I'm slowly weaning myself off the medical marijuana. I shouldn't have to do this because it is legal in my state of Florida, and it helps me with my PTSD, my night terrors, and my TMJ. But, because of the stigma still associated with marijuana, and the fact that most employers require drug tests for new hires, I have decided I must suffer a little more in my life so that I may get a job. Am I pissed? Hell yeah, you bet I am. This whole ordeal of beating my alcohol addiction (sober for 165 days), and now having to beat my dependence on medical marijuana thanks to a high-level medical company essentially blacklisting me--let's just say I stared into the abyss this week, and it stared back into my soul.
What now? I need to keep moving; like trudging through a snow-capped mountain range in the middle of a blizzard, I have-to-keep-moving-or-I-will-collapse-into-the-soft-powdery-snow-and-never-wake-up-again. The cold can be comforting, but also deceiving. It numbs you--tricks you--into a false sense of safety. But in reality, it's slowly sucking the life-essence out of your exhausted body.
How do I keep moving? Write. It's my one true joy, both therapeutic and cathartic. Also, keep looking for work. This company that rejected me (they don't even have the basic decency to call me on the phone and tell me so) have lost the best coder they could ever hope to find. But that's ok. I will keep looking; I will keep climbing that snowy mountain even if it kills me in the process. That is life: an eternal struggle to fight death.
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