On an otherwise forgettable Tuesday in early December, I opened the washing machine and was hit with the overwhelming smell of fish. I pulled out a pair of pajama pants, and the pocket was greasy with two ruptured softgels of cod-liver oil I’d forgotten to remove. The whole load reeked like a cast-iron skillet of seared salmon. I was furious I could be so stupid and careless.

I’d taken my lisdexamfetamine dimesylate, the generic version of Vyvanse, that morning, just as I had almost every day since I was diagnosed with ADHD a month earlier at age 35. The first time I swallowed the yellow capsule, I proceeded to paint my home office in two coats of White Dove, the result of a euphoric burst of energy that felt entirely new to me. The morning of the fish-pill incident, though, I felt so t

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