In high school, I was socially awkward and depressed. Sure, I had a few friends that I hung out with once in a while, but I had a really hard time relating with other people. I did fairly average academically wise (B Average), but I just felt lost.
In the middle of my senior year, I saw a psychiatrist to get evaluated and he said I had ADD (and was depressed as a result of the ADD being untreated). He put me on an antidepressant and gave me Adderall for the ADD.
The Adderall transformed me into a new (artificial) me. I started doing my homework on time (not procrastinating), studied for tests, started socializing ALOT more, and was even excited about starting college next year. I ended up finishing my senior year with all A's and graduated with High Honors.
By the time I started college, I was taking vyvanse and an Adderall (booster) in the afternoon when I started to feel the vyvanse wearing off.
Sometime during my first college year (cant remember exactly) I began noticing these "crashes" during the late afternoon and evening. I'd isolate myself, feel depressed, nothing seemed interesting, and sometimes just start crying. I had constant, obsessive thoughts about all the negatives in my life and I couldn't shake them off. Sometimes I'd stare at the ceiling while laying in bed for hours and hours.
Even though every single night I'd go through a "crash", I felt that it was worth going through hell every night just to be proactive during the day on Vyvanse/Adderall. I tried taking days off and even tried quitting totally, but I was either in bed watching TV all day or in the kitchen stuffing my face with any food I could find.
During college, I was living with my mother to try and save money. It helped me a lot financially, especially since I was going to a private university and tuition was very expensive (even with grants and a scholarship). My mother got in a terrible car accident, had surgery and was prescribed pain killers. I started stealing her pills (Oxycodone, Hydrocodone) as a method of coping with my evening "crashes".
It wasn't long until I dropped out of college, became suicidal and was admitted to an impatient hospital.
After I got out of the hospital, I was no longer suicidal, but I was still prescribed the vyvanse/Adderall and didn't want to stop taking them. They were my life. The only good in my life. My "morning mood pill". I couldn't live without them.
I moved in with my father as a result of dropping out. This is where the real horror began... My road to destruction...
I started taking WAY more then prescribed. I'd keep taking them and taking them for days and days. I even went close to a whole week without sleeping or eating/drinking anything. I was binging. One time I went through a whole months supply in just a few days. I started getting heart palpulations, severe skin problems, couldn't urinate, eye problems, itching constantly, terrible odor (didn't take showers) and the list goes on. I had this illusion that if I keep taking them I'd skip the "crash".
I was on the computer 24/7 doing the most random, repetitive things like looking for "freebies" (free manufacture giveaways), product deals/sales, etc. I didn't do anything perverted. I just looked up, searched, and read about the most random things.
When I ran out, I'd be in bed and constantly eating for weeks until I got my next script. At one point in time, I was getting multiple scripts a month and went to multiple pharmacies.
Probably four months went by of this and I finally decided to stop. It wasn't worth it. I'm better off without it. I don't want to end up commiting suicide or try meth. I couldn't do that to my family. I don't want to go to hell. There's a VERY, VERY small light shinning through a long tunnel. It isn't much, but there's hope.
After "relapsing" probably five/six times, I finally admitted the truth to my psychologist and psychiatrist. Now I don't have any access to the vyvanse/Adderall. The first few weeks clean were a living nightmare, but I made it.
Today marks the third month clean after taking vyvanse/Adderall for over 5 years. The truth has finally set me free. I'm now even closer to my family and few friends than ever before. It was a hard lesson that I learned and now I'm paying for the mistake I made, but I accept it and have to live with it everyday.
There's always hope.