I’m two decades deep into my adderall addiction and I barely recognize the man I’ve become. I was a loser– a chubby, pimply virgin with terrible body odor. No one talked to me, no one looked at me, no one wanted anything to do with me. But look at me now:
Beautiful, right? Wrong. I may have baby smooth skin, a body mass index of 17.5, and a job at Goldman Sachs, but at what cost? I have a beautiful wife, healthy baby boy, and Park Avenue apartment. It may seem like my life is perfect and that’s because it absolutely is. With boosts from cognitive enhancing drugs, I achieve benchmark after benchmark, shaping the life I always dreamed of. Yet, the price of perfection weighs heavy on my shoulders. I close my eyes and I’m haunted by terrors of productivity jolting me awake to examine commodity stock fluctuation.
I started off small. 10 milligrams of adderall to help me stay awake in class, 10 millis to study, 10 millis to take the SATs– I was meandering through high school on a course of academic achievement. Then one day the College Board notified me that I had gotten a 2400 on my SATs and suddenly the best colleges–Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth, Northwestern, Columbia were clamoring for my commitment. That sick feeling– of doing my best and being recognized for my hard work– made me high.
Adderall became my gateway drug… to success. 20 years later, I’m still clamoring for that rush.
I thought popping an adderall every morning would make me feel like Superman, and it did, propelling me to levels of personal, professional, and spiritual satisfaction that I never could imagine. But isn’t there more to life than doing everything you want, free from shackles of physical and mental limitations?
Of course there is. Of course there is.
However, I’m doing my best. For my son. I don’t want him knowing his dad is a well-adjusted professional with several degrees and a huge dick, because of adderall. I’m a no-good junkie now, but some day I’ll get off my Eames chair and find the will to change. Here’s hoping.