by Babe Walker
TREATMENT DURATION: 15 years
MEDICATIONS PRESCRIBED OVER COURSE OF TREATMENT: Adderall, Xanax, Ativan, Klonopin, Valium, Ambien, Sonesta, Lunesta, Paxil.
Who the fuck did this bitch think she was? Clearly she had no idea what she was talking about. I left her office with a slam of the door, taking my file with me.
Sue—
Had to run. Borrowed the book you’re writing about me, but will return it next week with comments.
xo, B
P.S. Fuck you. Falling asleep?! Really??
When I got to my car I began to devour my file. It included notes from most of our sessions. Here are the highlights:
June 6, 1994
First session: Barbara Walker (7 years old) arrived in a suit and tie, briefcase, and glasses. Inspired by her love for the NBC sitcom Frasier, she said she had come here because of her interest in becoming a therapist. She sat down on the couch and said, “Shoot.” I informed BW that I was in fact the therapist and she was the client. Once she understood our roles, she had no interest in talking about anything other than the “to-scale” dollhouse of her Montecito home. She wanted my professional opinion on window coverings for her bedroom. She was concerned that her fabric guy wouldn’t be able to match the patterns for the valances on such a small scale. She appears to need to control every little aspect of her life, and at such a young age it is concerning.
August 15, 1995
Barbara came to our session today accompanied by her nanny, Mabinty, and requested that I mediate some issues that they were having. BW explained that Mabinty refused to acknowledge the fact that BW is not a child, but an autonomous young woman, and shouldn’t be grounded for surfing pro-anorexia chat rooms on AOL. BW doesn’t have a very firm grasp of her social status in her home, and she is exhibiting signs of NPD at very early age (8 years old). The environment in which BW lives exacerbates her predisposition towards narcissism. Mabinty was highly verbal during the session and the three of us came to a civil agreement that allowed BW one hour of AOL time per week, with a block on any adult content.
December 14, 1998
BW arrived with a gift for me, which seemed to be an olive branch of sorts, after a string of particularly tumultuous sessions. But further discussion revealed that what she had purchased for me (a Hermès Scarf) was actually more of a message than an act of kindness. BW revealed that she felt it was important for me to start taking pride in the way that I looked, and that a pop of color wouldn’t kill me. She also explained the importance of everyone on her “Team” being on the same page in terms of aesthetic. She assured me that I was not the only person with whom she felt the need to have this conversation. She gave me her cell phone number and told me to call her at any time with questions about current fashions. Although I have been dealing with BW’s NPD for the past few years, I have found it a challenge to discuss some of her personality issues openly with her as she is only 11.
October 31, 2000
As it is Halloween, BW came in full costume to her session today. She was dressed as NEO (sp?) from a film called The Matrix. All black, sunglasses and a trench coat. BW was in character for the entire hour-long session. She barely spoke, but when she did she referred to herself as The One, and addressed me as The Oracle. Throughout the session she referenced issues that she was having with Agent Smith and Trinity, who I later figured out were actually BW’s father and BW’s best friend Genevieve, respectively. Her commitment to her false reality was unwavering and actually quite impressive. Towards the end of the session BW informed me that she needed to leave through the back door of my office because Morpheus had set the rendezvous point with the Nebuchadnezzar in my office’s back parking lot. As I watched BW get into her car from my office window I saw Mabinty waiting outside of the vehicle dressed in the exact same outfit that BW was wearing.
March 11, 2002
Today Babe informed me about an elaborate scheme to lose her virginity to her best friend, Roman, who happens to be openly gay. When I advised her that this may not be the best plan of action, she covered her ears and started loudly reciting the names of her favorite designers in alphabetical order. Once she finished her list, she explained that losing her virginity would have to be on her terms, and her friend’s orientation had nothing to do with it. She then changed the subject entirely and began talking about her upcoming driver’s test, and what make of car would best suit the image she’s curating for her formative years. She weighed the pros and cons of SUVs versus sedans until the last 30 seconds of our session when she mentioned that her father’s girlfriend had died in a Botox-related chocking incident, yet she had no feeling either way about it.
January 26, 2004
BW is convinced that she was born with the wrong vagina, and has been trying to get me to weigh in on its appearance. I have repeatedly refused to do so and it is becoming a point of contention. I spent most of today’s session explaining to BW why this was a matter that she should take up with a gynecologist or plastic surgeon. Our session was cut short when BW became too frustrated to communicate and stormed out of the room screaming. She returned seconds later, completely nude and I had no choice but to politely push her out of the room with my eyes closed. Another example of BW’s problems with boundaries.
August 15, 2005
Today BW arrived 10 minutes early to her session and sat in the waiting room until it was her scheduled appointment time. When she came into my office she looked at me, said, “I can’t with you today,” and left.
June 9, 2006
A girl named Genevieve Larson arrived at my office this morning dressed as BW. GL explained that BW couldn’t come to the session due to a double booking but GL had, with her, a list of things that BW wanted to go over with me during today’s session. I explained that I do not conduct treatment of my clients in that manner and sent GL on her way. As I am writing this, I have received a text message from BW that says, “Why did you reject me like that? I needed you today.”
July 21, 2006
10 minutes after our session was scheduled to begin, a cell phone came crashing through my office window. I was shocked and frightened and there was broken glass everywhere. The cell phone was ringing, so I picked it up and answered it. It was BW and she very calmly stated, “Sorry I’m Late.” I was speechless so she continued. “I just can’t be confined by the walls of an office today. I need to be out in the open, and I need you to be indoors, so I figured this is the best way to accommodate my needs.” I very angrily explained that this behavior was completely inappropriate, but BW couldn’t seem to grasp the severity of her actions. She had already scheduled for a new window to be installed in my office.
December 30, 2007 (Phone session, BW is away at Parsons)
BW lost control. She has become obsessed with a particular handbag that has apparently “sold out at every store in the world.” Her unhealthy relationship with something as materialistic as a purse is severely interfering with her ability to function. She claims to be suffering withdrawal-like symptoms, and is having severe difficulty eating and sleeping. She refuses to discuss anything but the handbag. It is possible that this is the first time in her life that she has been unable to get something that she really wanted.
March 5, 2008
When treatment began with BW 14 years ago, I was asked by her father to tread lightly on the subject of BW’s mother. I have tried on numerous occasions to initiate a discussion pertaining to this matter, but have been met with severe noncompliance. Today I asked BW what she would say to her mother if she were to walk through the door. She spent 45 minutes sitting in silence on the couch, refusing to speak on the subject. She has a tendency to shut down completely when I ask her about her relationship with her mother.
May 30, 2010
BW arrived 25 minutes late, only to tell me that she had to leave 10 or 15 minutes early to get to her blowout on time. She is posing for a friend’s photo shoot and spent the 10 minutes that she was actually on the couch talking about the o
ne cellulite dimple on her left thigh. Wanted to know if I thought that was grounds enough to cancel on her friend.
After reading through Susan’s file of lies, I realized that she didn’t even know who I was. Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Is that even real? I’d thought our friendship was a bond that couldn’t be broken, but obviously she was jealous and felt the need to attack me. I don’t do toxic relationships, so I decided that Susan and I were officially done. Falling asleep was one thing, but slandering my name behind my back was the last straw.
I was mad, but I was also confused. The unsettling notion that I didn’t have a therapist anymore was weighing on me, and I could feel a panic attack coming on. I took two Xanax and got in the bath to think through what my next move would be. Four hours later, the water in the tub was freezing and my hands and feet were ridiculously pruney (great for the skin FYI).
I couldn’t just cut Susan out of my life. I had to find a way back to the way we were. I wanted to make an effort to rebuild trust and mend our relationship, so I texted her.
Babe 7:24PM:
Heyyyy. So sorry for drawing on your face.
Babe 7:24PM:
Look, everyone makes mistakes. I want to forgive you.
Babe 7:25PM:
I read about an amazing couples therapist in O Magazine, we have an appointment with him tomorrow at 5.
Babe 7:25PM:
Cool?
Susan didn’t text me back. The next morning, I got an e-mail from her explaining that she couldn’t work with me again until I figured out what it was that I wanted from treatment. She asked me to write her a list of specific reasons why I’m in therapy and how it could help me. I didn’t do it, and I never wrote her back because I was super-busy that week. I did, however, think a lot about her question. I’d never considered my reasons for going to therapy. I used to think what I wanted was a best friend who would listen to me and a chic office to hang out in for two hours every week, but after all this rehab bullshit, I’m starting to think otherwise.
My dad’s girlfriends are the best. Without them I’d have no one to scream at and blame everything on.
So I’ve covered the fact that my real mom wasn’t really around (at all), but in a weird way, her nonexistence was a non-issue. She was MIA and I was tot-tal-ly fine with it. Seriously. I had my dad, I had Tai Tai, and I had Mabinty, and all three of them loved me to death. They showered me with affection and attention and I loved them right back, so we were all good, but I never understood why my dad kept trying to introduce our family to his ridiculous girlfriends.
Natalia
I was the only child my family needed, so you can imagine how strange it was when I was ten years old and my dad started dating a model who was twenty. Natalia is the first girlfriend I remember my dad having. She was six-foot-one, stick-thin, and Romanian. I spent the majority of their two-year relationship thinking Natalia was just a gorgeous, but somewhat retarded, foreign exchange student. It wasn’t until I caught her and my dad naked in the wine cellar one night that I realized she was definitely not retarded and definitely not an exchange student.
When I noticed Natalia’s affinity for hideously cheesy Louis Vuitton jewelry, I realized she was a gold-digging skank who, despite having the face of a Victoria’s Secret Angel, was not to be trusted. Even at the young age of eleven, I couldn’t stand by and watch my dad be used that way. Could she not have at least bought some elegant vintage Van Cleef instead? I had to get rid of her ass, which was surprisingly easy. Tai Tai and Mabinty both hated her from the start, so all I had to do was tell my dad how scary and confusing it was when Natalia asked me if I “knew anyone that sold heroin” and poof! Just like that, she was gone.
Jasmine
I guess my dad was into dating models, because there was an unfortunate string of them that followed in Natalia’s precarious footsteps. At the time it was fine with me, because they were all psychos, so nothing ever got too serious between him and any of the girls he brought home. Plus I loved stealing their makeup when they’d sleep over, so I was cool with his whole “I need to date young to feel young” M.O. Then all of a sudden, he was off models and on to Dr. Jasmine Bleeth (such a sick coincidence, I know), a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon responsible for the unnatural-looking faces of just about every A-List actress in Hollywood in the early 2000s (see: Hanging Up, Dr. T and the Women).
Unfortunately, Jasmine suffered from a pretty intense addiction to her own face. She over-injected her chin with Botox one morning, rendering her lower jaw immovable. This made her look like the cover of one of my Goosebumps books, so I politely requested that my dad not bring her around the house anymore. He totally understood. Jasmine’s accident, which you’d think a plastic surgeon could overcome, was actually detrimental to her health and ended up killing her. Like, she died trying to chew a rare piece of filet mignon at Mastro’s during a business dinner. She should have stuck to smoothies, but the Beverly Hills lifestyle can make some people so greedy. It’s dark. It’s all very dark. And not my problem, so that’s all I really want to say about Jasmine.
O
Jasmine’s death really threw my father for a loop. I think it made him realize how fleeting life can be, and yearn for a woman with substance as opposed to a woman with substance abuse issues. This was when he started dating a celebrity—I’m talking major celebrity—so major, in fact, that I can’t say who it was. Though I will say she was super-fucking-wise, super-fucking-influential, and super-motherfucking rich. I was obsessed with her. Mabinty and I watched her talk show religiously until it went off the air last year. Long story short, she was based in Chicago and my dad was based in LA, the long distance thing didn’t seem to work out for them, and they eventually broke up. O, if you’re reading this, I’d like to make amends. I should never have sent that text message to you, and I am so, SO sorry.
Lizbeth
Aside from the psycho who tried to strangle me once (can’t go there right now), that pretty much sums up my dad’s romantic entanglements and brings me to his current girlfriend, Lizbeth.
Lizbeth met my dad when she was seeking legal representation. She was writing a soon-to-be-best-selling workout book and negotiating the release of her own line of reasonably priced, kind of cute (for her) fitness DVDs. She and my dad must have really hit it off, because two years later, they’re still going strong.
I first met Lizbeth in London, when my dad brought her with him to visit me while I was in school at Central Saint Martins. I was annoyed, to say the least, and didn’t really have much to say to her, so I spent their entire trip pretending she didn’t exist, which is super-fun to do to people. I’d written Lizbeth off as just another piece of the month, until I arrived back home from my college tour to find that she and my dad were still very much together. Um, okay? I wasn’t happy, and may have broken a few Hermès serving platters when my dad told me that he “loved” her, but that was to be expected. Not only was I going to have to deal with a woman who was super into yoga, juicing, and talking about her feelings, but I was going to have to vacation with her. Don’t get me wrong, I love healthy lifestyles, but I wasn’t down with some perky gym-body constantly hanging around the Walker family household.
Lizbeth sensed my resentment toward her and, in an attempt to make nice, scheduled a yoga/spa retreat for the two of us under the guise that we would “have a really fun girls trip, get to know each other better, and learn our mantras!” How fun and intimate and original you are, you clever little ladyboy you! I tried to explain to Lizbeth that biceps, breathing, and silence were not my thing, and that I didn’t give a shit about my mantra. She responded by telling me that without a mantra, one is lost and wandering the earth aimlessly. For my dad’s sake, I restrained myself from slapping her perfect tits off, and immediately took my frustrations to lululemon, where I poured my heart into crafting the perfect yoga retreat wardrobe. We were off to Ojai that weekend.
What I thought might be a really disturbing trip turned out to be a really gr
eat exercise in patience. Upon arriving at the retreat, Lizbeth and I were greeted by our personal yogi, Baba. Baba was a limber and sinewy man, with huge, I mean huge, hands. He was sporting a major yoga body, and I was sporting a vision of him naked on top of me in crow pose. I was convinced he could give me the most intense and tantric of orgasms, but Baba and I weren’t exactly on the same page. Not even my best smizing efforts during our first session together could crack his placid and concentrated visage. Lizbeth, on the other hand, was relishing the seriousness of Baba’s practice and quizzing him on his methods. They seemed to really be stroking each other’s yoga dicks, and I cannot take it when yoga people talk to each other about yoga, so I excused myself and went in search of an herb salad.
I came back to the room and announced to Lizbeth that I was taking a vow of silence for the rest of the day. She was super-excited by my sudden commitment to my practice and said she would do the same, joining me in lying out by the infinity pool, reading magazines, and roasting in the sunshine. And smiling. That’s one thing I can give Lizbeth credit for. She met all of my attempts at rudeness with a really good attitude, never once acting like a bitch and always insisting on doing everything together.
The truth is, you can really only sit silently through eighteen hours of meditation, sweat lodge sessions, salt showers, and body wraps with someone until you have to say something to them. So I eventually broke my vow of silence, and found out that Lizbeth had an irritatingly friendly response to just about every single thing I said to her.
In the middle of deep breathing exercises in a meditation cave:
