Somehow a likeness of my daughter made it to the soft, blue sofa, and sat rocking and chattering to herself. My girl always had a genius sense of humor, and my first thought was that she'd chosen that moment to imitate some facet of T-Rex behavior again.

I couldn't understand why she wasn't listening to me when I asked her to stop and tried desperately not to lose my temper. I kept telling myself not to go near her, in case I really did lose my cool. I buried my nose in the paper I was feverishly trying to rewrite.

My mind was a perfect storm of emotions, still fresh from the last family crisis. I was so completely drained from dealing with that, I had no idea I was facing yet another fresh hell. I just wanted to finish my paper so I could earn at least a D in my class.

It went on for hours. We had no car, it was too late to ring anyone...

All this time, my (usually) sweet girl rocked, cackled and babbled as one possessed. She got up once or twice following things that weren’t there and believing she needed to go check on her little sister. She kept talking about the monster who wanted "to kill the baby", pacing. My guts twisted in knots; her ever changing voices and vacant eyes reminded me of a girl I knew with multiple personalities. I had no idea why she was acting this way. Looking back, I’m not sure what ticks me off more, the fact that the stuff was trying to kill my stunningly beautiful, sixteen year old, or that it was part of our lives in the first place.

With all the subtlety of a shotgun blast, my phone announced a text message. It was “Mark” asking what I was doing, so I told him I needed a friend.

“My girlfriend’s out of town so I’m drinking her wine and texting you,” he texted back.

I came painfully close to telling him that he was reminding me why I’m still single. After four more ridiculous messages I blocked him; he didn’t deserve to know what I was dealing with. Almost immediately Cindi stopped by, just curious to see if anything was on for tea.

I fell apart on the front stoop, vomiting all my anger and frustration at her feet. I was so tired from the last 6 months of stress and drama, all I could think about was finishing the paper.

“God knew,” she smiled. She walked past me, making her way directly to the soft, blue sofa to sit with the thing who resembled my child. All the patience I didn’t have had been allotted to Cindi in spades, and I suddenly felt guilty for being so angry. She didn't judge or lecture, she simply sat with my daughter and walked through the process with her. There was only one explanation for the episode, Cindi pointed out, but I didn't want to believe it. Not my bright, funny, intelligent girl!

Around midnight I finished the paper and looked up from the laptop to find my child sleeping where the half ghoul sat earlier. My dear friend, still smiling, untangled herself from my ragdoll of a daughter and covered her with a blanket. It was my favorite blanket, and I struggled between tearing it off her and tucking her in.

After throwing together something for our tea, I sat at the kitchen table with Cindi and shook my head, unable to name anything I was feeling. The curry tasted like cardboard, and it hit my stomach like a punch. Finally, I pushed my bowl away and looked up at my friend. Her sympathetic smile met my weary, half frown. Suddenly I began to sob, and I looked over at my sweet girl.

“I love her more than I hate whatever she's on,” I sighed. "And Jesus loves her even more than I do."

So began the fight for the life of my child. A battle I fought on my knees in prayer and through investigation and education.

Over the next few days, I tore apart the house, gathering carefully hidden pipes and packets. Once I realized that the monster, "fake weed", had infiltrated my home and dragged my child to the threshold of hell and death, I acted. I called the police, parents, the school. I confronted shop owners and turned them in. I made enemies all over town. I begged doctors and universities to help with the side effects of using and coming off the stuff, but no one responded. She triumphed without their help. Had she not come out of her closet to rock on the soft, blue sofa that night, she might not be living today.

A few weeks later a friend of hers was hospitalized after smoking a "fake weed" called "Demon".

Five years after my daughter overcame K2, I am still stabbing at its tentacles everywhere I go.

Somehow, my daughter made it to the soft, blue sofa. Somehow, I got an “A” on the worst paper I’ve ever written. Somehow, shortly after that night, my sweet, beautiful daughter returned to us stronger than ever. Somehow, I've managed to get numerous shops raided for selling K2 (Spice) to minors. Somehow, God has been beside us through it all.

* If you or someone you know uses synthetic cannabinoids (K2/Spice/Herbal Incense), please educate yourself and seek help. There is support out there on websites such as Spice Addiction Support They will even help you locate a rehab. *