This will be in the style of “A Voice For Men” minus the whining, crying, and locking yourself in the basement listening to collective soul.
Lets go back in time. 3rd grade. First day of school. My new classmates and I were sitting in a pow-wow circle and telling our name, and something about ourselves. For example:
“My name is Suzy, and I have a pet rock that I love very much.”
The class would then chime in
This went on… and on… allowing me to perfect my simple joke by the time it was my turn.
“My name is Grody… and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hello, Grody.” The class chimed in monotone.
That was it. I was in trouble. I was sent to the hall. Then the principles office. My parents were called. My dad tried not to laugh, he really did. I now had crosshairs on me. Three days later there was a meeting scheduled with the butch lesbian student councilor.
It was recommended that I go on medication.
Thinking back on this its really easy to become a bit disgusted with my parents. Not even token resistance. Just kinda… “Dur… Ok…” So I was put on adderall. 10mg to start. That apparently wasn’t working. I remember blowing a big oyster of snot on my hand and flinging it at the cutest girl in school. (Chelsey) So it was upped to 20. I got into a fight with a gigantic Indian kid in the 4th grade and they upped my dose again. Teachers would call my parents at work If they sensed I had forgotten to take it, and they would come running into school with a pill for me. Eventually I was on 80mg a day. All 80 of those milligrams fit into a tiny blue pill about as big around as the circumference of a wood screw face.
I was on this medication for seven years.
My grades were perfect.
I would clean my room everyday. That shit could pass a white glove inspection every day of the week. I had about 2 dozen medieval warriors made of pewter. The would stand in different formations throughout the week. (sometimes the captain would get demoted and replaced with on of his soldiers) I would put them on my bedside table. You’d think this would be a precarious place for them, but I didn’t do much sleeping. About 4 hours a night.
When I started puberty, the zombification from aderall got worse. I was always a jerk to classmates in school, but kept it under wraps at home. Besides, the drug had probably worn off most days by the time mom and dad got home from work. Most days I would come home and watch cartoons into the late evening before the rents got home to make food.
I wasn’t hungry. Their food sucked. (I wonder why…)
In about the middle of 6th grade my sister made me mad. This was especially irritating because I never talked to her. Some of the only times I would speak to her would be to tell her how much of a fatass she was. So it perplexed me when she tried to get my goat by yelling insults at me from behind my closed bedroom door. Enough was enough. Id had enough. I blasted out of my room. As she was running away from me… I raised my fist and struck her between the shoulder blades. She collapsed like a ton of bricks.
I still am embarrassed thinking back on it.
My parents stopped feeding me little blue pills.
My life has gotten better ever since. In case the moral of this story has escaped you, no, I do not endorse feeding meth to grade schoolers.