CBD & Me

Some experts believe the non-intoxicating compound from the marijuana plant can cure anxiety, chronic pain, sleeplessness and a thousand other problems. I decided to give it a try.

- Leah Rumack

“I’d like a Relaxed Fit,” I type in an Instagram message to my potential drug dealer. It’s the code for her high-dose CBD cookies. (The THC-forward ones are called High Rise, get it? They’re both jeans, but those ones are high.) They’re $55 for a dozen, but she only has ginger with turmeric (blech!) available at the moment. I give up and log on to cbd2go.ca, load my cart with two tinctures and a pain salve, and then begin watching my mailbox for the package that’s promising me sweet, sweet relief.

I’m not the only one waiting for the mail—CBD2GO’s website has constant pop-ups informing me that, in the past 10 hours, someone in Stouffville or Brampton or some other Canadian town purchased a 1,000-milligram Calyx Heal or coconut tincture. It’s like they’re shouting, “You! Law-abiding middle-aged mom—you are not alone! All these Extremely Average Humans have heard the promises of this magical elixir called CBD, and they, like the poster on Fox Mulder’s wall on The X-Files, want to believe.”

And I do. I do want to believe. I’m one of the many average humans who, along with not-so-average scientists, doctors, and investors around the world, are currently obsessed with the possibilities that CBD—short for cannabidiol, one of at least 480 components of the cannabis plant—is dangling before our eyes. CBD isn’t intoxicating, unlike THC (a.k.a. tetrahydrocannabinol), the better-known cannabis derivative stoners have been buying from “a guy” for years.