April 15: I got drunk. I had some Jim Beam in the house and decided that now was the designated time.
That’s not a bad thing. Getting drunk, I mean. Doing it alone at my house was not the smartest thing I ever did but I had finally gotten back on track as the pitcher I know I can me and then we lost the game and I was feeling sorry for myself. So me and my guitar, Petal, were spending some quality time together along with the booze. And I took some of my medicine. Okay, I’m supposed to take it 4 times a day, so it was getting late (early? It was light outside) and I didn’t remember if I took it or not when I first got home.
So I took a double dose. Plus a little extra because I was feeling anxiety and uncertainty about my life as a pitcher and the way the baseball gods seemed to want to piss on me and my starts. And that, with the bourbon, was enough to make me sleepy. I headed off toward bed after I put Petal away.
April 16: I don’t remember falling asleep but I do remember waking up. In a hospital. They said I’d ODed on my Valium and that I was lucky someone found me (that someone being my trainer who has a key to the place). And it wasn’t for another day that they let me near a computer.
April 17: So you are now caught up on what happened. I had to see a psychiatrist and I explained what occurred and that, despite what it looked like, I wasn’t trying to get myself killed. She consulted with Dr. White and determined that it was safe for me to go home. So tomorrow morning I’m checking out.
I think the word “embarrassing” fits here. I mean, yeah, it’s 2019 and it’s okay to be out of the closet as an anxiety-sufferer. But this is just … bad.
I’m not letting it stop me. I will be on the mound for my next start against the Crush on the 20th.