This whole thing is really kind of funny.
See, today should be my first day off of Adderall, but the thought of quitting sent me into a manic rage that kept both my girlfriend and I up until after 3 AM, and I had to wake up to work in the morning at 8:15 AM.
Every single thing that has ever bothered you becomes torturous to be around.
Adderall made you take on the overwhelming tasks and conquer them like they were games, but it also made mundane things like cleaning, getting ready, and chain smoking cigarettes into these beautiful interesting moments you never wanted to end.
There’s this period of fucking ecstasy after you stop playing with Addie and start hitting her so fucking hard that you become a real life superhuman.
So, when I realized that my teeth have been ground together and my jaw ached…
and when I realized that I had a sore on my leg because I’ve been wearing the same pants for four days because it wasn’t important to take a shower…
when I realized there were blisters on my neck that looked like the skin had been eaten away at…
when I saw how beautiful my girlfriend was and how that meant I had once been beautiful:
I realized I was going to die. That I had to stop.
That I would never stop needing Addie… and that she’d never take my hand and make me fantastic again.
That I’d feel like I was dying every time I left her… and that she’d punish me for abandoning her when I crawled back.
My girlfriend, if I mattered in the world, would be designated a saint for her kindness.
She had to work, too, but scrubbed my body in the bathtub as I screamed that I’d never get clean and that I didn’t want to be who I really was and that I didn’t want any part of a life that didn’t feel electric.
So, in the morning I looked, lucky me, found two little rockstars instead of the one I’d thought I’d had left (and told her I wouldn’t take), meaning I could have a little pick me up without her knowing I was a fucking failure.
Can you guess what happened next?
I took the other a few hours later, because the jolt I’m after is almost mythical now after three years of constant pill popping.
I’ll have to tell her that I flushed it or something. She won’t believe me, but she’ll want to enough not to question it.
So out of this pathetic excuse for a buzz, I actually felt productive enough to post the story with intentions on continuing through the entire journey.
Addie is a tricky fucker.
What’s worse is that this is now negative day one and by the time we get positive ambition will have left me entirely.
I fell in love with Addie, because she made me a better writer. I literally fell in love with the shape of the letters on paper, and when the withdrawal starts I’ll get stuck on the first sentence, get frustrated, and abandon this.
The thing that’s not funny is that all the stories really do make us feel less alone, but then they confirm that we are completely right in thinking that we will never feel better again.
If we are successful in getting clean, we won’t ever feel superhuman again.
No one that doesn’t do this can ever understand: we don’t want to go back.
We could go back, but we would only try to pace ourselves better.
We don’t want to stop. We just don’t want it to kill us.