FinallyHere

This is just a bit of my story.. It's much longer, but I wanted to share some of it. I also want to say that I tried quitting over the weekend, but gave in today and feel ashamed and condemned. Hi everyone. I have abused adderall on and off for 10 years. I am a drug addict. I have been a professional musician since I graduated college (jazz bass) There was a time when the thought of playing a gig gave me an incredible rush of energy and natural passion. Out of college I had a few good paying, regular gigs right away. My main gig was an intense gig with my teacher from graduate school, he playing a different instrument than the one I studied under him with. I had moved to a different city to study with him specifically at the advice of a professor during my undergrad. I come from an abusive home with a domineering father who knew exactly how to make me feel worthless and doubt myself at every turn. I never felt settled or secure in any decision, and subconsciously (or maybe consciously) I sought out male authority figures with similar traits to my father. This teacher was one of them and the torment he put on me was much worse. I would get yelled at while I was playing, made fun of and generally ridiculed by him. Here was music, something I had loved my entire life, and received validation for, being used as a weapon to destroy and humiliate me. My only other male figure behaved the same way, so I didn't see just how fucked up and unhealthy the situation was. It was something I deserved and part of paying dues and punishment for being born and daring to dream. I immediately found myself struck with absolute terror at the thought of playing this gig for 4 hours every Friday night. I was scared to get fired, scared to quit. If I did I would be a failure, at the one thing that I thought I was good at. My fathers opinion of me would be confirmed, and I would have no value to the world anymore. The thought of practicing and playing made me ill. I would curse myself for my mistakes and come away from each session feeling low and worthless. My creative dreams were dashed, and the only thing that mattered was trying to make the 4 hours of hell I was going to experience each week more manageable. It was impossible to practice like this and I would procrastinate, avoid the instrument and only make the situation worse each week. It was a living hell I had tried adderall before this time, but never in a high dosage, and never with this pressing need to have to do something difficult for a prolonged period of time. I still remember the amazing feeling that magical orange pill gave me that first time I took it before a practice session. My mind was clear, I was motivated…I felt compassion, love and empathy for the world and myself. When I practiced, I loved just the feeling of playing..something that had slowly been taken from me in the proceeding months. Even though I knew I took a pill, it didn’t matter. For those 30 minutes or so while I was peaking, everything was going to be ok. I was going to get my shit together, get organized, get in shape, reach out to others, be the person I always envisioned myself being, but never could be. Then came the crash. For me, someone who experimented heavily with drugs in high school and college, it was similar to coming off of ecstasy. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened, but I knew that something changed. That euphoric feeling was suddenly gone, and replaced by an incredible anguish that can only be described as hell. I would try to ignore it, smile, play some more, move around, but it was there. My God, this void of emptiness. The destruction of existence. I could either sit and suffer, or take another pill. Ahhh, God has returned to my life. Things are ok again. For now. Until I have to take another. I ran out of how ever many pills I had been given after about a week or so. I don’t know how many I took, but I can say that I didn’t care how many I took. All I cared about was that FEELING. To feel connected. You see this was the closest thing to God I could find. Or at least what I imagine God to be. Isn't that the case with so many of us? I've tried to quit before, sometimes I'll even go months, maybe even close to a year....but at some point, that feeling of listlessness just gets old...things just seem a little too difficult.. That creative spark that was long ago crushed and beaten out of me, yearns to come out and play, but just can't seem to do it on its own. So I feel like I am forced to face a life of nothingness, or bursts of energy. Hi everyone. I have abused adderall on and off for 10 years. I am a drug addict. I have been a professional musician since I graduated college (jazz bass) There was a time when the thought of playing a gig gave me an incredible rush of energy and natural passion. Out of college I had a few good paying, regular gigs right away. My main gig was an intense gig with my teacher from graduate school, he playing a different instrument than the one I studied under him with. I had moved to a different city to study with him specifically at the advice of a professor during my undergrad. I come from an abusive home with a domineering father who knew exactly how to make me feel worthless and doubt myself at every turn. I never felt settled or secure in any decision, and subconsciously (or maybe consciously) I sought out male authority figures with similar traits to my father. This teacher was one of them and the torment he put on me was much worse. I would get yelled at while I was playing, made fun of and generally ridiculed by him. Here was music, something I had loved my entire life, and received validation for, being used as a weapon to destroy and humiliate me. My only other male figure behaved the same way, so I didn't see just how fucked up and unhealthy the situation was. It was something I deserved and part of paying dues and punishment for being born and daring to dream. I immediately found myself struck with absolute terror at the thought of playing this gig for 4 hours every Friday night. I was scared to get fired, scared to quit. If I did I would be a failure, at the one thing that I thought I was good at. My fathers opinion of me would be confirmed, and I would have no value to the world anymore. The thought of practicing and playing made me ill. I would curse myself for my mistakes and come away from each session feeling low and worthless. My creative dreams were dashed, and the only thing that mattered was trying to make the 4 hours of hell I was going to experience each week more manageable. It was impossible to practice like this and I would procrastinate, avoid the instrument and only make the situation worse each week. It was a living hell I had tried adderall before this time, but never in a high dosage, and never with this pressing need to have to do something difficult for a prolonged period of time. I still remember the amazing feeling that magical orange pill gave me that first time I took it before a practice session. My mind was clear, I was motivated…I felt compassion, love and empathy for the world and myself. When I practiced, I loved just the feeling of playing..something that had slowly been taken from me in the proceeding months. Even though I knew I took a pill, it didn’t matter. For those 30 minutes or so while I was peaking, everything was going to be ok. I was going to get my shit together, get organized, get in shape, reach out to others, be the person I always envisioned myself being, but never could be. Then came the crash. For me, someone who experimented heavily with drugs in high school and college, it was similar to coming off of ecstasy. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened, but I knew that something changed. That euphoric feeling was suddenly gone, and replaced by an incredible anguish that can only be described as hell. I would try to ignore it, smile, play some more, move around, but it was there. My God, this void of emptiness. The destruction of existence. I could either sit and suffer, or take another pill. Ahhh, God has returned to my life. Things are ok again. For now. Until I have to take another. I ran out of how ever many pills I had been given after about a week or so. I don’t know how many I took, but I can say that I didn’t care how many I took. All I cared about was that FEELING. To feel connected. You see this was the closest thing to God I could find. Or at least what I imagine God to be. Isn't that the case with so many of us? I've tried to quit before, sometimes I'll even go months, maybe even close to a year....but at some point, that feeling of listlessness just gets old...things just seem a little too difficult.. That creative spark that was long ago crushed and beaten out of me, yearns to come out and play, but just can't seem to do it on its own. So I feel like I am forced to face a life of nothingness, or burst