I'd say first and foremost, you should bring up these issues to your doctor and see what kind of services he can offer. Your anxiety could very well be something that is brought on by the stimulant effects of the Adderal and the are medications they can use to control this. Maybe you might need to try a different ADD medication that won't have so many negative side effects. If the anxiety is something that exists even when you don't take the Adderal, it is still something you need to talk to your doctor about. There might not be much he can do to help, but he can refer you to a psychiatrist or maybe even some counseling which could help you deal with your anxiety. A lot of people say you shouldn't tell your doctor about any self-medicating you do because they will be wary of prescribing abusable medications, but I think honesty is important here for them to treat you condition to the best of their ability. I'm not on Bluelight because I'm some anti-drug square, quite the opposite, I'm all for responsible recreational use, but self-medicating is a different ballgame and the medications you are choosing are not the way to do it. Benzos and opiates are meant to be a short term band-aid, using them long term is almost always a bad idea. Opiates are the absolute worst way of dealing with anxiety, as many an addict will tell you. Benzos are meant for short term relief of severe anxiety and/or panic attacks. Pick out a few posts about benzodiazepine dependence in TDS and find out how well benzos are for dealing with general anxiety in the long term. It's hard to see how using opiates or benzos to deal with anxiety a couple times a week could turn out to be a living hell for you in the future, but you keep applying these band-aids and once they wear off the anxiety is back and sometimes it's even worse. Circumstances could change and next thing you know you're treating your anxiety with these drugs every day. Next thing you know, your life is a million times worse than you could ever imagine.
Except in extreme cases, anxiety is something you need to learn how to deal with on your own. If you can't, there are plenty of resources out there to help you from web pages to counselors. A psychiatrist can determine whether you need to be medicated, and they can prescribe various medications that can actually help you rather than just making the situation worse. You wouldn't operate on yourself, would you? Than why would you prescribe yourself medication. If you want to take some benzos or opiates on your day off to chill out and feel good or whatever, then have fun and get high, I'm no one to preach on that subject. Doing recreational drugs make you feel good, you're not curing your anxiety, you're getting high. Even if the doses are small, you're really just rationalizing your use.
Getting diagnosed by a doctor will at least make most parents realize that you actually have some sort of problem. Do what the doctor tells you and seek out some sort of therapy. The easy way out in life is death, there is no free lunch. It sound cliche, but it's true. Getting high to fix your anxiety is a quick fix, the easy way out, it will never cure you. Dealing with anxiety is hard, and there will be times you'll feel uncomfortable, but it's a hell of a lot better than kicking heroin or having seizures when you run out of benzos only to get detoxed and deal with a possible year or more of protracted withdrawal. Imagine how worried you mom will be then.
One you figure out how to deal with anxiety the right way, you can decide how you're going to deal with your recreational use of drugs. The best thing you could do is be completely honest, they can't accuse you of something that you just openly admitted to doing. Sometimes this isn't always practical, so you might have to do your best to hide your use, or stop using all together while living with your mother. Your mom isn't accusing you for no reason, you even stated yourself that her accusations aren't baseless. She's your mother and she can tell even when the slightest thing is different with you. She found the drugs, she has the suspicion in her mind now, so if your normally an anxious person and the next day you're all relaxed and good to go she knows exactly whats going on. She just wants the best for you and is worried for your safety, and she has every right to despite how unfair it might look to you now. I'm a recovering heroin addict and I wish every night I listened to my mother. I wish she sent me to military school or something. I would do anything to not have to go through this, but I thought I could cure my anxiety with opiates, and I paid dearly. They cured my insomnia, they cured my anxiety, I wasn't nervous talking to girls, I didn't choke when I tried to play guitar in front of a bunch of people, I was scared of nothing, I WAS FUCKING AWESOME. Now I'm a piece of shit, I tried to come off of suboxone so many times and failed, it's cost me so much. I'm 24 years old and my parents have to drive me out to go on a date because alcohol, benzos, and opiates cured my anxiety so well I didn't even give a fuck if I blacked out at the wheel and totaled my car. I cared so little I did it twice. I became so irresponsible I got two duis with in days of each other. They didn't give me my self-prescribed drug in jail. I went through my windshield and looked like I just stepped on a land mine, and because I was a junkie they didn't even give me a single vicodin despite my screams of pain and the bones sticking through my skin. I live in Wisconsin where a 1st DUI is only a traffic violation, that time I got lucky. Once I got out of the ER and got my own room in medical they gave me clonidine, loperamide, and IV ativan and the withdrawals we're bearable. Beautiful nurses my age came to change my sheets every time I pissed myself, some how I couldn't get their numbers. I was released in to "detox" and I sweated out 3 days of withdrawal with nothing but ice water because I couldn't be given suboxone until the ativan cleared my system. It was fucking hell watching the clock tick with no entertainment other than a bible and other withdrawing junkies and the mentally ill geriatrics that we shared the locked mental health ward with. Got out, loaded up on oxys and klonopin, got pulled over and arrested, this time I withdrew in jail waiting to see the judge. My parents let me sit for a week before posting bail, this happened last february and I'm still waiting to be sentenced. I'll be spending Christmas in County Jail in a living hell of withdrawal because I didn't listen to my mother. Years before all of this when I was 19 I hit a motorcycle and crippled a man. I didn't even sweat it, I didn't shed a tear for the man until I was in the hospital without my meds, goddamn did it hit me hard. Now I'm stable on suboxone, I'm all good right? I got fired from my job for showing up to work drunk, and I can't get hired for a new one because I have an open case. All I want is a job so I can pay my parents they money I owe them back, almost $20,000, and my parents ain't rich, they just wanted to give me a chance. And I lied and lied and lied, and I didn't even feel bad about it. Lately depression and anxiety have really been eating at me, I have no friends left, I was a junkie for years. All of those real friends I would never forget disappeared pretty quick once I stole from them for drugs. The ones I didn't steal from just saw a lost cause and gave up. When I was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, around then, I was so good with the ladies. I bagged so many cute girls, its not even funny. I fell in love with a few, it eventually fell apart, but it was okay, everything was great. I was on opiates and benzos, everything was perfect. Now it's the same, but oh so different. I'm prescribed my opiates and benzos, get a dose of suboxone twice a day to keep the dopesick away, and a maintenance dose of klonopin so I don't go through a terrible withdrawal that I could possibly die from. The anxiety is worse than it ever was, my heart pounds as I lay in bed, I ask why and the answer is because the walls are closing in on me. 24 years old and nothing to show for it. The girls, yeah fuckin right. Last time I had a chance it was with a very haggard speed head that was 20 years old but looked 50. I was too anxious to make a move despite the fact that she was all over me and called me for weeks. All of my friends fucked her instead, but it's alright I'll just masturbate like I always do, but I don't even get the pleasure of busting a nut because my medications make it hard for me to even keep a boner, almost impossible to cum. If I do, it's pleasureless and sometimes painful, I don't even know why I try. Honestly, all I want is a hug and someone to talk to, maybe a kiss, but closed mouths, all of my teeth are rotten and all the listerine in the world can't help my breath. Once I get the money most of my teeth will be pulled and I'll have dentures at 30 if I'm lucky enough to get my shit together by then. It will be a nice reward to celebrate getting my license back, but I'll have to wait until 31 for that. Hopefully I can get a nice new one that I won't ruin just by sitting in it. I feel to shitty to change my clothes, sometimes I wear the same shit for a week. If I change that's usually when I shower, and if I do that sometimes I put on some nice clothes and deodorant, maybe a little cologne and I sit by my phone waiting for a friend to call or my girl to show up, oh wait, I just woke up I'm still a dirty junkie and you can't wash the smell of all that shit coming out of your body off. It's alright with me though, I can't smell in the first place, my nose is so fucked up from all the coke and pills I snorted before I started putting everything in to my vein and I can't even breath out of it. It's been clogged solid for years and no decongestant helps, doctor says it will clear up with time, years have past and it hasn't gotten any better. But time is a relative term, I've sat dope sick counting every second in every minute of every hour waiting for the dopeman, or even worse praying I would die so I could stop suffering. Maybe someday I will get all of my shit together, and I'll be able to face the world as a man. Wake up in the morning, kiss my wife, stare out the window taking in the world around me because I now care about someone other than myself before I go send the kids off school. A boring normal life, what I always said I never wanted is something I long for so much now. Sometimes when I'm out in public I watch other people going about their business and it blows my mind when I see someone picking flowers, buying a birdfeeder, holding hands, enjoying a meal, finding joy in something. I don't understand, it's foreign to me, all my cares are chemical, why do I give a fuck about the birds. I could fit in with those people, and maybe I will once I get out of jail. Maybe I'll get lucky and they won't look at my arms and see the scars.
Sorry everybody for the tl;dr post, and sorry OP if I came off as a bit of a preachy asshole. I don't know how old you are, but in terms of myself I could have wrote the exact same post at 16. My friends and my parents cared so much and tried to help, but I kept saying I'm not a junkie, I'm not using this shit to get high, I don't feel as good sober as I am when I'm high, I must have a natural opiate deficiency in my brain, my doctor keeps prescribing me these bunk ass pills that I can't get a buzz off of, and since I know everything I'm just going to diagnose myself and prescribe oxycodone, hydromorphone, and diacetylmorphine. I also need some valium or klonopin because the opiates really aren't doing it for the anxiety anymore, I'll prescribe some of those myself. It's just for my anxiety though, I'm going to need to shorter acting benzos like xanax to help me get to sleep at night with my insomnia. It's alright, I only take it as needed (daily). I get high every day, no not off the benzos and opiates, those are my medicine man, the liquor and the weed is for gettin high. Marijuana is from nature man, it's completely harmless, and shit this alcohol actual makes me feel pretty good, maybe I should start smoking and drinking when I take my dose in the morning to take the edge off. I just must not have the addiction gene, I smoke two packs a day, but I can quit anytime I want too. Addicted to drugs? No way the doctor prescribed those! What's your doctors name? DMFNR. I just took it all to feel normal, and it's pretty amazing what normal can become. I'm not sure what normal is, is it when I'm high as fuck burning holes in my parents couch, or it it when I'm dopesick, hot and cold, shaking like an alcoholic (it's my medicine remember, I'm not a drunk, duh), covered in sweat, completely dehydrated, hard to drink water because I have to pee every two minutes (no exaggeration) and water just makes it worse. I pretty much piss out of my ass too, in fact there isn't much difference between the two liquids. So restless, not a second of sleep, I try to sit still and relax, and heart starts pounding even harder (while dope sick my heart runs at 120 bpm resting, one time it got so bad I went to the ER, rate was 170+), it's alright I know I won't sleep well, so I bolt up, 30 seconds has passed since I laid down. I stop trying to fight it and all I can do is squirm, my whole body is filled with electicity, I look like I'm running a marathon in circles, and the blanket and sheets on my skin feel tiny needles. Two minutes pass, I need to pee again, I shit my pants trying and lay on the floor squirming and crying like a little baby. I get in the shower to wash off, on all fours crawling, the water feels so foreign, I get out, so cold. My whole body is tense and sore, my eyes are watering, my pupils look like I'm on acid, every third breath is a yawn, so tired, so sore, I just want to sleep, but I can't. I rotate between moving my legs like I'm running and stretching out as much as I can, I try to sit still and they all twitch automatically (get it man, I'm "kickin" the habit). If I'm not moving I'm filled with electric like I have to move, if I'm moving I'm so sore and tired I just want too sleep. I always feel like I need a cigarette so bad, but I'm so fucked up my taste isn't even right, and cigarettes taste downright nasty. I puke until my stomach is empty, and then I dry heave until my stomach comes up with some more acid to puke out. I contemplate suicide, but I'm just too fucking sick to be bothered. Wait, I got money, I'm too sick to kill myself and have been awake for days, yet I'm still motivated to get in my car and drive from my rural wisconsin home to the northside of milwaukee for some dope and a few stones. Dump the bags into my cooker (thank god I have one, no way I could operate a spoon in my condition), they mix well in to a dark amber solution, fuck, no cottons near by, to sick to deal with pulling apart a cig filter, fuck it, I draw it up. Heart is pounding, I'm sweating worse than ever, rig in my right hand, belt around my lift arm, a few veins are poppin, but I can't register. I'm getting sicker and sicker by the nanosecond, pedestrians are looking right at me when they walk past, I make eye contact with some, they all look the same. Nobody wants to help me find a good vein, the fuckers, they just want to gawk. Shoes off, fuck it my feet are pristine. They smell so terrible I gag, I open the door and puke some saltine crackers, after I'm done I look up and see a squad car turning on the block, crusing really slow. FUCK, I don't wanna go to jail sick. Poke, BLOOD, push, ahhhhhhhhhhhh. I sit back in my seat, my sweat is already starting to dry, the cop is parked in front of the house right next to me. I make no effort to conceal my shit before he comes to the car. He walks the other direction up the sidewalk to knock on the houses door, fucking lucky. But I don't feel like driving right now, I sit back and turn the stereo up, a few minutes pass, holy shit I got a couple rocks and a dimebag of herb, let's get high. I spend the rest of my night alone in my bedroom, smoking rock until I start to panic, take a shot to calm back down, got a 4 pack of Steel Reserve with the change in my car, that will cure the cottonmouth. Once the rocks are gone and the high has faded, I do one last shot saving a couple bags for the morning. Once the cocaine stimulation wears off I realize I am gone, all doped up and drunk. I sit, faded, the TV fades, on again, off again, on again, off. Rocking back and forth in the land of nod while the world spins around me, and some sort of ball of light radiates out from my chest, every breath is heaven, it's like my brains penis is getting a bj. A good warm wet one with no teeth. Finally at peace. 5 hours later I'm still in the same spot, cigarette burnt in to the carpet, beer spilled all over my crotch. Not sick, just anxious for that next hit. I take a few xanax and roll my dimebag, I never even manage to get the leaf out of the pack. Four more hours, (hey that's 8 hours of sleep man), I can't sleep no more. My eyes are already watery, I'm so hot and so cold, and the yawning is just starting, but I have a long day ahead of me tomarrow, I want to be well when I go get money and score, so I'm going to hold out for awhile on that shot. 45 minutes later it's in me, a new record. It's 5:30 am now, I stumble to the bathroom, no wait, I walk soooo fucking smoothly to the bathroom. as I rock back and fourth waiting for that first dribble to start the stream I hear sobbing downstairs. Goddamn it mom, why the fuck do you have to make me feel so bad, why do you think I'm a drug addict, maybe if you would treat me better I would be able to function without heroin. I lay down in my bed, looking at the TV, mind somewhere else, the promised land maybe. I hear my door creak open and see my moms face, I don't worry about the crackpipe and chore I have laying along with my pins out top of my amp in plain sight, she checks on me all night long to make sure I'm breathing, I just don't notice because I'm nodding. Or so she says, I know she doesn't REALLY care, if she did I wouldn't be an addict. We make eye contact for a moment, something inside me sinks, I start to tear up and I cry for hours. Noon rolls around, I go down stairs an unzip her purse in the kitchen right next to the room she's sitting in and take out $100 bill and a credit card. I'm just going over to a friends for a bit mom, see ya later. Alright hunny, drive safe, call if you need anything. I need something alright, but I think you got the wrong number. It's 6 PM and the story repeats itself, I see "home" on my vibrating phone. I hit ignore. Oh shit I don't feel good, what the fuck, my eyes bolt open and I see paramedics and sherriffs badges. My mom will finally be able to sleep tonight.
Again, I apoligize to the forum for the extremely large post, but when my past self posts a thread like this I need to warn him, I really do. He won't listen, there's a good chance in 10 years he'll be making this very post. Is a quick fix for your anxiety really worth your entire life.
