Article May 6, 2013 Issue

An answer to prayer

Marsha Cobb

I was at the end of my rope.

During college, I began using marijuana and hallucinogens regularly. Following a “bad trip,” I found myself experiencing anxiety attacks and flashbacks of a violent nature. I was given prescription drugs for anxiety and told I would need to take them indefinitely. Then I began losing weight and, at times, literally trembled with fear. I would have certainly taken my life, but I could not figure a way that, if unsuccessful, would not leave me in a worse condition.

About a year after graduation, I traveled with my husband to Sacramento, California, to attend his brother’s wedding. We stayed with some of his family there, and I became a recluse in their guest bedroom, even though they tried in every way to make me comfortable. One day, we went downtown to have lunch with his aunt and uncle, but I did not make it through lunch before an oncoming flashback made me run out of the restaurant. Soon after, my husband and I were left to sightsee, but I felt so weak and miserable that I decided then and there to run away so as not to burden others with my problems. I sent my husband down the block to call for a ride, stepped from the storefront, and started to run. At that very moment, the temperature dropped 20 degrees or so and hail started pounding the street. In despair, I stepped back into the storefront.

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