“You never see positive stories about drugs in the news. Don’t you think that’s weird?” — The late comedian Bill Hicks

We don’t think it’s weird because we’ve been told for a long time, “Um, kids… drugs are bad… um kay?” (From “South Park”)

Some drugs are indeed bad. Some are good. But the anti-drug campaigns since even before “Just Say No” universally have seemed to obsess only with the bad ones, which has led to the failed, extensive and expensive War on Drugs for more than 45 years.

Only a fool would try to extol the virtues of opioids, meth, heroin and cocaine, but too often they throw marijuana into that category while there is a huge difference. The federal government still regards cannabis as a Schedule I drug along with the aforementioned substances.

It was a little more than 50 years ago, at age 19, I took the plunge and tried marijuana for the same reason I started smoking cigarettes — peer pressure. After my first few times being high, my reaction was, “They lied to me.” “They” were the many people in positions of power who had told me that um, marijuana is bad.

The issue reached critical mass for me personally in 1970 when I started to suffer from a wham socko one-two punch of anxiety and depression. Back then, I had no clue what was wrong and what caused it, but I felt terrible every waking minute of every day and struggled mightily just to finish college.

When doctors and friends asked me to describe it, they were even more puzzled when I told them it felt like an intense need to urinate or defecate, or like I had just been surprised by vicious, aggressive animal while walking down on a dark, deserted road.

So it wasn’t surprising when I was told, “It’s all in your head.”

My physician noticed a constant throat infection and declared I was an unusual case study for male menopause. Another doctor blamed smoking marijuana when I confessed during a major anxiety attack that’s a lot like having a heart attack, but just like the urgent need to eliminate waste, you’re not.

After that doctor told my parents about my sin of smoking pot, I resolutely decided to quit, with a nod to fears of being caught with a controlled substance. Though I ceased the illegal activity, I didn’t get any better and developed agoraphobia, a fear of places with lots of people.

The whole process severely restricted my chances of becoming a full-time history teacher. The best I could do in 1970 and 1971 was be a substitute teacher by day and a security guard by night.

I slowly recovered, but the problem seemed to make a comeback in 1974 and I sought treatment with Gestalt Therapy, and by 1976 I seemed get get better.

It all came back again in 1980 when I was at Albion, and it was made worse in 1981 by a diagnosis of Hodgkins Disease. I managed to pull through once again because the vast majority of the cancer was in my spleen.

But I couldn’t help but notice former Albion Recorder Editor George V. Mather was experiencing another one of what he called “spells,” to the point he had to be hospitalized yet again. His problems, like mine, kept coming back. And I believe he died not knowing what hit him.

My last bout with anxiety and depression hit me in 1988 and 1989. The problems were strikingly similar to those of the past, and I tried Xanax and later Pamelor, under the advice of a licensed psychiatrist.

But it wasn’t until 1998 when I achieved final victory over anxiety and depression. My physician, Dr. R. Troy Carlson, almost routinely prescribed Paroxetine, more commonly known as Paxil. When asked by any physician, nurse, or physician’s assistant how effective the drug was, I replied, “Life changing.”

I often go around muttering, “I coulda been a contenda,” mimicking Marlon Brando from the film “On the Waterfront.”

What I’ve learned and come to believe after all these years is that a lot of anxiety and depression is the result of a chemical imbalance in the brain. The mission is to find the right drug to correct the problem. I’ve known friends who have gotten relief in the same way using other substances.

Though I really don’t miss marijuana, I get perturbed when I hear people who should know better, like Circuit Judge Roberts Kengis and local township officials parrot the long discredited anti-drug hysteria. I personally know better. And I’ll repeat — There are good drugs, and there are bad drugs. You must choose wisely, grasshopper.

“One pill makes you larger. And one pill makes you small.  And the ones that mother gives you. Don’t do anything at all… ” — Jefferson Airplane, “White Rabbit.” 1967