The Prescription

Sometimes, I’d look back and wonder how all of this started.That cold waiting room. Those

uncomfortable chairs. The people with legitimate mental health issues. Bipolar disorder. Chronic depression. Schizophrenia. And then, there was me, suffering from a mild case of self-diagnosed ADHD.I wonder how long I’ll be waiting

here.It began with a prescription, I guess. I’d heard about it from my friends.

I’d tried it. I wanted more, too, but what I got… Well… We’ll get to that.Back then, I actually exhibited a few

of the symptoms. There was a deficit

with regards to my attention. I was fairly hyperactive. Things were in a state of disorder, so… I scheduled an appointment. One consultation turned into monthly visitations. One piece of paper turned into thirty days of capsulated motivation. Ten milligrams became twenty milligrams. Twenty milligrams became thirty milligrams. Once a day became twice a day. Instant Release became Extended Release.Adderall XR. My fate had been written into my

prescription.

“Sir? Sir. The doctor will see you now.”“Oh,” I said, absently. I hadn’t even

noticed the nurse until she’d stepped

directly into my line of sight. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m ready. Do I just..?”“Go through that door, the doctor’s

office is the last one on the right. He should be with you shortly.”I opened the heavy grey door and

stepped through it, gliding through the dim hallway with the same glare of emptiness I’d been wearing for weeks, now.Why do they keep these facilities so

cold? You’d think they’d want their patients to feel warm and welcome, not frigid and self-conscious about nipping through a tight shirt.I looked down at my chest as it

proudly presented two tiny bumps of texture, like Braille periods at the end of nonexistent sentences. A blind man could rub his fingers across me

and come away with nothing but vacant thoughts. Blankety-Bump. Blankety-Bump.I didn’t even know if they had Braille

punctuation marks.

The door to the doctor’s office felt heavier than the first, and I bumped into it. My phone trust-fell from my hand as the search results for ‘blind punctuation’ were loading.I picked it up to see that it hadn’t

cracked, thank God. My signal was weak, though, so I closed it. What awaited me could only be

described as the classic chair in a shrink’s office. Black leather, silver legs, designed for lounging with your legs extended and your head back so you could stare at the ceiling. Maybe

shrinks thought it would help you ‘see’ your thoughts as you gazed into nothing above you.I sat in the middle of it, hunched

over, with my feet on the floor.Fuck the system.His office was annoyingly cold.

Colder than the grey lobby and the grey hallway. Colder than the grey doors and their metal handles. Colder than the grey nurse and her grey scrubs that’d told me I was next.My nipples were so excited about

making a first impression.I opened my phone again, and still,

the search results hadn’t loaded. How irritating. I paid for the nation’s largest LTE network, but for some reason, here, in this dull, grey refrigerator, I couldn’t Google things.

Guess WebMD’s diagnostic capability wasn’t welcome at mental health institutions.The patients were already looney

enough.I surveyed his office… Her office..?

Whatever the case, I didn’t really like it. The artwork was smeared onto canvases and then smeared onto the walls in the same obscure fashion. It was a jumbled mess throughout. Then again, maybe the arrangement of the pieces was ‘art’ in and of itself. Doubtful, but what did I know?There was a half-table, half-shelf

thing against another wall, close to what I assumed to be my doctor’s desk. The “table-shelf” had three levels, and every one of them was covered with trinkets of various

materials. Little metal cats and pigs, glass mice and horses, wooden people – totally random stuff.And I thought I was bad. This shrink

might be the nutcase.The desk was that of a typical

doctor. M.D., D.D.S., Ph. D., it didn’t matter; they always hung their degrees above their desks, nicely matted in custom frames. I peered at them, indifferently.Dr. Habib Nathan.An American last name and a

Middle Eastern first name? I wondered for a moment if they’d screwed up his degrees and consistently printed his name backwards. Or maybe universities were just printing degrees in that

fashion now. But what did I know; I hadn’t received one, yet.Regardless, Dr. Nathan, Dr. Habib,

however I would refer to him, was taking his sweet time to see me, and I was getting impatient. I felt like all doctors did this. Made their patients wait an extra thirty minutes for a ten-minute discussion about symptoms and treatment options. Maybe he was just as disorganized as his office was, or maybe he…The grey door opened and clicked

shut.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I am Dr. Nathan.” He extended his hand toward me,

but I simply looked at it, taken aback by his thick Middle Eastern accent.

“Hi,” I replied, accepting his hand and, simultaneously, his accent. “I’m Cameron. Cameron My…”My last name will be a secret, for

the time being. Protected. For my own sake.“It is a pleasure to meet you,

Cameron,” he said. “What brings you in?”He was old. Pushing sixty, I’d say,

wispy white hair on his head, hands, and chest, and his skin was like leather. He looked like a furry wallet. An unbelievably wise furry wallet.I gazed at him some more.On his nose – definitely his most

prominent feature – were glasses that were just… glasses. No rims. Just a metal bridge between two lenses. His clothes were like trash

bags billowing off of his Jimmy Cricket limbs, but he stood with a conscious kind of presence that gave him a sense of… depth.Like I said, he looked very wise.

Very weird. But very wise.“Well, I think I might have ADHD,” I

began. “I get distracted really easily, I’m pretty forgetful, and I don’t know, I don’t sit still. Like, in class and stuff. I’m like, jumpy, if you know what I mean.”He nodded.“And yeah… I did some web

research. And different sites had stuff about medicine, so I was wondering if…” I paused for a moment, distracted. Web research. “Do you know if they have Braille punctuation marks for blind people?”

“Unfortunately, Cameron, I do not.”Imbecile.“What is it that you do?” he asked.“What do you mean?”“Are you a student? Do you work?

Tell me your day-to-day routine.”“Well,” I thought for a few seconds.

“I’m taking classes at this community college near my place, and I work about thirty hours a week at this restaurant in the mall. I just want to graduate, get my Associate’s and transfer to a University, I just…”“What are you studying?”Bullshit.“Education with a focus in English, I

guess.”“You guess?” I shrugged back at

him. “How are your classes?”

I hated them. I hated that school’s entire existence. Every morning, I’d wake up in my apartment at nine o’clock and embark on an epic five-minute journey to a campus of five buildings. It was a redbrick palace of peaked-in-high-school potential, a safe haven for the washed-up and painstakingly average as they challenged themselves in the thirteenth grade.“My classes are good,” I lied.“Are you doing well in them?”“You could say I’m doing okay. I

have two essays due this week, but I haven’t really started them. Just kind of outlined things,” I was lying. I hadn’t even done that. “They’re like, final essays, too, so I need to get on them, but I also have to apply to

actual universities this week because the deadline is next Tuesday, and I just… I’m just not getting it done.”“Why not?” Because I get distracted easily,

jackass, that’s why I’m here.“I… I don’t focus well, Dr. Nathan.”“Are you ready to apply to these

universities, then?”Was this guy fucking serious? Of course I was ready to apply to a

university. Of course I was ready to get accepted into one. I was smart. Really fucking smart, actually. Granted, high school was easy, but I’d been accepted into this prestigious military academy my senior year. Only 1,000 and some change get selected, but me being me, I decided not to take on the

military lifestyle. Discipline, drill sergeants, discipline, early morning PT, and discipline didn’t scream “Cameron” to me.It screamed: “Hell nah, let’s bounce

and do some fun shit. Like yesterday.”“I’m ready to apply, I just need to get

it done,” I replied and he nodded.“How are things at home?”Surprise, surprise, not going to that

fancy military school created quite the vide in the family. There was nothing but turmoil in Casa de My…My last name’s still a secret. I have

trust issues. You’ll understand.As for the “family vide,” I guess I

was at fault..? Sort of. My father and I got into a scuffle towards the end of my senior year, and even though he

punched me in the face, I was told that I had to move out. Immediately. It had been a year and a half since then, and I was living alone in a one-bedroom apartment ten minutes from their place. I was an angst-y adolescent.As a family, we’d come to be on

better terms, I suppose, at least with regards to my father. This was mainly because he taught at the same community college I’d attended. Yep, he was a well-known professor throughout the campus, highly rated by his students in online forums, with a third-floor, corner office and his own Ph. D. degree, nicely matted in a custom frame above his desk.I needed to get the fuck out of there.

“Things are good with my folks,” I continued to lie. “I live by myself. I see them periodically. It’s nice, being independent.”“And your job?”God, this guy really had a thing for

interrogation.“It’s going,” I replied.” I just started

about a week ago. I’m a waiter at a steakhouse, so it’s pretty easy. Good money, nice people, cool staff, you know.”He nodded. Again. He really had a thing for that, too.“Well, Cameron,” he began. “I’m

going to test you for ADHD.”About fucking time.I stood up, expecting we’d go to an

x-ray room for brain scans, but he just handed me a piece of paper. It

was barely twice the size of an index card, and on it, there were… Seven questions.Seriously?“Oh,” I sighed.“Read the questions and mark your

answers,” he handed me a pen and started toward the door. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes while you do so. I’ll be back shortly.”Could’ve called that one, Dr. Nathan

bailing and leaving me stranded in his ice chest with an ADHD questionnaire. Whatever. I’d just knock it out in a few minutes and chill on his leather loveseat for the rest of the half hour it would take for him to return.

1. On a scale of 1-10, how easily are you distracted?

Well, genius, I’ve already answered this one. I’m not sure why you need it in scantron format, but I guess that’s why I don’t have my Doctorate degree. 10 it is.

2. On a scale of 1-10, how forgetful would you classify yourself?

We didn’t just go over this, did we? I don’t know, I’m forgetful. Oh, wait, yeah, we did. I said I was forgetful. 10. On this scale, I’m a 10.

3. On a scale of 1-10, how often do you lose your train of thought?

About as often as I get pissed off about stupid questionnaires. 10/10 times.

4. On a scale of 1-10, how often do you find yourself beginning tasks but never completing them?

Why was every single one of these a scale question? Who’s really going to select any

number other than 1 or 10? Yeah, I’d say I’m about a 7.3 in this

department. As in, I complete about 27% of the tasks I start, but the other 73%, I just shrug off and maybe get to them later. Stupid. 10.

5. Would you consider yourself jittery or hyperactive (i.e. cannot sit still, constant fidgeting, tinkering with objects)?

What a pleasant surprise. Kudos to the questionnaire authors, a ‘yes or no’ question! Really threw me for a loop, there.I checked ‘yes’ and moved on.

6. Do you suffer from narcolepsy, epilepsy, chronic drowsiness and/or sleepiness?

Awesome. Do I have one of these conditions that I can’t Google? I need a ‘maybe’ box, guys. C’mon.I checked ‘no’ to be on the safe

side, but reconsidered, checking ‘yes’

instead, and underlining the word ‘sleepiness.’

7. Are you having or have you had any thoughts of inflicting harm to yourself or committing suicide?

Maybe after completing this stupid survey, but never before, no. Better question: Why does every

medical questionnaire have that as a question? You’re with a doctor. Shouldn’t they

be asking if you’re ready to get better? Seriously.

I clicked the pen and held the survey pointedly, completing it in less time than I’d assumed. Three

minutes. It took me three minutes, and now I’d be waiting for another twenty-seven. How positively stellar this was.I heard the door open and click shut.Dr. Nathan had only been gone for

fifteen minutes, which was nice. I gave him my tiny survey, and he examined it closely, as if it took a great deal of thought to analyze seven very rudimentary questions. A few moments passed, and he looked up at me, smiling from behind his rimless spectacles.It was a wise smile. Like, for some

reason, he trusted me enough to tell me the world’s biggest secret.No pressure.“Cameron,” he said. “I’m going to

write you a prescription for Adderall.

10 milligrams, Instant Release. Take it once a day, in the morning, after breakfast.” He pulled a pad from his desk and began scribbling on it as he said this, then he ripped the square of light blue paper from the top and handed it to me. I took it, gingerly.Dear Diary,Jackpot.“In a month, I’d like you to come

back and see me,” he continued. “This is a very mild dosage, and I’d like to know how the medication is working for you. If you feel you need more, we can increase the dosage and see how that works. On your way out, please see the nurse and schedule a follow up appointment.”He extended his hand again.

“Thank you,” I said, gripping his leather palm and shaking it.“The pleasure is all mine, Cameron,”

he whispered. “Get your work done, stay focused, and I’ll see you in thirty days.”Don’t have to tell me twice, doc.

I scheduled the follow up as he’d asked me to and was on my way to the pharmacy within minutes. I parked my car, shut my door, and opened my phone to check the time. That the webpage had finally loaded. Apparently, they did have Braille

punctuation marks.The pharmacy was even slower

than the doctor’s office, but this time, I didn’t mind waiting. They were bottling pressed pills made of focus

and motivation. I’d be patient for as long as they needed me to.But really, how long does it take to

label a bottle and put pills into it?Forty minutes passed, and what

followed is still a blur to me. The pharmacist gave me my

medicine with a novel attached. It was a packet detailing consumption instructions, overdose warnings, possible side effects, and allergic reactions. I promptly tossed these in the

trashcan just outside of the store. I was back in my car, staring at the

orange bottle in my hand. I wasn’t curious so much as I was excited. Almost hopeful, like something big was on the horizon for me. Something with the grace of Dr.

Nathan’s wise smile upon it. The container practically opened itself, and I threw the first pill to the back of my throat and swallowed.They were blue. Cookie Monster

blue.

I was back at my apartment, and as my key slid into the lock, I felt it. A subtle tingle from the nape of my

neck to the crown of my head. A tickling sensation, almost. It was a sensation that I would become so familiar with. A sensation that I would come to love. To crave.Then, things became even blurrier.I opened my laptop. It was 4:30 in

the afternoon, and when I shut my laptop, it was midnight. My essays were done. My applications had been

submitted. My apartment was spotless.What the actual fuck did that doctor

prescribe me.Things seemed to happen so

quickly after that. A few weeks passed, and I had As

in all of my classes. A month passed, and I was

accepted into a University about thirty minutes away from home. I was motivated. I was focused.

And, at the time, I felt I was headed down a path towards being decently successful. The prescription had done everything I needed it to, and finally, I was able to do what I wanted to be doing.

Then, she came into the picture.