"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
This post continues the events posted here Let’s talk about my drug abuse
After drinking the bottle of Mr. Clean, I sat down and waited to die. My five-year-old daughter had been put to bed hours earlier. There was no way to anticipate what happened next. Normally she slept through the night, but that night she woke up and came into the living room where I was sitting alone and crawled onto my lap and told me she loved me.
I consider the thoughts that ran through my head next to be a moment of satori.
I could not abandon her that way.
I was not expendable
By the time that i got her back to bed and headed for my car to get help, I was staggering around and barely able to keep my feet. I had no business driving. However, six blocks away was a family friend, the guy would later be a president of HWA. He had been a close friend for many years. Or at least I had believed him to be.
I had helped him get his green card when he first came to this country.
It was all I could do to stay conscious as I went to his home.
I told him what I had done and asked for help.
His response was to get a friend to help him shove me into the back seat of his car. He drove me to my home and dumped me on the front lawn.
H came out, screamed at me for embarrassing him and ordered me to bed.
Instead, I make one last attempt to find help.
I was so out of it that i did not know I was walking through broken glass that sliced the bottoms of my bare feet open. The pain simply did not register at all. With the last of my will power, I staggered onto Van Nuys Blvd. My legs started to buckle.
A car full of young hispanic males swerved close and one of them grabbed me. The next instant a man shouted from the top balcony of a tall apartment building, “let her go. I’ve called the cops.”
And for emphasis, he shook the cordless phone he held at them. “I have your plate number. Let go of her.”
The young guys shoved me to the pavement and sped off. A pair of drag queens came and sat with me.
Paramedics and a patrol car arrived. That was my first encounter with that white haired cop mentioned in an earlier post.
The police officers waited at the hospital while the emergency room staff patched me back together. The officers told me they were going to take me home. Drugs were too prevalent in that area to bother arresting someone for an OD. It just crowded the otherwise crowded jails up.
I begged them not to take me home. Instead they took me to the county hospital for nutcases and I checked myself in.
H had very good medical coverage and the next day I was transferred to a private hospital near Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.