By Veronique, Ottawa, Canada, November, 2018
It was an adult who made me smoke my first hashish joint, a man of about forty years who loved little children. I was 15 years old and I didn’t feel anything the first time. It is a funny phenomenon, the first joint that does not do anything. This often happens. By the second joint, I was addicted.
I had always struggled to make friends, but instantly I became part of a group in high school: the “freaks”. I did not even know what it meant, but I was proud of it. Very quickly, I had to smoke every day. I financed this operation by hitch-hiking and accepting the advances of the men who picked me up. Continue reading