Pills, thrills and bellyaches.

It has certainly been an interesting past few weeks. Last week, I participated in a screening exam to determine if I have ADD, since it's required for assessing if the Adderall I've been taking is necessary. The verdict is that, yes, I do have ADD, and in fact scored the highest of anybody my clinician had seen in her three years of work. The first time I took Adderall, I remember feeling shiny and new, like my old self; focused and capable, not burdened by nagging thoughts of my past or a hypothetical future. Prior to going on a daily dose, I would start every day by dwelling on the last, worst thing that had happened the previous night, or worse, of things that happened many years ago that I was desperate to put behind me. Since I've started the medicine, my job performance has improved significantly, and my ability to finish tasks is better.

All of which makes me wonder what would have happened if I would have been correctly diagnosed years ago. My clinician thinks that it's the ADD that's been causing my depression, since I'm so attuned to keeping my life in order, and to maintaining outward appearances, any inability to do so has left me in sad emotional shape. On the one hand, I'm grateful to finally have some relief, but it's still a diagnosis that I think about frequently. I just met with an academic adviser at Augsburg, where I plan on beginning classes in January. I'm excited to see just how much the drug will help me with assignments, attendance, and success.

I've read that Adderall is speed for the intellectual class, which is amusing, but it's a life-saver for me, it isn't a triviality by any means. It's very tightly controlled and regulated, and I have to renew my prescription every thirty days. Any more than two early renewals, and they cancel it entirely, figuring I'm distributing it illegally. Every morning, I take 20mg extended release capsules, and I have 5mg pills if necessary for later in the day. Taking it after five is ill-advised, since it causes insomnia. A week ago, I read a book, some two-hundred pages long, in one sitting, something I never would have been able to do with my mental pistons misfiring.

The evaluation is very thorough, with questions about my academic past, my family's history, addiction patterns, along with pages that ask about moods and behaviors. Again, I couldn't be more thrilled with the positive impact it's having on my life, and, had I not gotten a few pills once from a friend of mine, never would have considered this to be a panacea to my problems. Sometimes things work out.

A few hours after taking it, I do feel a little speedy, but that seems to be wearing off as my body is adjusting to it. Since it was originally produced as a weight-loss drug, it's an absolute appetite killer, and I have to pack fruit and other snacks and force myself to eat during the initial part of the day. My psychiatrist, whom I've only seen once, prescribed Zoloft for depression, but after taking half a tab and spending the day in a fog, glued to my couch and unable to leave my apartment, won't be taking that again any time soon. SSRIs are not the solution to my maladies. Now, rather than losing track of what I'm saying during phone conversations or appointments at work, I'm fully present, and functional, able to provide for my clients. Before that, I would sometimes feel like I was standing outside of myself, looking in, like I wasn't fully inhabiting my own body. It's hard to do well on anything when you're an outsider to your own life.

So I would come home and self-medicate, trying for any measure of mental levity, resulting in potentially dangerous consumptions, and further draining whatever energy reserves I had, and adding to my sense of collapse and self-loathing. Obviously I need to go easier on myself, and to treat myself with more grace and understanding. There's a quote I love that says 'if I treated other people the way I treat myself, I'd be in jail.' That's certainly true. Now, I smile at myself in the mirror every morning, rather than chastising myself for any imagined past transgressions. That, a warm shower, and a good cup of coffee are a much more pleasant way to start this next chapter of my life.