My first ever Valium story happened around 1968 when I lived in Louisville, Kentucky. A boyfriend of mine broke up with me and I was devastated and heart broken. So I went to my doctor and told him about my depression because I was crying all the time. He said, "Well, you are carrying a lot of water retention so I am going to prescribe a diuretic and valium to help calm you down."
No problem. I then went to Cherokee Park, with my two prescriptions in hand. I decided I had no other choice but to end my life. I had a coca cola in one hand and I grabbed a bottle of pills and then sat on swings in the park. I took several pills and took a sip of coke. I took more pills and another sip of coke. On and on until the bottle of pills was empty. And then I waited for the inevitable.
Meanwhile I swang and swang on the park swings. (Or is it swung and swung??) I never did figure that one out. Mentally, I was prepared to flip out on the grassy knoll with my eyes rolled up in my head and hope the jerk of a boyfriend felt guilty one day.
But, I didn't flip out on the ground. No. I had to go to the porta potty. Not once. Not twice, but multiple times during that hour and a half at that city park. Finally, I realized I wasn't going to die.
Guess what I took a whole bottle of?
Was it Valium?
I don't think so. It was the diuretic. As I left the park, I chucked one empty bottle of diuretic and one full bottle of Valium in the public trash can.
I figured since I didn't die, I would do something else. I figured it just wasn't 'my time'.
So I went to the mall.
End of story.
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