It’s no secret that as a millennial, one of our biggest driving forces is self-discovery.
This isn’t an excuse for my impulsive and disorganized behavior; it’s an explanation. I now know what I was dealing with and can focus on management rather than allowing the symptoms to render me useless.
“It’s 15 milligrams. Adderall. We call this the body of Christ. The blood is alcohol.”
People don’t ever forget the girl at the party that no one invited who fucked their boyfriend.
I’ve decided to cheer up myself and celebrate the modern Hollywood blockbuster by unveiling the plot to a new epic feature film that has yet to be written.
You’re fine, you tell yourself, and miraculously you are, by some stroke of luck you find it in you to keep dancing and smiling and flip your hair when he looks and pat it back down when he doesn’t.
If this argument was “Consent is a false social construct,” whose side do you think your liberal-arts college feminist club would be on?
If you take Adderall it’s likely that at some point you have become 300% better as a person at one point or another.
Adderall has gained a reputation for making you “limitless.” I’ve even heard it called legal meth, or legal cocaine.
The world was not something you were forced to be in; you wanted to be in it, badly, and wanted it in you. You wanted to put your hands on it and breathe it in. What was that like, again?