Piercing the Veil

This was originally written the end of the day the first time I took Adderall. As an adult, Ritalin / Adderall / etc. are not cure-alls. The habits and coping items I still have.
I want to cry.
I just took, about an hour ago, my first ever Adderall XR 30 Mg.
Scratch That. I am crying.
48 years. 48 years feeling everything bubble in my head. Daydreaming through lectures that should interest me five minutes after they start. Having ideas pop in my head, or must do’s only to have them turn to smoke as I try to grab them and hold on to them, only for something else to pop up a bit later, only to turn to smoke again.
48 years where I would tell myself things would be different, why can’t I do better, I mean I’m fucking smart. Really fucking smart. And then I would fail again, with my hundredth list of to dos and getting really organized.
And 48 years of trying not to be angry that others do better, when I know I’m good at what I do, and I know that I can hang. But every year it would get harder and harder. And the technology i know so well would get less and less clear.
48 years of keeping each mess in it’s separate bowl. Hoping they would all stay contained, and each time the bowls collide and spill into each other, I’d leave, run, change, move on. Jobs, relationships, self.
My focus and will is rock solid. I can drop 30 lbs in 30 days. I can go from not running to running ten miles in a couple weeks. I can go days without sleep and function. And yet, my focus and will isn’t rock solid. I can miss an exercise session or lose a sock and I’m done exercising for months. My headphones get misplaced and I can’t run. I gain 30 lbs in 30 days.
I’m crying because for months I tried Ritalin. Different doses, differing times. Going to multiple pharmacies for hours because no one stocks what I need. And it sounds so minor, but to want to change, to want to get help and the Law, the System, Health Insurance all impede you from getting help. And once I fought through all that, the fucking pills didn’t work. or worked sometimes. Or made my heart race to where I wanted to just literally punch someone in the face. Not out of anger, but the need to do SOMETHING. Or my stomach full of butterflies.
I asked for something else. and I got adderall. I’m crying because it was wash, rinse, repeat. No drug store had it (more on this stupid set of laws in another writing), and when they had it, my insurance wouldn’t cover without preauthorization. The hours of work a Dr needs to do to get you the meds you need and they went to school for. And of course, your Dr doesn’t do preauthorizations when trying meds because it just takes too much time until YOU KNOW WHAT YOU NEED. Finally a week later, I get it. Last night. Need to wait till morning. Why is everything such a struggle.
I’m crying because I need this medicine. That somehow this smart, humourous, talented guy JUST CANT ON HIS OWN.
I’m crying because for years, I think I can do it on my own. That ADD is an excuse for people. A crutch. And now it’s my excuse and my crutch. And i’m humbled and humiliated.
I’m crying because I’m afraid the good parts will disappear. My ability to connect disparate things that others don’t see. My rapid fire dialogue that can cover 50 subjects in 10 minutes that somehow just makes sense.
I’m crying because somehow I’m sure people saw these weaknesses in me for years, and I’m just seeing them now.
I’m crying for all the things I wasted until 0900 on 12.11.2014. Wasted and burned. Money. Friends. Family. The people I hurt. The things I lost. Because of hubris, stubbornness and just wanting to handle my own shit.
That somehow this smart guy that would always believe things will be different and better tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, when X happens, and things never did for very long.
And now there’s a deep breath and calm. Because of a stupid pill. A chemical. Combined with a lack of chemical in my defective brain. Or a over abundance. Or a blockage. But defective.
And I still cry and am scared.
Now with this pill. If I fail. If I drop things. If nothing changes. Then it’s all on me.
Because
This shit works.
Year 0.

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Erik K.

Owner, Curator, Writer of this blog.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Someone say something.