I Didn't Want To Get High. I Wanted To Feel Normal.
When I used crystal meth in 2015, it didn't feel chaotic.
It felt quiet.
I'd lost everything. I was overwhelmed, stressed, isolated. And then I used — and suddenly I could breathe. I felt calm. Confident. Motivated.
I could function.
For the first time in my life, my brain wasn't screaming at me. I could finish projects at work. I could face the world instead of shutting down. I wasn't chasing a high. I was chasing the ability to do what everyone else seemed to do without effort.
I didn't know I was self-medicating. I thought I was finally getting my brain to work.
The Conversation We're Not Having
Most people hear "addiction" and think moral failure. Weak willpower. Bad choices.
But what if addiction isn't always about chasing euphoria?
What if it's about seeking regulation?
Research shows that one in five adults seeking addiction treatment have undiagnosed ADHD — a rate dramatically higher than the general population. And 70% of young adults with ADHD report using substances to self-medicate rather than to get high.
They're seeking mood improvement, better sleep, relief from internal hyperactivity.
Not recreation. Regulation.
When you live with undiagnosed ADHD, your nervous system runs on chronic dysregulation. Your brain never learned how to settle. Everything feels like too much or not enough. You're constantly seeking stimulation just to feel baseline.
And then substances provide what your brain can't generate on its own.
What "Shutting Down" Actually Looks Like
Before that moment in 2015, I lived in a brutal cycle.
Things would pile up. Projects at work. Responsibilities. Life admin. Everything felt overwhelming to the point where I couldn't face any of it. I'd push it aside, avoid it, knowing there'd be consequences.
But the fallout still felt easier than facing the task itself.
I knew what I was doing wrong. I did it anyway.
People called it laziness. Self-sabotage. Poor choices. I called it that too. But what was actually happening was my brain couldn't play the tapes forward. I couldn't think through consequences because I was too emotionally connected to the present moment — hyper-focused on not letting others down, which ironically prevented me from making decisions that would've protected me.
My ADHD brain was running on empty, constantly seeking stimulation just to maintain focus.
And substances filled that gap.
The Neurobiology Nobody Explained
Here's what I didn't understand until I was in rehab:
ADHD brains have significantly decreased dopamine receptor density in regions associated with reward and motivation. Research shows that dopamine dysregulation in ADHD creates a constant search for stimulation that can increase dopamine more quickly and intensely.
When the doctor in rehab asked me what I used and how it affected me, I told him: crystal meth made me calm. It gave me the ability to finish projects. It motivated me to function.
His response changed everything: "Has anyone spoken to you about ADHD?"
I had no idea.
But it explained why a stimulant — something that should make you wired — made me feel normal. It wasn't a paradoxical reaction. It was my brain finally getting the dopamine regulation it had been missing my entire life.
The substances weren't making me high. They were making my brain work.
The Hidden Experience of Self-Medication
When substances temporarily provide what your ADHD brain can't generate naturally, they create:
Focus. Suddenly you can finish tasks without your mind wandering to seventeen different places.
Confidence. You can hold conversations, face social situations, show up without the crushing self-doubt.
Emotional regulation. The constant internal noise quiets down. You can breathe.
The feeling of "normal" that others take for granted.
This is why it feels functional at first. This is why you don't realize you're self-medicating. You think you've finally figured out how to operate like everyone else.
But short-term regulation comes with long-term consequences.
The solution becomes the problem. The thing that helped you function starts destroying your ability to function without it. And by the time you realize what's happening, you're already deep in it.
The Missed Diagnosis Problem
That conversation with the doctor in rehab gave me clarity, perspective, and awareness.
It opened my mind to how my brain actually works. It explained patterns I'd been living with my entire life — the inability to think through consequences, the emotional hyperconnection that prevented smart decisions, the constant overwhelm that made avoidance feel like the only option.
But here's what haunts me: how many people in recovery are still operating with undiagnosed ADHD?
Research shows that half of young adults with ADHD will develop a substance use disorder by age 39. Yet in the vast majority of cases, ADHD remains undiagnosed and untreated.
How many people are replacing one regulation strategy with another — abstinence, exercise, work, relationships — without ever addressing the underlying nervous system dysregulation?
How many are still living in that brutal cycle of knowing what to do but not being able to do it?
Earlier recognition and treatment of ADHD could significantly change the trajectory. Not just for recovery, but for preventing the spiral in the first place.
Accountability Without Shame
Understanding the why doesn't erase the consequences.
I'm not suggesting that ADHD removes responsibility. It doesn't. The choices I made were still mine. The damage I caused was still real. The rebuilding I had to do was still necessary.
But understanding the why changes the path forward.
Recovery isn't just about abstinence. It's about learning regulation.
It's about building the infrastructure your nervous system needs to function without substances doing the work. It's about proper assessment, trauma-informed support, therapy, and — where appropriate — medication that addresses the actual dopamine dysregulation instead of chasing artificial relief.
The people I work with now in recovery are discovering the same thing I did: clarity, perspective, awareness. They're realizing that what looked like self-sabotage was often an ADHD brain trying to survive in a world that doesn't accommodate how it works.
That realization doesn't fix everything. But it changes the conversation.
Building Sustainable Regulation
The climb back requires scaffolding, not just willpower.
Research shows that people with ADHD who take medications as prescribed are less likely than their untreated counterparts to drink or abuse drugs. Treating ADHD effectively becomes powerful protection against substance abuse.
But treatment isn't just medication. It's learning how your brain works. It's building routines that support regulation instead of fighting against your wiring. It's creating space for setbacks without calling them failures.
It's recognizing that recovery isn't linear, and support structures shouldn't pretend it is.
I'm a counselor-in-training now, working in NDIS support coordination. I operate at the intersection of lived experience and formal support. I'm not claiming to have all the answers — I'm still learning regulation myself.
But I'm building the infrastructure I needed when no one else could.
And I'm documenting the ascent, not performing recovery.
The Line That Changes Everything
I didn't want to get high. I wanted to feel normal.
If that resonates with you — whether you're in recovery, supporting someone who is, or recognizing patterns in your own life — the conversation needs to shift.
Addiction isn't always about moral failure. Sometimes it's about a brain seeking regulation it never learned how to generate naturally.
Understanding that doesn't remove accountability. But it creates space for compassion, proper assessment, and support that addresses the actual problem instead of just managing symptoms.
The trajectory changes when we stop treating addiction as purely behavioral and start recognizing the neurodevelopmental factors that make some people more vulnerable than others.
Early intervention matters. Proper diagnosis matters. Trauma-informed support matters.
And building sustainable regulation — through connection, assessment, therapy, and infrastructure — matters more than chasing artificial relief ever will.
Three Questions Worth Considering
1. What patterns in your life have you labeled as "self-sabotage" that might actually be your nervous system seeking regulation?
2. How would the conversation around addiction change if we started with nervous system dysregulation instead of moral failure?
3. What infrastructure do you need to build sustainable regulation instead of relying on temporary fixes?
I'm curious what this brings up for you. Whether you're navigating recovery, supporting someone who is, or recognizing these patterns in your own experience — the conversation is worth having.
Drop a comment. Share your perspective. Let's talk about the conversation we're not having.
