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In the past three years, abuse of Adderall and its imitators has increased by nearly 200 percent, according to Dr. Ronald Ricker and Dr. Venus Nicolino.
KENTARO CROCKETT/PEN
The following article was submitted to The Pen by a Peninsula student who wishes to remain anonymous. It is not The Pen’s usual policy to grant requests for anonymity. However, because of the nature of the material in the submission, the editorial board has promised confidentiality to the student. All facts in the story have been verified by the editorial board. Additionally, minor grammatical edits were made.
The computer glare grew brighter against my window as the hours passed. The clacking of the keys pounded steadily. I didn’t know how long I’d been working. I finally noticed that my foot had been clenched in the same position the whole time, and that I’d been grinding my teeth again. My jaw shuddered out of soreness. My sudden awareness led me
to believe it was starting to wear off. I was finally coming off the Vyvanse. My heart rate finally began its descent back to normal. I could finally feel like myself again.
Lisdexamfetamine. What a scary word. Dextroamphetamine. Even scarier. These stimulants are more commonly known as Vyvanse and Adderall, respectively. They are also heavily abused in high schools and colleges across America. I’ve always been a straight-A student. Compared to some of my classmates, I don’t have parents who put me under an insane amount of pressure. I’m not in all AP classes, I have a fairly average load of extracurricular activities and I was always pretty content with my work ethic—I did my
homework regularly, studied for tests when necessary, and looked for extra help in subjects I was struggling with. My sophomore year honors math class gave me my first curve ball. I teetered on the edge between an 89 and 90, knowing that I had to maintain my A in order to keep my near perfect GPA. I spent hours looking over the material on a nightly basis, foregoing other subjects in order to spend more time trying to understand the jumbling numbers. This is when John* stepped in. A close friend, he was always willing to lend an ear when I had a problem. I stayed up late one night texting him about my math worries, and he offered a solution for my upcoming final: he would give me some of his Adderall, the drug he took to cope with his ADHD. I deliberated his proposal for days, researching online, looking up different doses,
reading about side effects and taking note of the serious danger involved with the drug. I came to the conclusion that I would try it—just this once—as a way to “test” myself. My first experience with Adderall was intense. My focus was incredible. I got through my math study guide seven different times, doing problems over and over again until I understood them perfectly. I even had time to study for my English final, memorizing lines from poems and their authors. I had this overwhelming sense of academic clarity, a sense I had never truly felt up to this point. The Adderall made me feel invincible. I was chatty and happy, jumping up to help with chores or engaging in absolutely riveting conversation. But then came the crash. At about the six-hour mark, the dubstep music didn’t sound as good. My eyes blurred at the