"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
Since it has become the Legion’s favorite thing to slap me around with online, much like Pacione does with The Fandom Writer, I’m going tell the public how it came about and what resulted from it.
Let’s lay the ground work for it to put it all in perspective. I have full blown post-polio syndrome. I have always had problems with my energy level, chronic fatigue and such as a result of it. It showed up early in my life. I was in an abusive relationship that I could not figure out how to escape from at the time. Someone without my physical difficulties would have been able to get out of the relationship far easier than I did.
My drug use took years to build up. The first time I used meth, it was to keep me awake. My ex needed help with a manuscript he was editing. His handwriting was illegible and I was one of the few who could read it. He had penciled in his corrections on the manuscript and it had to be fed-ex’d the next day to the author.
He told me that if it did not get out on time he might lose his job. We needed his income because my income from freelancing was not enough to cover everything. I had a year old child to consider and the prospect of him losing his editorial job frightened me. His comments, corrections and such were enormous. The book was non-fiction by a Ph.D. I corrected and fixed his handwritting, putting the comments in legibly in ink and erasing his pencil until my hand hurt. I was already exhausted when I started and it would mean going without sleep for 24 hours to get it done.
He had anticipated my lack of energy and acquired some meth. “Here, this will make a normal woman of you.”
Every time he wanted me to get more done, and his demands increased over the years, I did whatever form of speed/meth/cocaine he acquired for me so that I could meet his needs.
Toward the end, I was working fulltime, doing all of the housework, chores, errand running, and yardwork, despite the fact that I was disabled. In addition to this, I did a large portion of his writing and editing.
I needed more and more drugs to keep my failing body from collapsing. If I got sick or too tired to function, I had a choice of having him stand screaming at me for hours while I tried to sleep or taking drugs and meeting his needs and demands.
I would go days and days without sleep, using and using, and still he would scream that I had not done enough. That I was not providing for our child by sleeping. I became desperate for sleep.
Eventually I became desperate for death. On August 19th, our wedding anniversary, in 1988, I had gone five days without sleep to get everything done that he wanted me to. He started screaming at me because he was late on a writing deadline and claimed I had not done enough and that I was expendable.
An hour later, I filled a bunch of empty capsules with two grams of cocaine and swallowed them. That numbed out my insides nicely and I followed it with a bottle of Lemon-scented Mr. Clean.
After all, as he kept saying that day, I was expendable and my daughter’s life would be better without me.