Letter ID: LON-202013
Dear London,
I became a mental health nurse four years ago, fresh out of university, full of energy and ready to make a difference. I’m 30 now, and I’ve spent my entire career inside a London mental health hospital. I’ve learned more about people, pain and reality than any textbook could ever teach me.
One thing I never expected to feel so strongly about is cannabis.
Before this job, I was like many people in this city. Weed felt normal. Casual. Almost harmless. Something you did at a party, after work or on a night out. No big deal.
But working on a mental health ward has changed that completely.
Every week, I see young people, mostly young men, admitted in crisis. Hallucinating. Paranoid. Violent. Terrified. Detached from reality. Many of them need 24-hour support just to stay safe. And again and again, cannabis use is part of their story.
These aren’t the “crazy” people we’re taught to imagine. They’re students. Sons. Brothers. Football fans. Music lovers. People who once lived normal lives.
Something has shifted them.
What worries me most is that no one really knows what’s in weed anymore. It’s not just a plant rolled in paper. It’s stronger, mixed, altered. Dealers add things we can’t see, smell or test. People smoke it without knowing what they’re actually putting into their bodies, especially into their brains.
And the brain is delicate.
On the ward, I’ve watched patients talk to people who aren’t there. I’ve seen sudden violent outbursts from people who were calm just moments before. I’ve sat with young men shaking through breakdowns, crying because their thoughts won’t slow down, begging for the noise in their head to stop.
Some of them will recover. Some won’t.
I didn’t always think this way. I used to smoke too. I thought it was harmless, until one night proved me wrong.
I remember being in a nightclub with my friends, music loud, lights flashing. I smoked a joint without thinking much about it. Within minutes, everything felt wrong. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore. My thoughts spiralled. I became convinced there were aliens in the room trying to attack me.
It felt real. Terrifyingly real.
My friends were scared by how I was acting. I was shaking, panicking, completely disconnected from reality. It took hours for me to feel like myself again. That night changed me.
I never touched weed again.
Now, I see the same fear in my patients’ eyes, but on a much deeper level. Some of them can’t tell what’s real anymore. Their sense of safety, identity and trust has been damaged. And for many, cannabis played a part in that journey.
I’m not here to judge anyone. London is stressful. Life is heavy. People look for ways to escape, to relax, to feel something different. I understand that.
But I also see the consequences no one posts on social media.
I see the families who don’t recognise their sons anymore. I see the young people whose futures have been paused by psychosis. I see how one “harmless” habit can spiral into something much darker.
My message isn’t about fear. It’s about awareness.
Your mind is precious. Your reality matters. And not everything sold to you is safe, even if it’s normalised.
London, I just want people to know what I see behind the hospital doors, before they ever have to walk through them themselves.
With care,
A London Nurse
Occasionally we shape real stories into letters, so every voice is heard.
Source: Shaped from a real conversation
Photo Credits
Images are sourced to enhance the reading experience and do not depict the original writer
• Letter image: iStock.com/Dougall_Photography