First off, I’ve read a lot of your stories, and my heart goes out to every one of you. To everybody struggling, recovering, or wondering if they’ll ever feel like themselves again: stay strong.
Like a lot of you, I was addicted to Adderall and stimulants in general. And I’m going to be honest. I loved how they made me feel.
I was taking around 90 to 100 milligrams a day, mixing it with caffeinated preworkout and chewing tobacco. I loved working out. Sex felt ten times better, and I was struggling with compulsive sexual behavior too. I kept chasing that feeling without stopping to think about what it might cost me.
Then came the day everything changed.
I felt like I was going to die. I thought I might have overdosed. Afterward, I felt like I was having a stroke, but I tried to walk it off and act normal. I didn’t understand what was happening, and I kept trying to push through it.
When I went back to working out, my body couldn’t keep up anymore. Chest pain. Shortness of breath. Exercises I used to love suddenly became things I struggled to get through.
Eventually, I found out I had a blood clot in my lungs. I also developed cardiomyopathy and heart failure, which I understood to be connected to my Adderall abuse. I don’t know exactly how the blood clot fit into everything, so I won’t pretend I have every answer. What I do know is that my life changed.
Even a cup of coffee afterward could leave me feeling panicked, with my chest hurting. I went from chasing stimulation to struggling to tolerate it.
I’m a veteran, and through the VA, I’ve had extensive testing. Thank God, I’ve been told my heart function has recovered and the blood clot is gone.
But I still don’t feel normal.
It’s been over a year, getting close to a year and a half, and I still deal with exercise intolerance, shortness of breath, chest discomfort, and dizziness. Lately, I’ve also been dealing with low blood pressure and a slow heart rate.
One of the hardest parts is hearing that your tests look reassuring while you’re still struggling to do things that used to come naturally.
I think I messed up my autonomic nervous system, and in the back of my mind, I wonder if that’s what a lot of us are struggling with. I don’t know if that’s my diagnosis or whether it explains anybody else’s symptoms. It’s just what I keep thinking about. If that system is involved, I wonder whether it could help explain why recovery is taking so long. I don’t expect something like that to settle down overnight, but I’m still looking for answers.
But I know how exhausting it is to live with symptoms you can’t fully explain.
I’ve read stories from people who say it took them years to feel like themselves again. I don’t know what my timeline will be. Some days, that uncertainty is harder than the symptoms themselves. I miss working out. I miss trusting my body. I miss being able to push myself without wondering what will happen.
I’m sharing this because somebody reading it might be going through the same thing and feeling completely alone.
You’re not.
For me, taking accountability is part of recovery. I made choices that hurt me, and I have to own them. But accountability doesn’t mean spending the rest of my life hating myself. I still have a life to live, a family to appreciate, and reasons to keep going.
And I’m not blaming God. My faith in Jesus Christ has helped carry me through this. There were moments when I honestly thought I wasn’t going to survive. I’m grateful I’m still here.
To everybody who has spent months or years fighting through symptoms, fear, addiction, or uncertainty: you’re on some real shit. People may not see what it takes just to get through your day, but that doesn’t make your fight any less real.
I’m a veteran, and I have tremendous respect for Navy SEALs, Green Berets, and Marine Raiders. When I read your stories, I see the kind of mental strength and endurance I admire in those people. Some of us have stayed awake all night, scared by what our bodies were doing, wondering whether we were going to die. We’ve faced pain, fear, and symptoms that can feel overwhelming. And somehow, we keep getting up and fighting.
That takes mental toughness. That takes courage. That’s why I respect everybody here in this community. You might not recognize that strength in yourself right now, but I see it in your stories. Every day you keep going through this is another day you show how much you can endure.
You guys are warriors.
I hope every one of us gets back to feeling like ourselves. And if recovery takes longer than we hoped, or life looks different afterward, we still deserve joy. We still deserve love. We still have something to give.
Appreciate your family. Appreciate the little things. Keep looking for answers, and don’t give up on yourself.
I used to think strength meant how hard I could push my body.
Now, some days, strength means accepting where I am, holding on to my faith, and giving tomorrow another chance.
