by Babe Walker
Love,
B
Day 2
So, turns out there is a God, because my roommate is an ex-model!!!!!! One of my absolute faves who I totally wanted to be when I was six!!!! I can’t write down her real name in this diary because I respect her anonymity. It just wouldn’t be right for me to “out” her. She’s making everyone here call her Gina, so I’ll just stick with that.
Gina (the person not the name) is fabulous. A little ragged on the edges, meaning that she could get rid of the bottom inch of her over-treated hair. She could also go ahead and preempt her aging neck’s fall from grace with a tuck job—nothing major. In general she looks great, for an alcoholic. Flawless skin and still thin as a rail. Nineties thin, not 2000s thin. It was such a relief to see Gina walk through the door. I literally gasped when she came in, not only because I was in the middle of my evening’s nude, inverted chant, but also because I thought that she had died. She dropped off the face of the planet after an epic Gucci ad campaign in the spring of 1996. She is virtually un-Googleable after that date, trust me. But now she’s my fucking roommate!! I think we’ll get along famously, but for now she’s feeling me out and kind of acting like a cold bitch.
Today I had my first group therapy session—a lot of freaks, a few crazies, Gina, me, and a hot older guy named Paul with amazing forearms and a Vicodin addiction. Jackson, my counselor, spent the first part of the session putting me on the spot in front of everyone. He made me answer invasive questions like “Where are you from?” “What are you here to work on?” and the worst, “In this moment, what would you most like to change about yourself?” So . . . I spent the next thirty minutes discussing all of the changes I’d love to make to my wardrobe, until we were out of time. Sowwy.
Love,
B
Day 5
Fuck this place. I can’t even buy a vintage Prada backpack on eBay without them revoking my Internet privileges. Rehab is bullshit.
Annoyed,
B
Day 7
I lost control of myself this morning, so they’re making me spend the rest of the day outside in what they call “nature’s classroom,” which is just a few benches in the middle of the woods. It was a cursed day that began with me waking up from a nightmare, scream-crying. Scariest dream of my life. I was at Old Navy, wearing a magenta fleece “tech-vest” that I couldn’t take off because the zipper was broken, and it was too small, and everyone around me was telling me how “cute” I looked.
So dealing with all of that, I did my best to participate in this morning’s group session, but I was too full of feelings. I was still shaken up from the nightmare, I was having Barneys withdrawal, I was over not carrying a wallet, or a bag, or a phone, and I couldn’t handle Jackson’s prying about my past spending habits. So, I LOST IT.
I screamed at him, “You’ll never understand my needs!” Which is completely true, but I didn’t need to raise my voice. I jumped across the room and tackled him like a panther, then I ran out of the room, grabbing anyone I saw in the hallway by the throat and demanding that they tell me where the “motherfucking gift shop” was.
It was not my best look, but it’s okay. Rehab is all about being ugly. I get that now. So please, someone, get me out of the woods. I don’t have any underwear on and I’m freezing.
Help,
B
Day 10
Jackson and I totally patched things up, and I’ve accepted him into my life again. He just pushed me too far that day in group. Never in all of my years has anyone questioned the importance of devoting $2000 a month to sunglasses, and it baffled/completely overwhelmed me. There was no reason for me to get physical with Jackson and embarrass myself in front of Paul and the other little addicts. I don’t blame myself for flipping out, but I will admit that I slipped up and had a scary moment.
In other news, my equine therapy starts this afternoon. I haven’t gone near a horse since Mischa Barton broke my back in 2007. I’m not so much scared shitless as I am scared shit and pissless. We’ll see. If I don’t come back to you, diary, tell my dad, Mabinty, Gen, and Roman that I really love them and they shouldn’t miss me too much. Grieving causes stress, and stress can lead to stubborn belly fat, and we all know what happens after that (death).
Gina has been telling me all about herself. Turns out, she’s a lesbo and is even married to another ex-model lesbo. Ultra chic.
Love,
B
Day 12
Gina and I did a “partnership exercise” this morning. Two men in beige polos took us up in a helicopter and made us wear these horrible helmets and it was so loud that I could barely hear myself think. We landed on this big mountain-y thing where Gina and I sat on a cliff and talked for an hour-ish.
I asked her to tell me about her rise to modeling fame, and she explained how she forged past the typical expiration age for models (21.5) and became a star when she posed naked for Arthur Elgort. The fast-paced lifestyle of being a model was exciting, too exciting sometimes, and eventually Gina ended up feeling like a cog in the image machine. She started to wonder what she was contributing to the world besides trends. Uh, what? I hate it when people don’t appreciate what they have.
Gina retired at twenty-seven, and she and her wife (who she calls “D”) left New York City to move upstate and start a small, organic farm. They hired a small staff of locals to run the place and have been living like this for years. I got kind of bored when she started using words like “sustainable” and “dairy,” so I may have zoned out a little, but it sounds like they had a lot of fun? That is, until Gina decided she was over being a farmer’s wife and started taking trips to NYC to see old friends (photographers-turned-drug-dealers, drug-dealers-turned-photographers, other ex-models, and Sandra Bernhard). She was hitting the bottle hard, and her drinking spiraled out of control. D gave her an ultimatum: “Stop being a fucking drunk and go back to rehab or move the fuck out.” That’s love.
I told Gina about Tai Tai, and college, and my labiaplasty, and that week when I was addicted to huffing computer cleaner, that time that I dared myself to roofie myself, that time I fucked The Rock, and that time I dated a woman. We bonded over knowing what it’s like to be totally bored with your life. I even recounted my bottoming out moment at Barneys, which was hard, but Gina was really sweet and nonjudgmental about it. She told me that the lowest points in a person’s life hold the most opportunity for growth. Then we exhaled negativity and inhaled positivity. And hugged for a really long time.
I guess today was pretty major.
Love,
B
Day 13
Guys I Wanna Fuck When I Get Out of Rehab:
James Franco
Ryan Gosling
Banksy
50 Cent
Leonardo DiCaprio
Joaquin Phoenix
River Phoenix
Kurt Cobain
Jim Morrison
Howard Stern
Aladdin
Sandra Bullock
Day 16
Fuck this piece-of-ass day. Group was a nightmare. I thought I could trust these freaks, but once again, I’ve completely misjudged those who are closest to me. I was in the middle of a very important self-reflective moment about my final hours in the Barneys dressing room on the day I hit rock bottom, when this woman, who only wears pale, had the impudence to interrupt me with “I’m sick of hearing about this bitch’s white girl problems.”
Oh, I’m sorry, Thunder Thighs, do you have somewhere to be right now? Am I keeping you from a super-important facial that you’ve needed for the last twenty years?? Because I don’t have time for your bullshit either.
I thought my addict friends would have my back, but they all agreed with her! It was a full-blown Babe-otage. They taunted me, saying hideous things like “Poor baby!” and “What’s a Barneys CO-OP?” One man even said that he wished he was in my shoes because my addiction wasn’t even real!!!!!????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
I immediately broke down in tears. It surprised me that I got emotional, because honestly who gives a fuck about these people that don’t even know me anyway? I guess I shouldn’t have gotten so upset, but their attack hit me like a ton of coke bricks. Gina was on stable duty, so she wasn’t even there to slap someone for me, and Paul just sat there staring at the same point on the wall that he always stares at. He never says anything besides “I miss my girlfriend.” Fuck he is so hot.
Luckily, Jackson came to my rescue. He told everyone to relax and let me have a second to work it out, which I took to mean that I was free to go. So I got up and stomped out of the room and Jackson followed me down the hallway. Annoying. He told me that my problems are very real and that he wants me to come to his office tomorrow for one-on-one. Whatever, dude.
Tomorrow is visiting day. Dad (and Lizbeth) and Mabinty are coming, if they even remember me.
Who cares? Not me,
B
Day 17
Well, today I met my mom. As in, my real mom, and it was a shit show. Interesting, but a shit show, nonetheless. I’m gonna do my best to recount everything that happened. It started like every day here at rehab. I was sitting with Gina on the porch, having a cup of black coffee and a cigarette, and talking about John Galliano, when one of the counselors came out to tell Gina that her wife, D, had arrived and was waiting in our room.
I was dying to meet D, so I went with Gina. When we got to our room, D was sitting on Gina’s bed, rifling through her own black, beat-up Birkin. She was wearing all black, very casual, ripped Levi’s jeans and a T-shirt by The Row. After they embraced for a cute amount of time, Gina introduced us. I immediately realized that D was actually Donna Valeo, another model whom I’d seen in magazines when I was a little girl. Two of my favorite models in my rehab room at the same time?! My eight-year-old self would be so proud of me. I had to contain my excitement by chewing the inside of my lip so that I wouldn’t blurt out: “I wanted your legs so BADLY when I was younger! Teach me your ways!”
We all chatted for a little bit. Gina told Donna about my obsession with fashion (aka my addiction and the reason I was here in the first place) and Donna seemed sympathetic enough. When they started making out and whispering to each other, I felt like an intruder on their special lesbian island, so I gave them some alone time.
When I walked out of my room, my dad, Lizbeth, and Mabinty were standing in the hallway talking to Jackson. I was so excited—I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them. I ran up and threw my arms around my dad. Mabinty was crying. She squeezed both of us, making for a totally embarrassing group-hug moment. Lizbeth stood there smiling supportively. Bitch.
I wanted to introduce my family to Gina, so I led them back into the lesbian jungle. She had become my rock over the last three weeks, and it was important to me that my family got to know my new best friend.
As soon as my dad walked into my room, he stopped dead in his tracks. Typically, my dad is the first person to break an awkward silence with a string of expletives, but for the first time ever, he was the one causing the awkwardness. He looked like he was in pure and utter shock.
“Dad? Please don’t die in front of my new best friends,” I said.
Smash cut to Donna’s face—same fucking expression. Deer in Xenon headlights. Then, like I was living in some sort of ABC Family movie, Donna said, “Oh my God. Hi.” Her eyes darted to me and then back to my dad.
Wait, how did they know each other?
“Excuse me, can you fill me in on what’s going on?” I said. “Did you guys used to fuck or something?”
“Babe,” my dad stammered, “this is Donna bloody Valeo.”
“I totally bloody know that.”
“And she’s your mother.”
Okay. Okay. Okay. I’ve obvi fantasized about what it would be like to meet my real mom, but I didn’t see it going down like this.
Here she was. Donna Valeo. My mother. After all this time learning not to ask questions about her, not to even think about her, here she was.
“So, I came out of your vagina?” I said.
“I guess you could put it that way.” Donna’s eyes were welling up. She moved closer, and it almost seemed like she was about to hug me.
“Whoa.” I backed away and looked around the room. My dad was standing there sobbing, Mabinty looked oddly touched, Lizbeth was smiling, genuinely thrilled that The Mystery of Babe’s Mom had been solved, and Gina looked like she could use a scotch. As for me, I was numb. Thankfully, I was able to temporarily avoid some major awkwardness when Jackson came in and whisked everyone away to their respective family therapy sessions.
My dad was completely shell-shocked from seeing Donna for the first time in twenty-four years, so our session was a bit stressful. Jackson kept trying to talk about my dad’s role (or lack thereof) during my childhood, adolescence, and formative years, and how that might have fucked me up a little bit, but my dad could barely focus. He just kept stammering “I’m sorry,” over and over. I felt bad for him. I mean, he did his best. Trying to create a normal life for me by himself was probably a difficult task, but I think he did an amazing job. Of course he had a lot of help from Mabinty, Tai Tai, and MTV, but I would say that I’ve turned out to be a very well-adjusted and passionate young woman who has her head in the right place most of the time. But I’m also a Gemini, so yeah, there’s a lot going on up there.
But honestly, besides my dad’s dramatic waterworks, and the poems Mabinty wrote and read for me, my family sessions were kind of a bore. I’m not trying to complain, I understand that everyone cares and feels bad about enabling a completely helpless girl to the point that she had no choice but to send her own damn self to rehab, but after a month of talking about myself and hearing other people talk about me, I’m over it. Anyone would be.
Before he left tonight, my dad wanted to talk to me about all the craziness that’d happened this morning, but I knew he was gonna start crying and I couldn’t go down that road with him again, so I tried to lock myself in my room, but of course, the doors have no locks on them, so that didn’t work.
He let himself in, sat down on my bed next to me, and, just as I’d expected, totally fucking lost his shit.
“Babe, darling, this has been an absolute brain-fuck for me, so I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now.”
“Dad, I’m fi—”
“This all has made me think about the goddamn past a lot. I just need you to know one thing before I go. You have a family that loves you so much and cares about you more than anything in this bloody world. Your mother wouldn’t have been good for you, even if she was around to raise you.”
“Dad—”
“When she left, I felt totally lost. Like a complete twat. I was a fool, a fucking mess, darling. I didn’t know the first goddamn thing to do. I mean, a fucking baby? I didn’t know what to do with a baby! And I was so mad at Donna. I’d gone absolutely mental. I thought she was a wicked fucking bitch back then, to do that to me . . . to us. If it weren’t for Tai Tai and Mabinty, I don’t know what I would’ve done. But over time, and once some of the dust settled, I realized how lucky I was to have you. You changed my life.”
“Dad, look. I really appreciate that you’re having a moment right now, but—”
“I realized that my life would have to be about you. I’d have to work my ass off to make sure that you were protected, and that your shit show of a mother didn’t screw it up, for either of us. And the sad part is, I also missed her.”
“Please! My brain is weak and I can’t handle everyone’s emotions. I love you, but can we talk about this when I get home?”
After blowing his nose for thirty straight minutes and wiping the tears from his eyes, my dad said, “Fine, Babe. That’s all fine. We can talk about it when you get home. But please, darling, know that I’m here and I love you. Whether you and Donna talk again, or whatever happens with you all, remember that I’m here. I’m on your side.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m, um, glad to hear that.”
I hated seeing him like that. It made me feel sick. But it also made me feel kind of good because he was being super sweet. Like, super, super, sweet.
My dad took a minute to pull himself together, and the two of us walked outside to meet Mabs and Lizbeth, who were waiting by a black SUV. Mabinty was examining her nails.
I kissed everyone good-bye (one-arm-hugged Lizbeth), went out to the back deck, and smoked a full pack of Marlboro Lights.
Should I be freaking out right now? Should I be mad at Donna? I don’t even know her, or at least not as well as I know the fantasy version of her that I’ve created in my head over the past twenty-four years. I mean, it’s like waiting your entire life to be gifted that crocodile Birkin that you’ve always wanted, and then when it’s finally sent to you from that Saudi prince that you’ve only met at, like, one or two parties, you look at it and say, “Maybe the crocodile reads a bit too evening for the rest of my look.”
I don’t know how Donna fits into my life. Now I really need to go to sleep.
What the fuck,
B
P.S. I saw Paul’s girlfriend today. She was wearing pink UGGs.
Day 18
So, I thought all of the mama drama was over and I could wake up today in a slightly less stressful environment, but as per usual, I was terribly wrong. Donna is staying in town for the next couple of days, until Gina finishes treatment on Thursday. Of course, sneaky little Jackson took the liberty of arranging a one-on-one therapy session for Donna and me. Oh fucking great. Thanks buddy! This was just what I wanted to do after the barrage of force-fed therapy that I’d dealt with yesterday.
