When I posted this before/after photo of myself to Reddit, I thought it might speak to someone out there. But never did I expect the massive outpouring of responses and support that followed. (The photo has received more than 4,000 comments so far!) The kindness of total strangers has been overwhelming to an addict like me.

This photo was actually taken a few years ago. I was a 20-year-old addict hooked on alcohol and Adderall—an upper, just like cocaine and meth.

On the day of my overdose—the day I nearly died—a guy who I had met on Tinder didn't text me back. I was pissed.

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I was very tweaked and very angry, so I decided to go downtown to party, and on my way I stopped at the liquor store and bought a handle of Old Crow. I was driving and drinking out of a paper bag, just like an old man or something, and bawling my eyes out.

I was on Broadway in Nashville, it was a Friday night, and when I was at a red light, this guy crossing the street was like, "You're too pretty to cry," so I said, "Okay, get in my car."

I went bar-hopping with him and his friends, and at some point during the night, I got a citation for public intoxication. We went back to the guy's place because he was having a house party, and I remember he wanted to go to bed with me and I didn't feel right about it.

I had taken at least half of a 30-day prescription of Adderall that day, plus chugged a lot of alcohol, and I was on the verge of losing it—fading in and out, right on the line of unconsciousness.

I remember very little about the remainder of that night.

The next thing I knew, it was three weeks later. I woke up in a hospital bed.

'The Meds Made Me Feel Like The Most Confident, Smartest Person In Every Room'

I was prescribed Adderall for ADHD when I was a sophomore in high school, and my addiction began during my junior year. I found that the pills eased my insecurities and low self-esteem. I struggled with self-confidence, but not when I used. The meds made me feel like the most confident, smartest person in every room. I was more energetic, more social.

I started taking twice as much as I was supposed to, then three times as much, then a month's worth in a couple of days.

Eventually, I was snorting it in the bathroom of my high school. (Adderall is an oral medication, but crushing it and then snorting it makes it work faster and stronger.) And I knew it wasn't good, but I couldn't stop—a classic addict's line right there.

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My parents were aware I had a problem, but they didn't know it was the Adderall. They didn't know what was going on, just that something was awry, and they would have meetings—like with my teachers—to try to figure it out.

But after high school, I moved out and started going to school nearby (my first, ultimately unsuccessful, attempt at college). My problem got even worse because I was pairing all the Adderall with alcohol.

I would crush up three or four days' worth and put it into my drink, and turn into the most social person in the room. I'd be talking to everyone, which wasn't my usual personality.

It was dangerous, but I was too high to care. I bounced from job to job because I couldn't show up on time—bartending for a little bit, serving for a little bit. I couldn't hold a job for more than two weeks.

I was regularly racing through a month-long prescription of Adderall in less than a week; I'd take four 70-milligram pills per day (you're only supposed to take one) most days of the week. And I'd go through a handle of whiskey every two days or so.

I'd lie to the doctor to get more Adderall, and I had connections I could buy it from, but that got harder and harder because I was buying everything my suppliers had. If my supplier had a few weeks' or a couple months' worth of pills, I would buy it all.

My dad was giving me $75 per week for food, and I put all that into getting more drugs.

My family stopped talking to me because nobody could trust me—I stole money from my grandparents and my parents. I lied to everyone. My parents hid jewelry and money in their house so I couldn't steal it to buy more stimulants.

adderall overdose

Courtesy of Emma Sturgeon

'It Was The Worst Feeling I'd Ever Had'

It was only a matter of time until something went really wrong, and of course, it did. When I overdosed on Adderall and booze and lost consciousness at the house party, the guys I was with called an ambulance and followed it to the hospital.

The entire experience feels hazy because of the state I was in, but I have this fleeting memory of being wheeled into the ER on a stretcher. They had to restrain me because I was biting and thrashing, and it was the worst feeling I'd ever had. I remember being absolutely furiously and utterly hopeless.

I ended up being put in a medically-induced coma, and when I woke up three weeks after my Adderall overdose, I felt well-rested, and it was amazing. It sounds weird, but when you're addicted to uppers, you don't sleep well—you're never hungry, and you're never tired. I had been getting three hours of sleep a night at most. So at the time, my first thought was: This is the best sleep I've had in years.

Physically, I was very weak from being in a coma, and it took some time to gather enough strength to even walk well. As I realized what had happened, I remember feeling hopeless in a way like, "This f#cking sucks." But there was also some relief and, in a way, a glimpse of hope, because I thought, maybe I can finally get out of this hellhole.

'I Was In Denial'

My parents sent me straight from the hospital to a ranch in Tennessee for a 30-day inpatient rehab program. It would have been helpful if I had been ready to get better, but despite the circumstances, I wasn't. I knew I had a problem—you can't end up in a situation like that and not think something's wrong—but all I could think in rehab was, "I need to get high. I'm so miserable, I cannot wait to get out of here and get high."

I thought everyone there had worse problems than I did. Physically, I was exhausted and depressed because I was going through withdrawal from the drugs, though it would have been a lot worse if my body hadn't had the three weeks in the hospital to start adjusting.

I went directly from the month-long program to a much tougher six-month stint at Red Rock Recovery Center in Colorado because my family didn't trust me to go back home to Nashville. And as it turns out, it worked—to get me off the uppers, anyway.

That's where I learned to live my life without drugs. They teach you how to get a job, they teach you to get up every morning and go to a recovery meeting, they teach you how to save up money and buy your own groceries. That's where I learned to grow up.

Really, just being clean for that amount of time allows your body to adjust—I didn't have any way of doing drugs. It was hard, and I missed them, because you're constantly talking about drugs and alcohol while you're there.

But I had a good sober community there, and after six months, when I went back to Nashville, I was completely off drugs.

But while I'd stopped using the stimulants my life had revolved around for years, I was still drinking heavily.

'I Cannot Drink Like A Normal Person'

About a year after rehab, when I was living with my family again, I went out one night and ran into a guy I had hooked up with before.

I don't remember much about that night, but I do remember bringing him back home at 3 a.m. and waking up my 18-year-old sister. I remember how ashamed my little sister was and how disappointed my dad was, and I was so tired of always feeling that way.

It was then I realized that I cannot drink like a normal person. I can't casually do this—it doesn't matter what time of day it is or what day of the week it is. It always goes bad.

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I went back to what I had learned at the Colorado facility when I stopped doing drugs. They really press going to AA meetings. You have to make that a priority. I specifically go to a women's-only meeting because it's easier to focus on your recovery when there are no guys there to distract you. I go every Wednesday, and this week I'm picking up my six-month sobriety chip.

In addition to the meetings, I'm running more than I ever have in my life—five or six miles per day. I found that running exhausts you, so even if I did want to use, I'm too physically and mentally exhausted. Getting high on Adderall was artificial happiness, but running gives me an overall natural sense of well-being—one that I'm usually lacking. It's really, really good for my mental health.

Still, I always used alcohol as a crutch, and it's hard to adjust to life without it. I just went on a date for the first time since I got sober, and it was hard because I'm so insecure with myself when I'm sober. I felt like, "Oh my gosh, I'm being so awkward right now." It was really uncomfortable.

adderall overdose sober

Courtesy of Emma Sturgeon

'I Feel Good, But I'm Terrified'

It sounds so cliché and standard, but if you're trying to get sober, just keep showing up at meetings. Get yourself there, raise your hand, admit you're an alcoholic, and just keep doing that.

I'm 23 and a full-time nursing student now, and my relationship with my family is so good. That's one of the biggest blessings of my sobriety—I got my family back. After I got sober, I moved into my own apartment, but I talk to them all the time.

Physically, I feel better than I have in a long time, but I'm also really terrified because I know I'm still the same person I used to be—I'm still that addict, and I could slip back into that way of living so easily if I don't work on my recovery every day. When I get home at the end of the night, I do the AA 10th step, which is taking a personal inventory and admitting my mistakes. What am I afraid of? What could I do better?

It helps you keep your mind in the game, because staying sober is a choice you have to make every single day.

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