In His Own Words: Noah's Story

I first tried smoking pot when I was a sophomore in high school. It was with my stepbrother on what happened to be "International Marijuana Day," April 20. Up until about one week before this date, if somebody told me that I was soon going to try pot and eventually become a habitual smoker, I would have laughed at the absurdity of the statement.



I was very confident and firm in my stance against drugs. I knew they were bad, and that is about all I needed to know to be sure I wasn't ever going to try them. So how did a "Christian" boy with loving, caring parents and a wonderful life evolve into a "pothead"?

It started with alcohol. I got drunk for my first time at a party, and it was a blast. I rank it as one of the most memorable experiences of my life. That same night, I found out for sure that my stepbrother smoked pot (I'd had my suspicions but never asked). I was told that if I thought alcohol was fun, I would think pot was the best thing in the world.

After a few days of struggling about whether or not to try it, I caved in. I told my stepbrother I wanted to try it, and so we got stoned. From that day, I have been mentally and emotionally addicted. Some experts would say I was addicted before I took my first hit.

Smoking pot was something I enjoyed. I thought that when I was stoned I was: smarter, more likable, able to play music better, and, perhaps the most interesting thing, I felt closer to God. The fact is I believe all these things are true. People try to tell me that it was just in my head, but I'm certain it wasn't. My dad would tell me that the closeness I felt to God was only the Devil playing tricks on my mind. Some days I think I agree, and some days I wholeheartedly disagree. The key for me is figuring out how to think and feel what it is when I'm stoned--without actually being stoned.

When my parents first discovered I was using pot, they began to drug test me. I was outraged. It felt like an invasion of my privacy. I felt that as long as I continued to get good grades and stayed out of trouble, it was none of their business if I smoked pot occasionally. It was embarrassing to have to be dragged into the doctor's office and given a drug test. The doctor would ask if it was for a job, and I would say, "No, my mom makes me take them." The doctor would then give me a look and ask if I was going to pass.

I would shrug my shoulders because most of the time I honestly didn't know. It was hit and miss because they were random. I passed a few and I failed a few, but I never quit smoking. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I always knew I had a drug problem, but I could make excuses for myself very easily. It wasn't until I hit the bottom, on March 10, 2000, that I began to admit that I had a problem--and that it was hurting not just me but a lot of other people.

That morning, I had to get up at about 5 a.m. to pick up a friend on my way to school. We had a very important once-a-year jazz band competition that day at another school located three hours away. The friend I picked up plays guitar and I play bass. When I picked him up, he told me he had some pot. So we smoked a lot of pot before we got to the school and got on the school bus with the other jazz band members. Our jazz band was supposed to play right after lunch. My friend and I thought it would be a good idea to go smoke more pot at lunchtime before we played. We went behind a strip mall located across from the high school and were in the middle of smoking a bowl when a woman who worked at one of the stores came to take out the trash. She spotted us and told us we shouldn't be doing that. We said OK and walked over to McDonald's. About five minutes later, some policemen came into McDonald's. They recognized us by this woman's description, and we were arrested for marijuana possession.

They handcuffed us right there and put us in the back of the cop car and drove us across the street to the high school. They then marched us right through the middle of the school in handcuffs up to the principal's office. We waited while they got our band director (my favorite and most respected teacher) to tell him that half the rhythm section of the jazz band had been arrested. He walked into the office, and I will never forget the look on his face. He was in shock; he didn't know what to say. His favorite student had just been arrested. He had no clue at all that I did drugs. Later, I heard stories about him falling on his knees in tears and that he briefly wondered if he should quit teaching. He told my parents he didn't ever expect to feel that brokenhearted unless one of his own kids got into trouble.

My friend and I waited in silence in a small room while our parents drove over three hours to come pick us up. I have never felt so bad as I did that day.

After the jazz band incident, I realized I had a problem and couldn't quit without help. I've since come to realize that because I am an introverted person with a family history of drug abuse, that makes me a setup for addiction.

Only then, when I welcomed the drug tests as a way to force myself to stay clean (I think it's invasion of privacy when done in the workplace or in schools without any prior reason), were they helpful in keeping me clean. It wasn't foolproof though; I failed one a week before I went off to college.

My dad had told me that if I failed a drug test, he wouldn't pay for the college I wanted to go to; I'd be on my own and have to pay my way to a community college. Thankfully, my dad gave me one more chance (I think my parents really wanted me to go to a good college and thought it might help). I'm currently at Chapman University in Orange, Calif. And if I fail to stay clean here in college, I'll be on my own. It's a lot of motivation to stay clean, but I'm still extremely scared that any day I will give in. The good thing is that I haven't seen one sign of dope yet. A lot of these kids know how to have fun without pot, and I'm learning how, too, I hope. I even joined the surfing club.

I always had a saying that "pot doesn't change my beliefs about God." Which is true in a way, but at the same time it's false. It's true in the sense that I still believe in God when I'm on drugs, but it's false because it distorts my perception of who God is and how he wants me (not the drugs) to see him. I think when I smoked pot I became too easy on myself and started molding God to fit me instead of me molding to fit God. Ultimately, this needs to be my motivation to quit, because deep down I know it's not what God has planned for me.