Is It Addiction If I Keep Misplacing the Fix?
I once found myself in a spirited debate with a colleague—a person who had wrestled with narcotics and emerged victorious, riding high on the wagon of sobriety. Their journey was nothing short of inspiring, a testament to resilience and sheer willpower. But as our conversation unfolded, a chasm began to widen between us. They asserted that Adderall was a crutch, a detrimental fix that I was addicted to and needed to abandon posthaste.
Now, let me be clear: this isn’t a manifesto defending Adderall, nor a rallying cry for its widespread endorsement. It’s a reflection—a meandering stroll through the labyrinth of my mind, aiming to shed light on a common misconception. People like me, grappling with authentic ADHD, aren’t addicted to our medication. At the very least, we’re not purposefully abusing it.
How do I know this? Well, let’s dive into the delightful chaos that is my life.
I’ve lost, misplaced, or outright forgotten about my Adderall more times than I can count—which, ironically, is precisely the point. Even when I’m on my meds, keeping tabs on things is like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. Slip off them, and the forgetfulness amplifies to a paradoxical degree. It’s as if my thoughts are mischievous sprites, playing hide-and-seek in a fog-laden forest.
Ask anyone who loves me, works with me, or has known me longer than a fleeting moment. They’ll tell you—often with a sympathetic chuckle—that they can spot the signs of my missed doses before I even realize it. It’s not because I’ve run out of pills, nor because they’ve been pilfered. And the notion that I’ve sold or given them away? Well, that’s comedy gold.
Here’s a snapshot of my reality: I never have any money. Trust me, if I were clandestinely dealing my meds, my wallet wouldn’t be perpetually empty. And for those enterprising souls who’ve casually inquired about borrowing a pill in a pinch, good luck. Nine times out of ten, I can’t even tell you where my Adderall is at that moment. It’s like asking a cloud where it keeps its rain.
Consider this: my prescriptions are often doled out in generous three-month supplies. Yet, inexplicably, I’ll go two to four months without a refill. Why? Oh, the myriad of ADHD-related reasons—forgetting to schedule a doctor’s appointment, misplacing the prescription slip, getting sidetracked on the way to the pharmacy because a particularly fluffy dog crossed my path. You name it. This haphazard approach isn’t exactly the modus operandi of an addict or a dealer.
Let me paint you a picture.
Not long ago, I embarked on a quest to find my glasses. The world had taken on that soft-focus blur, and I was squinting at cereal boxes like they held the secrets of the universe. I searched high and low—under couch cushions, atop the fridge, inside the microwave (don’t ask). Finally, I gave up and flopped onto the bed in defeat. That’s when I felt a peculiar crunch. Yes, I’d been wearing my glasses atop my head the entire time.
Now, if I can’t keep track of the very lenses through which I view the world, imagine the herculean task of managing tiny orange bottles filled with even tinier pills.
So, to my well-meaning colleague, I say this: I understand your concern comes from a place of compassion, colored by your own experiences. But our paths, while they might traverse similar terrains, are not the same. My relationship with Adderall isn’t one of dependency born from desire, but a tool—albeit a frequently misplaced one—that helps me navigate the whirlwind of my thoughts.
To those who might still harbor doubts, perhaps envision this: I’m less a clandestine agent peddling wares in shadowed alleyways, and more a bemused wanderer, occasionally tripping over my own shoelaces. And sometimes, those shoelaces are nowhere to be found because I forgot to put on shoes.
So here’s to embracing the beautifully disordered tapestry of ADHD. And to my alternate self—the one who occasionally stashes meds in the fridge next to the ketchup—thank you for keeping life interesting. Maybe one day we’ll get around to investing in that pill organizer. Or, at the very least, figure out where the clothes hamper is hiding this week.