For the first time having things I could say were real hobbies that I had a real emotional connection to. Music for hours and hours until I got blisters were some of my best memories. But at the same time, without realization, my diet was going downhill, my drinking was getting worse, my attitude more reckless and self absorbed, and it began taking its toll on my family. My behavior was unpredictable at best, and any accusation of wrong doing, or confirmation of my irresponsibility from my parents resulted in rage, terrible words, storming out and getting fucked up. I found the more depressed I felt at these low points, the more inclined I was to self-destructively hit the meds.
I couldn't have said it better myself. I became so self-absorbed in music, because for the first time I was able to enjoy doing it for hours at a time, that I actually ruined friendships and relationships with girls because it was all I cared about. I acted like a complete nut and asshole but felt it was completely justified.
The hard part about quitting is finding the motivation to continue to do things that make you happy, such as music, without the euphoric kicker of a pill. I'm two months clean and still trying to find that motivation but just know that your story is very similar to many of the experiences of other members of this site.