggested I am unable to eat a whole slew of things I quite enjoy, and could be the reason for my abnormal bowel movements, fatigue, lack of appetite, and reflux pains.
Long story short – I didn’t take care of myself, my mind, or my body. I am now scheduled for a surgery on the 17th of January to address a serious case of Endometriosis – tissue growth within the lining of my uterus -, which I have suspected I had for the last year or so due to a change in my mensural patterns, as well as the removal of a benign polyp. I am also awaiting an Endoscopic procedure to find out why my stomach issues have returned (I have a good guess, and it’s all leaning towards my addiction to Cannabis, and my inability to properly feed myself with healthy, nutritious foods).
Today, I went to my ENT that had performed my surgery all those years ago due to a severely blocked eardrum, and I was forced to quit my Otrivin addiction as the side effects of long-term use had begin to manifest in both my nose, but also my heart muscles (or so the Doctor said).
I’ve decided, once and for all, to kick my addictions to the curb. Not only am I stuck in the Middle East for however long my endometriosis recovery would require, but I don’t have access to Cannabis – and this is the perfect solution to quitting. Otrivin? I hadn’t planned on quitting just yet, but it’s been on the forefront of my mind for months. But with the doctor’s insistnace, some steroid medications, and a few homeopathic remedies suggested by the ENT earlier today, I figured… why not?
Writing has always been therapeutic for me – why not document my journey, not only to relieve my anxieties by putting words to paper (or screen, I suppose), but perhaps to help others going through a similar journey, as well?
I’m not here to profit, nor to grow a big following. But I am here to balance my mind and body, and I hope you stick around for the end result.
For once, I’m confident enough in myself that I could, perhaps, find myself – healthy, nurturing, and happy – at the end of this fight.
Mind Games & Me 