My father took pills, too, though I don't think it was recreational. Nonetheless, the pills I saw him take––almost exclusively after his "incident" in August of 1973––shaped my relationship with pills for the rest of my life. 

It's not a relationship I spend a lot of time worrying about (like alcohol) or regretting my past involvement with (like marijuana). I don't think about it at all, actually, unless I reach into the drawer where I keep my pill bottles, most of which are ancient. Then I pill a bottle out and either take a pill to solve my anxiety/musculoskeletal problems or say Careful, Steve. Slippery slope.