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Oct 06, 2025

What is Ravenmark?
The Day the Old Me Died

April 22, 2025 I hit the fucking floor. In the recovery world we call it rock bottom. My wife found my stash. She had no idea I had been using for two and a half years. She says she could tell I was distant but I was still a business owner, father throwing the ball with my kids in the park behind my house and doing everything that I loved to do. But the truth is I was using every single day. Just like my drinking when I finally gave it up a few years back I would stop by and pick it up after work. I would take a hit of my favorite drug on my way home if I was working, or I would make an excuse to go grab it out of my truck and use if I was home on the weekends or in the hills camping

I’ve been through my share of shit. No more than the next person but to the point I couldn’t sleep at night. I would go to bed at 10 and not fall asleep until midnight or later. Then usually I would wake up to a jump at 3 in the morning and not be able to fall asleep. It felt like I had fire in my veins and someone sitting on my chest. I couldn’t breath. I was crumbling to the pressure. Dealing with betrayals as we all do but for some reason I couldn’t handle it. Took me four years to get over that shit. A second father telling me I wasn’t good enough after giving everything. Literally.

I had been hearing on podcasts and shit about how it was no big deal. I knew I had a drinking problem. I can’t handle it. If one is ok 10 is better and it was no different this time. So there I was. Not sleeping. To proud to go to a doc and see if there was something that could take the edge off so I could sleep. I thought it was a super power because I got to a point that I would get out of bed at 4 am and go to work and run 13 hour days. My business partner probably thought it was great but it was all a fucking ego thing man. Sorry if this is choppy or doesn’t make sense. I’m not a fucking writer. My name’s Cole. I’m just an addict just like you.

So there I was listening to the masses and drinking the kool-aid. So I swung by and picked up my first gummies. It started small just like my drinking. 5 mg would make my world spin and took the edge off just enough. I started sleeping better and the best part was it made time like stand still. I would look at the clock and it would be 730. Felt like hours had passed and I would look again. 740. WTF? This is great, my nights dragging on, my chest is lighter. I’m not thinking about the fucking customers, or my ex partner. I could still play ball with the kids. My wife didn’t notice? Damn!
Just like my drinking went from two beers after a long day, it moved to 4 then 6 then I’m hiding how many I drank before going home or hiding them around the house so my wife thinks I drank five at home but I really had 5 and half a bottle of vodka plus the 4 before I even got home. The THC gummies were no different. Pretty soon I’m taking it earlier and earlier in the night. Before I know it I would take one leaving the office, I had a 45 minute drive so no shit it would start to kick in as I was pulling in the neighborhood. Sometimes a little before and I would have the chill-est drive.
Then you know how it goes. 6 months of using every day I’m taking 10 mg every day. I thought it was great because I could measure out and know exactly how much I’m taking. No slipping and taking 4 shots to many that linger and I have no idea how I got black out drunk. I fucking couldn’t stay pat though. I started testing what would happen when I took 30 mg’s on a Saturday when I didn’t have to be at work. I was still sleeping awesome with them. But something happened. Just like the booze. I started falling asleep easy enough but I would fucking wake up at 3 or 4 am and not be able to fall asleep.

I didn’t mention the munchies but damn. I would eat and eat and eat. Once my wife found out she was like “no shit you ate so much every fucking night.” At the end I was taking 30 to 40 mg’s a night every night. I was waking up hazy. Not hung over like booze but I felt like shit from the junk I was eating and overloading on right before I went to bed. I was gaining weight. My running was suffering because I was more tired and no matter what I did I was gaining weight. I was out of control. Every morning was just like I remembered. After 2 and a half years I was waking up saying I’m good. I’m going to go for a week and sure as shit that night I would buy some more. Miserable man.

Then April 21, 2025 we were at some friend’s house with all the kids riding dirt bikes and having a picnic. My wife went to check for something in my truck and sure enough she found my stash hidden up underneath my seat. FUCK. That’s the only word that describes what goes through my mind at that moment. I was pissed. I didn’t want to give it up but I don’t want to lose my family. That was the first time I hadn’t used in 30 months. That’s the day it started me towards this. I haven’t used since then. That’s the first day the “old me” started to die. Not necessarily out of choice but out of necessity.