I guess I should start with the first two. The first time I took my mothers Valium and slit my wrists. Got my stomach pumped and stitches. The second time I had a prescription for 15 Valium. I changed it to 45, but they only gave me 30. I downed them with a lot of beer and slept for 2 days.
So my dilemma , other than the fact that I had no idea what better meds I might have tried for, was how to get enough to do the job. I came up with the idea of robbing the drugstore. I got this big honking revolver of my fathers, loaded those big honking bullets into it, put it in a bag, and went up to the shop to ask father if I could borrow the car. I told him I had something I needed to return at the drugstore. I went in the drugstore and back to the pharmacy counter and no one was there, so I thought this could be even easier, I just went in there and started browsing. The woman from up front of the store came back and she summoned the pharmacist. I stupidly let the woman go back to the front and of course she called the cops. He asked if I had a prescription. I said “No, I have a gun” and I opened the bag to show him. Seriously, I just opened the bag to show him the gun! I told him to give me all his Valium. He asked if he could keep some for his cancer patients and I said yes. Then, I didn’t plan this but when he handed me the rest, I asked how much that cost. I said sorry, I only have $65.00 so take some out. He did, I paid, he gave me a receipt and as I walked towards the door, the cops were waiting with guns drawn.
I spent a night at Ypsilanti mental hospital and they said I was fit to stand trial. I was transferred to county jail and spent a week there. I suppose my father thought that was the safest place for me. Finally my court appointed lawyer showed up and arranged bail. I lived in a small town so everyone knew what a dumb thing I did.
I felt a lot of shame and really stupid. I hung out at the bar all he time because being at my parents house is what freaking led me to be suicidal. One night at the bar some guy that I didn’t know, came up to me and asked if I really robbed the drugstore. What am I going to do, lie? I said I did and kind of laughed at how fucking stupid I was. The next day, father just reams me that one of his friends told him how I was bragging about it. First, I concluded the guy was a total dirtbag for trying to get some salacious information, then he runs and tells my father that. And father believes him. That’s the crux of the issue, my father always believed whatever nasty story he heard about me. He could have tried a conversation and asked me, but of course not.
In the end, when I went to court, I listened to the judge just go after all the defendants in front of me. I was terrified. Then he gets to me, he smiles and says he thinks I’m just having a hard time growing up and he gives me probation. I’m thankful that I paid for the drugs because I’m sure that saved me from an armed robbery charge. Safe to say, I never tried that again.