April 20, 2012

The Robbery Premonition

A friend recently brought up the fact that I don’t mention the robbery very much.  It made me realize how little the robbery has truly affected me, in the grand scheme of things.  The first post on this blog is called “Seriously, this really happened” and it’s my account of the armed robbery and kidnapping which occurred on the morning of my husband’s funeral. 
There’s an element of this that I’ve only shared with a few people, because I don’t want to be burned at the stake for being a witch.   But I’ve been thinking about the significance of it lately.   You see, before Dave died, for a few months actually, I kept having what I would call ‘daydreams’ about a black man walking into my bedroom to rob me.  I kept trying to figure out what I would do if this really happened.  In this premonition, he was armed, I was caught off guard, and he confronted me in the bedroom.  It turned out this is exactly how it did happen. 
What I decided every time after having one of these premonitions, was that I would trick the dumbass robber by pretending that I knew he was coming.  So here’s dumbass thug, who is a low life, robbing innocent people for a living.  He sneaks into my house, confronts me and asks for money.  He’s prepared for me to be scared out of my mind.  Start rushing around the house for money.  Only I say…”Damn, dude, I knew someone was coming to pick up this cash, but you are seriously not even going to knock on the door?  I got $1,500, you can tell that asshole there will be more as long as he keeps up his end of the deal.”  It is possible I watched too much gangsta tv in my younger days, before kids.  Now, I realize this is bizarre and people may be questioning my sanity.  I have no clue why this tape played in my head, often, during those last few months.  When it did, I thought I was just being a weirdo, and I made up my part each time and convinced myself it would work.  I figured it would catch the guy so off guard, he wouldn’t know wtf to say.  $1,500 is a damn good score for somebody who probably entered my house thinking they are getting $200.  He certainly wouldn’t say “what the fuck are you talking about?”  and he certainly wouldn’t be freaked out when I opened the safe to get the money.  But when I reached in there and pulled out a gun instead of $1,500 and blew his motherfucking head off, well, I guess he would have been surprised then.  But that’s how it went down in my head.  Months went by before I even remembered about those premonitions.  In fact, it’s only been in the last few months that I even remembered them. 

The other thing that is bizarre is that when this guy walked into my bedroom, for real, I incorrectly assumed he was connected to Dave somehow.  I think that is why I wasn’t really scared of him.   That, and the fact that I was already fully numbed and protected by the element of shock.  If you’ve ever survived a truly traumatic experience, like a death that comes out of nowhere, then you know what I’m talking about.  Your mind is in survivor mode.  Because you know you really might not survive this.   I was already at the point of the most extreme overload one can achieve, so getting robbed by some punk ass in my bedroom for a few hundred dollars, well, it didn’t even register.  Didn’t even hit my fucking radar.  Try that shit magnet on for size.

The reason I thought he had something to do with Dave is because after Dave died, they gave me his phone.  Full access to the phone I was always sneaking around trying to get.  I knew something was up with Dave in the end, and damn, I couldn’t figure it out to save my life.  Or his.  In the end, he was pretty careful, bringing the phone in the bathroom with him and never leaving it exposed.  On the rare occasions when I got to it, there was nothing.  Nothing there.  No trail.  But after he died, he got a text message from a guy named Jerome saying only, “I got 40 blues.”  I didn’t know wtf 40 blues were, but I knew they were pills and I knew right then and there what his shtick was.  Bam.   I called the guy right away.  Told him what happened.  Said it’s not your fault, but I’m trying to piece together what is going on, and the guy said, “You know, Mr. Dave, he liked those vicodin.”  People have told me that vicodin are not blue.   All I know is that whatever he took, he abused, and the end result was that he was so depressed and withdrawn that he wanted to die.  Pharmacy records later revealed he was also being prescribed 190 percocet a month.  I made him go to the doctor that last week.  Told him something was wrong with him, he looked like shit, I couldn’t take it anymore, and he just needed to be well.  He did go.  Only instead of walking in there and saying he was depressed or anxious, he went in and told the doctor he ‘couldn’t concentrate at work’.  So he was prescribed adderrall.  That’s right, a 41 year old man with no history of ADD just declared himself ADD and walked out with pills.  And so, on top of his major depression caused by pain pill addiction, he got adderrall and took way too much and, well, the rest you all know. 

Those guys who robbed us went on to hit five other homes in our neighborhood in the following months, before finally getting caught.  They are currently in jail and last I heard were being charged with kidnapping, which is a federal offense.  Turns out their m.o. was that they were watching for people who were going in and out of their homes, usually smokers, knowing they weren't locking doors every time they went in/out. 

The ironic thing about all this is that I’ve only slept a few nights in this house without a loaded gun.   And that was only because the police confiscated my revolver after Dave used it to commit suicide.  And during one of those nights, I was robbed at gunpoint.  I should also add here that our front door was not locked, so we basically should have just put out a sign that said “Take what you need.”  I’m one of those people that doesn’t believe that only the bad guys should have guns.   I was raised by a man who hunts.  Growing up, my friends described my dad as Daniel Boone.  He led packs of businessmen through Montana every year on hunting trips.  He always fished and hunted.  We grew up with guns.  We knew gun safety.  When I moved out, my dad kissed me goodbye and handed me a loaded .38 that he won in a poker game.  Think it was an old police revolver.  The police have it back now, because we never went to get it and certainly don’t want it now. I have 3 little boys in this house who aren’t exactly being raised in the environment that I was raised in.  So my gun is kept in a finger print safe.  Only my fingerprint can open the safe.  It can be kept loaded that way, too.   This is a brilliant invention and if you have a gun and kids you absolutely are a fuck up if you don't have this.   I have a cousin who lost a child to a gun accident, so I am sensitive to this issue.  And of course we always lock our doors now, have a security system, and use it even when we leave only for 5 minutes.


8 comments:

  1. First of all, I LOVE your blog! I think I might have told you that already. But there it is again. I like seeing that you've posted, and then I look forward to nap time (well, even more so than usual) so I can read in peace.

    Anyway, I am clicking the icon to vote, and it takes me to the Mommy Blogs page, is that all I have to do??

    Just want to make sure you'e getting my votes :)

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    1. Thanks Zoey. Yes, just click the icon and it takes you to their page. That means the vote has counted.

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  2. Voted for you! Keep your sense of humor and good attitude. You seem like an amazing woman!! :D

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  3. I definitely voted for you. I've read your blog from the beginning until now, and I'm more than impressed. I'm going through my own effed up sort of grieving process and you've been inspiring. Thank you.

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  4. You definitely have my vote, I enjoy all your blog posts including this one!

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  5. I've discovered that many men lie when and if they do go to see a dr for help. With my husband, I thought I would give him some privacy so that he could tell the dr what was going on in his mind and get some help. But no, he lied and said he was fine. So now, like a child, I have to go with him and add what has happened since his last appointment. I found out from a friend she had the same story - he lied to dr so she has to go. And we have to verify that they keep taking the medicine because they will quit taking it if you aren't watching. And then you have to keep praying and hope that one day they will be who they use to be or at least some what normal. It's hard and very lonely. Most women who decide to try and get help, are honest about what they need so we can get the help. We have too much to do to waste our time going somewhere just to lie.

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  6. I just came across your blog late last night by accident. I have been hooked since reading straight through to April 2012. I am not sure if you have found out what "blues" are but they are 30mg Percocet with no aspirin. I believe they are technically Roxicet (which is just a Percocet without the aspirin). They are tiny little, you guessed it, blue pills (there are also white ones) they are HIGHLY addictive and are considered, even by users, just as dangerous and addictive as heroin. You mention that your husband was prescribed 190 Percocet a month which could have been what started his experimentation with blues, also Adderall and other ADHD medications are stimulants and a good doctor would try and treat someone with a drug problem with something milder then Adderall or Ritalin because these types of medications increase cravings in recovering addicts leading to almost guaranteed relapse so safe to assume they would make a terrible combination with an active user. The perc 30’s or “blues” became very popular and more easily accessible after Oxycontin started being made with the time release mixed into the entire pill, making them no longer sniffable and considered useless to addicts/abusers (the new Oxycontin are now named OP’s--the old Oxycontin, commonly known as OC's, also contained the time release gel but it was only on the outside of the pill and was easily rubbed or sucked off leaving a regular pill that was crushable, making it sniffable and injectable and causing an immediate high. Just for your knowledge, I know it is kind of late and I know from experience that it certainly hurts being the last to know about a loved one’s addiction and just how far gone they are all the while you knew something wasn’t right but weren’t quite sure what and being a compulsive liar comes with the territory of addiction, you basically cant/don’t have one without the other; but it doesn’t hurt to know about this stuff in case, God forbid, someone else you know starts using you won’t be clueless. On a lighter note I absolutely LOVE that you refer to yourself as a shit magnet because I feel the exact same way lol. My story is fairly similar to yours except my addict EX-boyfriend is still alive (thankfully) and we don’t have any children (also thankfully!) sometimes I felt like I was reading something I wrote myself about my life, my addict brother is also still here and going strong , addiction wise that is. Unfortunately my father (also an addict, alcoholic, and life-long liar) passed away in February of this year at the age of 52, this was after losing my 50k a year job and having to move into my “difficult” mother’s tiny apartment. So I also consider myself a big fat shit magnet, like elephant size dumps are taken on me daily LOL. Although, like yourself, I realize it IS getting better verrryy slowly, I also realized that it has to because #1 can it get any worse? (knock on wood!!) and #2 we don’t have a choice but to keep moving forward, the world doesn’t stop moving just because it seems as if your own did. Sorry for the long winded novel-like comment but I want to give you that information about the Percocet hoping that it might help you piece some things together that maybe you noticed before but didn’t realize it’s significance at the time. Also keep in mind that it is supposedly proven that addiction, along with depression, is a disease and it is genetic and they often go hand in hand. I just wanted to express to you that your blog is not only therapeutic to you it is also, most definitely, helping others. Keep up the great writing!! And remember if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry :D
    -Amanda

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    1. Amanda, thanks for taking the time to educate me on this. This makes perfect sense, because believe it or not Dave was always incredibly worried about his liver. He tooks lots of milk thistle all the time, and I get now that the acetamenophin in the vicodin/percocet was probably worrisome for him. So, another piece to the puzzle solved. Thanks.

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