I don’t believe he or my mother intended to make me feel the way he felt, as an orphan. But when you’re left all alone to fight for your life and sanity, it doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose or an accident. A child’s soul doesn’t know the difference. My father was left alone at the mercy of strangers in the orphanage. I was left alone at the mercy of my brother in my own living room. But we both learned the same thing. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how loud you scream—nobody’s coming. The only one who can save you is you. This sort of trauma affects people in different ways as they grow up. Sometimes it makes the scrapper, the fighter, the artist. Sometimes it makes the psychopath. And sometimes it makes the bitch.
My father had years ago made me the enforcer of his medical directives. He had always been adamant that he did not want to be put on life support. “If you ever come to the hospital and find me on a goddamn machine, pull the fucking plug! Trip over the damn cord if you have to!” he’d say. All of his instructions were quite detailed, sometimes bizarrely so, like the form I needed to sign and have notarized giving me permission to authorize the use of physical restraints if he should become mentally incapacitated and violent. I asked him what on earth he needed this for. But I should have known: he had thought it all out and done his research.
“Well, if I become incapacitated and have to go to a full-care type of facility, there are two kinds—the really good expensive ones and the cheap ones. The expensive ones know better. They won’t take you if you’re violent and crazy, unless they know they’re allowed to legally restrain you. The only places that will take you in that condition without the restraint order are the horrible cheap places in the bad neighborhood.” As always, with my father it was all about avoiding a bad address.
Well, what could I say? “Fine then. Will that be leather or latex?”
One time, I did ask, “Why, oh why, in the name of God, did you select me to be the one to make all these horrible decisions?”
He snorted with laughter. “Because you’re the only person I know who’s got the balls to kill me if you have to.”
I suppose he was right. It didn’t actually come to that, thank God. But I did have to sit with the doctors and go over the horrendous details of every possible artificially life-extending procedure and every possible outcome, and make the final call. His medical directive was quite explicit. When they finished offering to perform every single item that he had listed under “Do Not Do Any of These Things to Me EVER,” my decision became pretty clear.
I told him that I wouldn’t let them hurt him. I assured him there would be no more tubes, and that there would be lots and lots of morphine. At the end, I left him alone in his dressing room to prepare privately for his final performance. His last words to a family friend were simple, poignant, and, like my dad, a little weird: “I’m happy.” And then after a thoughtful pause, “I don’t know why.”
Like I said, I’m my father’s daughter. So in the midst of mourning, when my editor called to ask, “Alison, I’m so sorry for your loss. Do you think you’ll be able to finish writing your book?” I cheerfully replied, “Are you kidding me? Not finish the book because my father died? Ha! If I don’t finish it, the crazy bastard will come back and haunt me!” Stunned silence on the other end. Then we both laughed.
That’s just me. I always manage to find ways to be happy, even when things are awful. It’s more than just a “well, the show must go on” attitude. I just always see the humor in situations, no matter how dark. My husband says I’m the only person he knows who can figure out how to have fun doing absolutely anything. He says I can turn going to the supermarket for cat litter into an adventure.
True, but now when I’m happy, I’m just that. There’s no static on the line now. It’s not “I’m happy, but…” or “I’ll be really happy when….” I am just ridiculously, stupidly happy. I am often cheerful to the point of being annoying as hell. I don’t know if this is a sign of good mental health or recovery, or if it means I’ve finally snapped and just gone the rest of the way to completely batshit crazy.
How? Why? If I knew, I would bottle it and sell it. But I have an idea. I read a study a long time ago about the effects of volunteering and activism on people with HIV and AIDS. It found that those involved in AIDS-related political activism and other activities that helped people with AIDS had higher numbers of disease-fighting T-cells, lower amounts of the virus, and lived longer than those who did not. Fighting back and helping others actually helps. I had figured it would certainly help psychologically, but it was nice to see it did something physically as well.
I wondered, Could the same kind of activism work for survivors of severe physical and sexual abuse? Apparently, the answer is yes. Back at the hotline, Bob told me that depression is defined as “learned helplessness and anger turned inward.” I had learned I wasn’t helpless. I learned it was okay to get mad as hell and scream my head off—especially if the cameras were rolling and an Ingalls was on the receiving end or some politicians who needed straightening out.
I don’t have anything to do with my brother, Stefan, now. I don’t go in for this faux forgiveness pop-psych nonsense that keeps getting foisted on incest victims. I just don’t think it’s fair. Nobody asks a robbery victim, “So, how are you and the burglars getting along now?”
When my father was ill, I did get stuck in the emergency room with my brother for several hours. I was focused on my father and in no mood to have a heart-to-heart with Stefan, so I just let him babble. It was like having an out-of-body experience. I decided it would be best if I just pretended I didn’t know this person. I told myself I was a scientist doing a field study of crazy people, or perhaps more fittingly, Jane Goodall among the chimps.
I didn’t see him after that; the night in the emergency room was enough. I can’t do anything about the “outcome” of my situation. Time has passed, the damage has been done, the statute of limitations has come and gone. But I don’t sit around pondering the injustice of what happened to me. I have been given the opportunity to affect the outcome of millions of other cases, many far worse than my own. This is a gift that has given me such healing, words cannot describe.
I owe it all to the bitch on the prairie. When I played Nellie Oleson, she allowed me to scream, to howl, to throw things, to pour out all my pain and rage over and over again in a safe place. All of us who have lived through abuse are terrified of our anger. Nellie taught me that I could be angry, and the world would not open up and swallow me. She also gave me a family for life that I made on the show, and she gave me friends all over the world (especially in France). When my friends began dying of AIDS, Nellie gave me the means to help them—to raise money for their care, to advocate for their rights, to educate their friends and loved ones about their illness. And when it was time to go to war for abused children, she gave me the means to do that as well. When Nellie talks, even Larry King listens.
So I’m happy, just like my dad. But unlike him, I do know why. I’m happy because I’ve finally realized this incredible gift I’ve been given and what I can do with it. I’m just getting started.
And now, I don’t even have to put the wig on….
APPENDIX
To find out how you too can help to change the laws to better protect children, visit:
National Association to PROTECT Children at www.protect.org
Promise to PROTECT at www.promisetoprotect.org
For more information on child abuse issues in general, visit:
The Zero’s resources page at www.vachss.com
If you are in crisis right now, visit:
Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN) at www.rainn.org, or call 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)
ChildHelp USA Hotline at www.childhelp.org/hotline
If you want more information on what law enforcement is doing about child abuse and child pornography, visit:
Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force at www.icactraining.org
the FBI’s Innocent Images Nation
al Initiative at www.ffii.gov/innocent.htm
For issues concerning the treatment of child actors, visit:
A Minor Consideration at www.minorcon.org
To learn more about HIV and AIDS and link to resources, visit:
TheBody.com at www.thebody.com
National AIDS/HIV Hotline at www.ashastd.org/nah, or call 1-800-342-AIDS (2437)
For information on gay and lesbian issues, visit:
Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) at www.pflag.org
To find out more about Little House on the Prairie:
The ultimate Little House fan Web site at www.prairiefans.com
Melissa Gilbert/Bruce Boxleitner Web site at www. gilbertboxleitner.com
Alison Arngrim Web site at www.hgd.com/alison
Alison Arngrim Web site (French) at www.alison-arngrim.com
Greenbush Twins (Baby Carrie) Web site at www. greenbushtwins.com
Laura Ingalls Wilder Web site at www.lauraingallswilder.com
Laura Ingalls Wilder Home and Museum Web site at www. lauraingallswilderhome.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Main thanks: Kent D. Wolf, Didier Imbot, and everyone at Global Literary Management; Sheryl Berk and her invaluable seven-year-old research assistant, the appropriately named Carrie; Kate Hamill and Harper Collins; and Harlan Boll.
People without whom this book could not have been published: Jimmy Dykes, for his oh-so-comfortable pull-out sofa and for teaching me how to use the New York Subway system; Chip Duckett and everybody at The Cutting Room, where Kent found me; the inventors of Facebook, where Kent tracked me down, not having my phone number; Gerald Paras, for the use of his apartment and for all the totally “fan-boy” questions he kept asking me, giving me endless inspiration for new chapters; Melissa Gilbert, for going first into the line of fire with her book, even though she’s supposed to be the “nice” one; Sue Hamilton, for making the “Confessions” show into what it is today; Howie Green, who actually came up with the title years and years ago; my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Gerson, who figured out that none of us in her class could write a paragraph and made us all study the Language Arts basic grammar book until we could; and the late Lew Sherril, for sending me on that audition in 1974.
Thanks also to Michael Landon, Katherine MacGregor, Richard Bull, Jonathan Gilbert, Steve Tracy, and the entire cast and crew of Little House on the Prairie.
Special thanks to the real Laura Ingalls Wilder, the real Ms. Nellie Owens, and both of their entire families for making all of our careers possible!
The French: Patrick Loubatiere, Sandra Loubatiere, Sophie Epasto, Eric Caron, Christophe Renaud, Olivier Rigalot, Jamel Debouzze, everyone at Les Enfants de la Télé, and the people of France.
The Americans: Larry King, the producers and staff at Larry King, Nancy Grace and staff, Bob Schoonover, the entire Schoonover family, Angela Spataro, Sharon Phalon-Smith, Stan Smith, Pat Healy, Lindsay Ralphs, Sheri Freid, Pamela Fenton, Corinne Spicer, Pamela Clay Magathan, ANT, Thom Delorenzo, Will Denson, John McCormick, Daniel Cartwright, Rich Sebastian, Barry Horton and everybody at Tuesday’s Child, Steve Pieters, Nadia Sutton (okay, also French), Albert Ogle (okay, and the Irish), Wendy Arnold, Thom Mosely, and everybody at APLA.
PROTECT: Grier Weeks, David Keith, Camille Cooper, Jennifer Allen, Dr. Bruce Perry, and everyone on the board. All those who helped carry the sword of justice to California: Betsy Salkind, Robin Tyler, Senator James Battin and staff, Ken Devore, Paul Petersen, Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA), Ruby Andrew, Gloria Allred, and all those who do their best work by not being famous: “J.,” “R.,” “West Coast K.,” “East Coast K.,” “L.,” and all the others.
And, of course, inestimable gratitude to the inscrutable Mr. Vachss.
About the Author
ALISON ARNGRIM starred as Nellie Oleson for seven years on the TV series Little House on the Prairie. She also guest-starred on The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, and the NBC movie of the week I Married Wyatt Earp. She has appeared in numerous films and plays, and her stand-up comedy show, “Confessions of a Prairie Bitch,” has become a worldwide phenomenon. Arngrim also volunteers for nonprofit organizations such as AIDS Project Los Angeles and the National Association to Protect Children. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Credits
Jacket design by Andrea Cardenas
Jacket photographs courtesy of the author
Copyright
CONFESSIONS OF A PRAIRIE BITCH. COPYRIGHT © 2010 by Alison Arngrim. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
EPub Edition © May 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-200010-1
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