I'm an agnostic on the topic of pharmaceuticals. 

Ian takes a very low dose of Vyvanse to help him concentrate at school. It's out of his system by 2:00. He doesn't take any over the weekend or holidays. Actually, I'm not entirely sure how much he actually gets in him, because I mix it in with a scoop of ice-cream in the morning. I should probably take him off of everything for a week to see what happens, but he's doing so well in school that I don't feel like messing with a winning formula.  

I have friends who really need their anti-depression meds. I took 'em for six months when a series of terrible things happened, but I probably never needed them. I think they actually made me depressed. 

The debate over anti-depression and concentration drugs is stirring up. I'll give you some links. 

In the Boston Review, Sandra Tanenbaum says that Cymbalta saved her life. 

The New York Times says that adderall is being overused by high school students. 

In the Room for Debate, a young author complains that publishers and readers don't want to deal with sadness anymore. 

 It used to be O.K. to sit in this sadness. Great novels examined it. But today, in the era of pharmaceutical companies, the second we stop smiling we rush off to the doc for a happy-pill prescription. Some people genuinely need medication. Others are ducking perfectly healthy – even beneficial – bouts of melancholy.