Andrew's Upstanding US Citizen Homepage

In my life, I've been diagnosed with a few disorders that would easily send a man to a regimen of pills, namely; ADHD without hyperactivity, clinical depression, and social anxiety disorder. If you ask me, though, I'm not really that messed up. I've been offered medications to fix it all, but I'm determined to find a better way. In the beginning, there was just the ADHD, and it bothered my mom. I would fall asleep in kindergarten and the teacher thought I was ... you know ... special. A doctor's analysis revealed that I was in fact NOT "special" but actually rather gifted - gifted enough to be completely unstimulated by my teacher's lessons. As a result of being unstimulated, I daydreamed.

The first form of prescription that was given to me came in the form of some tasty coffee. This made it easy for me to take the medication and I snapped to attention right away. With a move to another classroom (that other teacher hated me anyways) I was my new teacher's favorite student. Medication had saved the day. Eventually, the coffee was not effective enough and I was moved to actual pills; Ritalin. As my grade school career progressed, I obtained better and better grades, relying on 2 doses of Ritalin each day, with a half dose occasionally in the evening if I couldn't focus on my homework.

The effect of Ritalin on my work ethic was amazing. At dinner, I would be waning from my lunchtime dose and complaining to my mom that I couldn't think of anything to put on paper for my book report. She would chop a pill in half, hand it my way, and 20 minutes later I would be scribbling bullshit (focused bullshit) down to turn in at class the next day. By 4th grade, my potential was showing, as I was working on math lessons two grades ahead of me.

Ritalin didn't make me smarter, it just made me very easy to direct. Without the ability to be distracted, I poured all of my attention into the work laid out before me. By 6th grade, I was doing 8th grade math, and I continued my streak of being the teacher's pet every single year.

By the time I reached junior high, I had graduated to Dexedrine. With a modicum of independence seeping its way into my routine, I occasionally forgot to take my pills. This is where you could see a crack of daylight coming through the clouds. I haven't painted a very bleak picture of how life with Ritalin was, but that's because at the time I didn't know anything else. My best friend Chris and I saw each other every morning during PE class and he unwittingly gave me a little insight. On the days that I forgot to take my pills, he told me that I was fun and interesting. I had a great personality. I was lively and unpredictable. Under the influence of pills, I was a zombie. I was a smart zombie, but a zombie none the less.

During my freshman year of high school, I posted my best academic grades ever. I was the perfect student. I'm sure my parents were pleased with my potential. I was not satisfied at all though. The previous years of occasional reminders that I was two different people when on medication and when not had eaten me up inside. I felt like a robot. I decided to quit all medication.

My grades plummeted. My will to do any school work withered and died. I had no interest in school and I ended up dropping out with 1 semester remaining in my senior year. I managed to home school myself on my own terms to complete my last semester. With my education in my own hands and no structured schedule to follow, I passed all of the requirements for the classes that I had previously failed and all of my final semester's classes in a span of 6 weeks. In actuality, I graduated a few months ahead of my peers. My own reflection on this is that from the beginning, the school system was paced for average-to-minimal learners, and I required meds to slow me down (funny that I had to take stimulants to do this) so that I could pace the other students. When I was released from the school system's schedule, I drank up the required knowledge for an entire semester in a matter of days and was able to cash in the knowledge for an immediate grade instead of drawing it out over several months.

My last few years of high school and the years following were the most creative years of my short life. I wrote poems, songs, and stories. I started websites, organizations and ideas. Since high school, I have attempted college or vocational school on 5 separate occasions, but I was unable to handle more than a year at any time. The problem has never been the material, but the pace. Before this becomes a diatribe on the public school system, I want to talk about all the other "disorders" that I have.

Everybody goes through depression. I did many times. Occasionally, I would come to my mother and clue her in on my situation and she would whisk me away to a therapist. The therapist in turn would recommend more medication. Having waned myself off of the pills for my ADHD, I resisted. Furthermore, having taken a few scattered psychology classes, I was informed about how the pills worked and what they would do to me. It all sounded so familiar. Whether it was SSRI's or stimulants, the only effect I really cared about was what they did to my personality. I did not want to become a zombie again. I was beginning to discover myself sexually and I did not want to lose my sex drive. I enjoyed my creative drive and I sympathized that the pain I felt with my depression also inspired some powerful work.

Upon realizing its role in my creative instinct, I began to embrace my depression. I felt like I needed to treat it like a naturally occurring condition, which it was, and feed off of it. With my life falling down around me, I held fast to what mattered most; my ability to express myself. Eventually, I emerged from my depression, resolving to work hard and finding myself with a steady job. I worked on stabilizing my moods while still continuing to produce creative works. My art evolved, matured and progressed.

I wasn't fixed though. I had another disorder. Social anxiety disorder caused me to fall apart completely in social situations, which made it difficult for me to meet people and create relationships. I would try to approach someone to talk to them and I would be physically paralyzed by anxiety. More medication was prescribed. It was promptly declined. I saw this as yet another hurdle that I needed to overcome on my own. I devised little routines to cleanse myself of my disabling fears. Years later, I feel qualified to say that social anxiety isn't a disorder. It's merely what you get when you initially have no desire to be social with anyone and then years later decide that you do. That's what happened to me; a reclusive geek hitting puberty a little later than everyone else.

I still suffer from social anxiety, but I know how to overcome it. Practice. I still suffer from depression, but I know how to get through it. Action. I still suffer from a near inexistent attention span, but I know how to make it work for me. Passion. I wouldn't have been able to finish this piece otherwise. Everywhere you turn, there is a person "suffering" from a "disorder" that medication can "cure." I'm sure many severe cases DO need a little help, but I'm personally determined to never fall back on such a crutch. Every day, I'm committed to representing and expressing myself AS MYSELF, not some wonder of modern pharmaceutical technology.