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When Sorority Noise sang, “Just last week, I slept 8 hours total. I barely sleep.” I felt that.

Back when I was taking 120 milligrams of Adderall per day, I stopped sleeping. Literally.

I’m talking 72 consecutive hours of uninterrupted consciousness. Most of which was spent staring at a computer screen.

I knew it was nuts as I was doing it. But the rush of Adderall, the sweet alertness and confidence, held sway over both human biology and my sense of logic.

I would wander into work with deep circles under my eyes, voice hoarse from dryness.

Hunch over my computer screen, frantically pounding out emails, social media posts, blog content, and so forth for my employer – a tech startup run by friends from college.

One time, I had a one-on-one with my boss, who’d been my friend for a decade.

“What’s the number one thing you want to see out of me going forward?” I asked.

He paused. A weird, sad expression crept over his face.

“I want you to look less tired.”

Road to Recovery

In the summer of 2018, I experienced the biggest blessing of my life: amphetamine psychosis.

Full-blown paranoia. Grandiose delusions. Imaginary threats. All gradually escalating to a crescendo over a matter of 3 months.

Even though I was mentally insane for its duration, I vividly remember the thoughts, feelings, and sensations of psychosis.

How real it all seemed. How strongly it overtook the rational side of my brain.

I was a high achiever with a law degree, a solid professional reputation, a loving family, and tons of friends. And Adderall still broke me.

In breaking me, it forced my hand. I spent 6 days in a psych ward, at my parents’ behest once it became evident I was losing my mind.

I never would have agreed to go had I not hit rock bottom.

In the days before entering the ward, I was at my lowest.

My parents took my paranoid delusions in earnest and prayed over the phone with me for God to protect me from whoever was after me.

He came through. As He always does.

That morning, I took Adderall for the last time.

Forty-eight hours later, I was in the psychiatric ward.

One week after, in rehab.

Where am I now?

Sharing stories of my addiction with you.

Grateful for my rescue from the days where I’d abuse my body and mind with Adderall.

Sleeping like a baby.

When Sorority Noise sang, "Just last week,

“Started recreational/Ended kinda medical.

Came on hot and soft/And then it tightened up its tentacles.

– The Hold Steady

Addiction is a disease of the mind.

A spiritual disease.

One that robs you of dignity, autonomy, and sanity.

It infiltrates, destroys, and rebuilds you.

Into a mockery of your true self.

It makes fools of those who love you and care about you.

The beauty of it, though,

Is the way God uses addiction.

He is infinitely more brilliant than the forces that create it.

As ugly as addiction is –

God makes the recovery process 10X as beautiful.

Using human beings in recovery

As shining beacons of what life can be like

Lived right.

In touch with a Higher Power.

Experiencing the joy of life

In its restorative, infinite beauty.

"Started recreational/Ended kinda medical. Came on hot and

Every addict is an egomaniac with an inferiority complex. I’m no different.

The first flight had been cancelled. Two hours before takeoff.

No doubt the work of the Feds, I think to myself. 

A week prior, I’d sold old company laptops to a Middle Eastern guy on Craigslist.

The next day, I entered a diner during lunch.

The food took longer than normal – and I was soon joined by two obvious spooks and a Homeland Security agent decked out in full riot gear. 

That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Or perhaps Congo CEO Julian Barre was behind the cancellation.

He knew of my work with Negotiator, the company that was going to disrupt the eCommerce world and bring Congo to its knees.

The same way Congo had brought Crossings, Okes and Bales, and countless other book retailers to their knees years before. 

Definitely Barre. I affirmed to myself silently.

Perhaps in conjunction with the Feds. Congo had that kind of power these days.

I was lying on my friend’s couch.

Reclining in a position so that my head wouldn’t be exposed to sniper fire from the outside.

Two glass doors provided ample lanes for an execution to prevent me from fleeing town. 

Dawn’s darkness was still in full force.

In my possession was a backpack filled with hastily packed clothes, a plane ticket to San Francisco, and a few thousand bucks to my name. 

The podcast I had just appeared on was entitled, The Mindful Millennial.

A week after cutting the interview I was fully in the throes of amphetamine psychosis. 

Every addict is an egomaniac with an inferiority complex. I’m no different. 

My name is [redacted]. I am 31 years old.

Two Days Later

Alyssa takes me through the woods. We walk at a brisk pace next to each other.

We’re in San Francisco, hiking through a nature preserve at her insistence. 

We reach our destination – a cliff overlooking an expanse of the Pacific.

Beautiful, blue ocean. Calm washes over me.  

As Alyssa takes a seat next to me, I turn to thank her. 

“I knew what your heart needed.” She responds. 

Right as she finishes the sentence, the crowd around us gasps.

A majestic whale emerges from the frothy ocean to the shock and delight of everyone on the cliff.

We hail a Lyft back to her place downtown.

On the way back, I confess that I’m not mentally well.

She tells me she already knows.

I tell her I’m leaving town the morning. 

She exits the Lyft, starts walking toward her apartment. 

Stops.

She turns around and comes back to the car. 

“Oh wait, I thought you should see this.”

She hands me her phone through the open window.

I look at the screen, glowing iridescent in the San Francisco night.

It reads, “In Native American lore the whale symbolizes wisdom, spiritual awareness, good fortune, and long-lasting love.” 

As a hardcore amphetamine addict who had essentially lied to myself every single day while I used, I take that as a good omen.

The very next day I check myself into the Western Psychiatric Institute of Pennsylvania. 

Every addict is an egomaniac with an