Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Journal Entry for Thursday December 4, 1997

I'm going fucking crazy. I woke up in the middle of the night and had pulled a chunk of hair out of my head.

Then right after Brad left to go to school, I stole some of his pot out of his secret stash, then came down stairs and smoked it right on the bottom of the steps. It felt so relaxing that I went back upstairs and got the rest of the stash and smoked it. It certainly got rid of the voices in my head. I don't even give a fuck if mom finds out. I'll just OD on the amitriptyline and then the problems will be solved.

My head still hurts, but I'm getting used to it.

My mom had to cut a few of her classes since her heart attack, but she still is gone a lot of the day, which I enjoy.

I'm watching a bootleg of Wild America right now. (One of Brad's friends made it).

You know, it's funny. A lot of people say that Jonathan Taylor Thomas and I look a lot alike. (And we do). I mean, we even have had our hair styled the same way at a couple points in time. Maybe someday I'll get to act in a movie or TV show with him. That would be awesome.

-Randy

3:30 a.m. Friday December 5, 1997

I haven't been eating much since I got home from the hospital. After all, I've suffered enough; I don't need to die from eating my mom's vegetarian lasagna.

I walk to the fridge though, and grab a bag of salad mix and a bottle of lime vinaigrette dressing and a fork out of the drawer.

Then I walk over to the couch, sit down, and flip on the TV. I put it on a rerun of NYPD Blue.

So I sit there for a little while, eating my salad, and watching NYPD Blue.

Then I start hearing those fucking voices again. Now they sound louder though.

I didn't have these fucking voices before I took the Ambien and Tylenol, did I?

No.

Maybe…maybe. Maybe if I took some more pills, I could get rid of the fucking voices.

I'm barely able to make it upstairs thanks to the fucking voices.

'Mom, my head's killing me. I'm going to take an amitriptyline for it' I say.

Now that takes balls. To tell your own mom you're about to OD on pills.

'Okay' she mumbles, half asleep.

I grab the bottle and open it up. I dump out all that are left of these. (13).

I put the bottle back in the medicine cabinet, and head downstairs.

Downstairs I grab a bottle of expensive looking champagne, which is about three quarters of the way empty, and then a half empty bottle of some foreign scotch.

Then I head downstairs to my room to have a party with my pills, some pot of Brad's I saved, and the booze.

A/N: What will happen to Randy now? Is he really insane? Who knows other than me? The answer: No one.

I'll warn you, if I don't get 3 reviews (by 3 different people) for this chapter in 5 days, Randy will be hurt badly, does everyone understand me? Good. Now put the money in the bag, and don't try anything funny!

-Yours truly, Randy Taylor