A few months ago I came home for the holidays and saw a full bottle of hydrocodone in my mothers pantry. Being the shit head liser drug addict son that I am, I promptly took that shit and retired upstairs. The next day I took one, felt great, and melted into the couch whilst playing Mario. Well, about 4 hours later, I'm starting to lose that warm and fuzzy feeling, so I take another. 4 hours after that and I take another.

Well, you see, being the shit head loser drug addict I am, I quickly gain a tolerance and one pill just isn't giving me that warm and fuzzy feeling anymore so I take two. Bingo, I'm back to feeling great, play some more Mario and eat some pickles, fuck ya! Another 4 hours go by, same thing, two pills down the gullet. Another 4 hours and I do the same. But you see, there's a problem. Being the shit head loser drug addict son I am, two pills just aren't doing it for me every four hours and so I start taking them around every 3. This works for a day or so, until inevitably, it doesn't. I'm now in the throes of hydrocodone addiction and I'm taking 3-4 every four hours now. Peachy. I'm high again. This goes on for a couple days until I start having some major pains in my upper right side of my chest and I start to get a little worried.

Fuck.

Not only were the pills hydrocodone, but had a large portion of acetaminophen as well. Now I get worried. I basically go through all my deepest fears and realize, well, I'd rather not tell anyone about this and have to check into an insitution or something, so if it's my time to check out, it's my time.

That was a sincerely scary week, I was counting down the hours each day going through each step of acetaminophen poisoning and just praying that I would be here for my mother, my sister, my girlfriend, my aunts, grandmother.... Never again. I'm glad to be here.