After being diagnosed, I was instructed by my physician to return for an evaluation within three months, which never happened, to my increasing bafflement. Adderall isn't a placebo; it's effects are strong, and well-documented as being powerful and incontrovertible. Simply dispensing a prescription for something which amounts to a speed pill, then failing to diagnose progress is a strange, and unexpected dereliction of duty on the medical end. Still, the stigma of having been diagnosed with something like ADD wasn't ever addressed in a professional manner, and any comforting data I've found has been from online testimonials and anecdotes gleaned from others, usually friends, who've been similarly diagnosed. It is not exaggeration to say that having been diagnosed, going on medication, and losing my job within two months of each other seriously affected the way I saw myself.
So was it worth it? If it helped me at all, how would I know? Would the only measurement of happiness be that I could better perform in some mindless, droning job without complaint? It's highly likely that, even if I exhibit behaviors and tendencies which fall under the rubric of ADD, the definitions of what constitutes problematic distraction have widened to be so inclusive, or that the attitudes of boredom and irritation by which I used to view my job, were manifesting themselves extremely at the time of my analysis. Simply put, I was probably diagnosed as having the condition, because my job was boring, lame, and frequently repetitive. Anybody would have seemed distracted in that position.
In the few times I've selectively gone off the medication, I've experienced fatigue, lethargy, and lacked enthusiasms for most activities. Another dosage alleviates these conditions, but can also cause me to focus exclusively on YouTube videos, for instance, or music downloads, for hours uninterruptedly. While both these activities provide pleasure and entertainment, it's strange to think that, without the medication, I would probably be immersed in other affairs. What would I be doing if I weren't on it, and would those activities, if different, be more reflective of who I really am? Am I more myself on the drug, or off it?
The adventures to obtaining the stimulant medication make it harder to get than crack-cocaine. While moving out of MN a few months ago, I attempted to fill a prescription at a CVS Pharmacy in Bozeman, and was told witheringly by a condescending young woman that 'she didn't feel comfortable,' like I was some doped-up malcontent, peddling pills on the playgrounds. I have since been told the same thing, by another pharmacist, locally. Why prescribe something to someone, and then make them feel like deviant criminals, trying to score a fix like dirty junkies? Why put someone through the embarrassment of having to re-up their prescription every three months through phone calls and faxes, when there hasn't been any attempt at further diagnosis?
Most importantly, If I spent the first thirty-two years of my life being and acting a certain way, then isn't that who I am, and isn't that the person I was meant to be? If I got bored in boring meetings, and it adversely affected my job, isn't that their problem, and not mine? Not everybody is supposed to fit into the same personality type, and the expectations of conformity were grossly miscalculated, and pityingly unfair. I can, after all, only be the person I am, right? The fact that a few moronic bosses influenced me to seek psychiatric help, and medication for feeling ashamed to be me, is a reality I still question. They had no right to do that, but I forgive them. The question now is, where does the medication fit into my life? How much like myself am I while I'm on it, and, for ever day I'm on it, am I being changed from the self I grew up with, and the self that I love?
Answer me that, Pfizer...
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