Tom Petty: It was an "accidental" OD

Kosst, I am there in regard to the pain; severe constant pain has only been recent. In regard to "Addiction" I watched it with tearful eyes; a jazz musician I idolized was doing what he had to do right in front of me.

Somehow, back then, drug addiction, according to the public was restricted to "jazz musicians"

In this thread, we're riding in two completely separate trains going down parallel tracks. One is the victim of old age and constant pain that can only be relieved by 'drugs'. He is not trying to get high, he just wants relief from the pain. That might require more drugs than his system can handle, and he checks out.

On the other track is the young pain free (unless you count mental pain) person who wants to get high. But nobody told them about "addiction". Once that happens it all over until they OD. Apparently your wife was on this train.

thanks

Who was judgmental about Tom Petty?  The posts I read were sympathetic, and some (mine) explained how it could happen to me; I lose count of the pills but I don't lose count of the pain; if I accidentally take too many; " sayonara", over and out. 

Schubert, when you think it can't get any worse, it gets worse.


Like you said "God Bless all who suffer" we will reach the sweet bye and bye.

When they told me I had arthritis at 45, I thought it was a joke, but at 76, I know it ain't no joke; more pain than I care to discuss.

I was told to stay away from the "heavy duty" prescribed pain killers, and so far I am, but I lose track of how many of the "over the counter" pain pills I take; consequently, accidental overdose is possible, but what difference does it make?


I had a cousin a little older than me who lived his life to the max from the day I met him (from the time I was aware of life) until he could no longer enjoy his good life of wine women (numerous), and song.

He got sick, and I didn't know the details of his illness, but I visited him in the hospital, and since we knew one another so well that we almost communicated telepathically, there was little conversation.

I looked at him, and my eyes said, "please don't leave me". He looked down at the floor and said; "You're born, you live and you die".

That's when tears came into my eyes, because I knew he would not be around much longer; there was no way he could stand life as an old man who could no longer enjoy the company of attractive ladies, and once he saw the hand writing on the wall, he had made up his mind to ease on down the road to whatever is next.

I left the hospital with tears streaming down my face; two weeks later he was dead.