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Snippet Sunday: Pills Don’t Kill the Pain

Snippet Sunday: Pills Don't Kill the Pain

      Today’s excerpt comes from a different old story-in-the-round my bestie and I wrote back in 2008, called: Hollyweird. It is a series of vignettes about Hollywood, the Paparazzi, fame, hangers-on, celebrity gossip websites and the dark side of it all. Some of them were pretty freakin’ hilarious. This one, one of the later episodes, is not so much funny as… sad. But I thought I’d share a blast from the past.
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      Someone save me.

      I’m sorry. I’m the cliché. I’m exactly what they said I would be.

      It all started so innocently. I was a cute baby. No really – I was damn cute. Some producer was in our hometown to bury his Great Aunt and my big sister was pushing my pram up the sidewalk. His name was Jacob Diamond and the sleeze stalked us all the way home. He insisted on talking to my parents – who were in the throes of a messy argument that had them about two minutes from filing from divorce. They signed a contract and sealed up my future. Saved their marriage for about three years, but that’s another story.

      They mostly used twins, due to child labor laws, but I was a natural and it was just as easy to use me for the real shots and stick some stunt baby in the background for the rest.

      The show was a ratings darling and so was I. The older I got, the more they loved me. I was making more money at four than the rest of the cast; I had my own line of dolls, books, toddler clothes.

      I was already an empire when the show folded after ten years on the air.

      I remember reading the stories of Drew Barrymore & Maculay Culkin, or hearing about all those 80s child stars and how they ended up disillusioned, robbing 7-11 stores and smoking crack.

      I vowed that I wasn’t so stupid. My parents were equally as fucked up as theirs, but I was my own person (at eleven). I was rich, famous, adored by the masses. And I knew I wouldn’t end up like them, snorting coke off some tranvestite hooker’s ass outside the Viper Room.

      It was crystal meth in some Spic’s trailer in East LA for me.

      Drunk in public at twelve. Caught smoking pot at thirteen with my co-star and lover, who was nineteen and playing my older brother in some crappy movie that ended up in the dollar bin at Walmart within two months of release. Arrested for possession at fifteen. Slapped with a DUI at sixteen and my license revoked. First stint in rehab came right after that. Sure, I laid low for a few years, got clean.

      Then I made a majestic comeback in a new Jacob Diamond sitcom. Ran for five glorious seasons during which I spent the end of my teens and the start of my 20s so drunk or high that I couldn’t remember my lines and was generally a slutty bitch to everyone involved. Still, it worked for the character I guess and the royalties from syndication keep me in booze and pills.

      Or they did ’til my fucking business manager ran off to Brazil with my mother. And took every damn dime I ever made.

      You don’t even wanna know what I did to keep myself flush in the dark years. The ones when everyone that matters forgot my name. The ones that are all a blur.

      You really don’t want to know what I do now, just to survive. Most days are clear, and I wish they weren’t. More drugs to take away then pain, they’d be welcome. Hurts so much just to breathe most of the time…

      Someone save me, if you will. And take away all these pills.

      I think they wrote that song about me. Or for me.

      Someone save me.



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      And that’s it for today’s snippet. What did you think? Meh? Hooray? Would you like to read more of our “Hollyweird” shorts? Comments, questions, suggestions appreciated – let me hear about it below!

Love & Rainbows,