I’m One Crazy Bitch

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crazyI’m a crazy bitch. 

And chances are, so are you.  Why? Because millions of women suffer from a range of diseases (yes, diseases) ranging from anxiety and depression to eating disorders, bi-polar, alcoholism and a gluttonous consumption of prescription pills.  You probably don’t have the whole list.  Maybe you just have a little anxiety and you do a damn good job of eating right to keep in check. Or, perhaps, you self-medicate with Chardonnay – like I did. 

I tried everything to help my anxiety and depression.  And while food and yoga did help, I needed something more extreme.  I needed 33 days of just me, a focus on what got me to where I am and where I need to be headed.  Since the journey was deep, crazy and full of fucking hilarious memories that are dear to me, I decided to share the trip with you. Free therapy for all!

This new column, aptly named Crazy Bitch, is more like a docu-drama-blog-series.  All the stories are true because, God knows, I couldn’t make this shit up.  The names have been changed to protect people’s privacy and I, myself, will remain anonymous. Because what’s the point? I am just like you, in one way or another. 

The story starts six months ago and will build to present day.  I promise to make you laugh, cry and motivate you to either help yourself or someone you love. But, you have to forgive, not all my antics are healthy.  Work in progress.  xoxo

May 28, 2013

My meds stopped working.  They crapped out, as they say. I needed a new shrink; someone who could fix the mess that was me.

Finding a therapist is like flipping a coin. Odds are they’ll suck ass. It’s not like finding a guy on Match.com where at least you can see a Zodiac sign, pithy intro and travel photos of his climb up and down Machu Picchu (does every guy on Match like to travel and work out? I mean, come on). It’s a guessing game and most often we choose a doctor based on location and their name.

I chose Dr. Munster (name has been changed) for two good reasons. She was on the way to my job in West Hollywood and had the authority to write prescriptions. In short, a drug dealer. Pretty much most psychiatrists are drug dealers – they barely get to know you before they ask for $200 and slip you something. Not that I cared. I was desperate at this point.

“Do you drink?” was the first question out of the gate. “Yes,” I said.  “How much?” she further cross-examined while balancing black frames on the bridge of her noise.  Her office was cluttered, unorganized and smelled like the school library after a rainy day.

“I love your accent, where are you from?” I asked hoping to avoid the booze clues.

“South Africa.  So, how much drinking do you do?”

I fidgeted, shrugged my shoulders and postured with some cuteness.

“A few here and there.  But it’s kind of hard; we have different measurement systems on what a full glass of wine is here in the states.  Have you seen the way Germans measure wine? They’re pretty precise with that line on the glass….if we had that here it would help me to tell you a more exact amount.”

“Every day, how many times a day?” she persisted.

“Hmmm, well, after work I usually have a few glasses of wine (bullshit, more like a vase of wine),” I responded. “And on the weekends, if there’s a party, then counting is kind of hard because it’s rude to count in front of friends. You know, make them feel insecure about their drinking.”

But it didn’t matter if I chose to drink a Zima here or there, the game was over.

“I need you to stop drinking or I won’t treat you. The drinking is messing up your medications and they are no longer working. I want you to consider treatment. Here’s a name and a number to a place,” she said ripping off my prescription for prison.

“Ok, I’ll try it.  I can handle a few days, I guess. It can’t hurt. Thanks for the advice.  Now, about my meds?”

Dr. Munster sent me with 90mg dose of Cymbalta and 300mg of Wellbutrin to add a little zing to my step, i.e. to avoid crashing on my desk while writing an email.

I left confused, pissed off and mostly annoyed that my disco days were over. No more bar hopping. No more happy hour. No more getting men because both of us looked better at 1am.

I left wondering how I would handle a few days in rehab. I’m not an alcoholic. Alcoholics spend their day on Venice beach brown bagging it with dreadlocks. Alcoholics swig vodka with their waffles. Alcoholics don’t hold down jobs and they’re definitely not big wigs at a leading company like this girl. But clearly treatment was needed to kill my Chardonnay Cymbalta cocktail. Whatevs.

I looked up the rehab center Dr. Munster prescribed on the Internet and noticed their site was horrifying – something out of a ‘08 web template.  In the midst of all my researching, I emailed my friend Malorie and told her I was finally going to get some help. Just a few months ago she tried getting me a sponsor and a gig at AA. I wasn’t budging. AA was for alcoholics and I just had a drink-to-black-out-and-get-laid problem. Surely any Lifetime movie could cure me.

She emailed me back immediately. Malorie was the PR person for the mentally insane. Let me be specific. She made the careers of many famous shrink personalities. She knew her Betty Fords and sent me a link to Malibu Summer Camp (name has been changed), a multi diagnosis treatment center in Malibu. The home page featured a Malibu mansion, gorgeous photography and a big section on bi-polar. Bingo!

The treatment center seemed substance “light.” It would be for normal working folk like me who party a bit too much but need some semblance to get their lives working again. Ocean breezes, canyons, yoga, equine therapy, cute counselors and top-notch doctors would be just what Dr. Me ordered.

Malorie called and got me admitted immediately to the $40,000 a month facility. “I’ll take you tonight,” Malorie said on the phone holding back tears.

Fuck. Was I that bad?


Crazy Bitch

This blog will be running weekly. 



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5 Responses to “I’m One Crazy Bitch”

  1. December 12, 2013 at 7:34 am #

    First things first, IM A GUY!!! I loved your novel Skinny Bitch In Love it was very hot you need to write another novel!! um and o by the way if that’s you on the back of the book you look delicious. ONE PROBLEM THOUGH I EAT MEAT LOL HAHA

  2. December 12, 2013 at 10:09 am #

    I can’t wait to read more about your journey! So many of us are on our own roller coaster with mental health and addiction. Glad you are sharing yours.

  3. December 13, 2013 at 2:19 pm #

    I was diagnosed with manic depression in 2002, and have been on meds ever since. However, I don’t take anything during the day because I refused, so when the mania hits, in order to avoid shopping sprees, I will sprint up and down the stairs.

    I also do extreme workouts every morning (Insanity: The Asylum – Beachbody), and became vegan after reading SB in 2008. Unfortunately, while going veg has enlightened me with so much info and basically stopped my IBS, insomnia and panic attacks are still the norm.

    And I don’t drink. I don’t like what alcohol does to my head and gut. And not in that order, either. The gut always rules.

    Looking forward to reading more. I wish I could get off my meds (clonazepam and lunesta), but my doctor says I can’t will myself to sleep. Not sure there’s cognitive behavioral therapy for that either. Ah well.

  4. December 28, 2013 at 8:29 am #

    I love your blog, you are so inspiring! I just recently started a blog directed towards eating well and being well while away at college. I would love it if you and other would be willing to check it out! Here it is eatingwellbeingwell.com

  5. February 24, 2014 at 11:16 am #

    Amazing. I wish there was an option to subscibe to the blog and have the Crazy Bitch series e-mailed to me. xo

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