Wasted From The Inside, Not Just Another Wactress With Bulimia

to the beach with him; we were shooting in Malibu. I was focused
on my work… I had lines to memorize and my character to focus
on! For his danged film! I reminded him that he was a married
man. That didn’t go over very well. He got mad at me and said
that I made him feel like a dirty, old man. Hmmm, who was caus-
ing that? I guess it was all my fault that he felt that way. Yes folks,
that’s sarcasm. The next day I had to shoot some stunts. In the film
my character gets hit by a car and that’s what we happened to be
shooting that day. I didn’t have any pads to protect my body and
take after take the director would coldly say, “okay, do it again.” I
just got up, dusted myself off and kept going. I didn’t let him crack
me. I had one of the production staff say to me that I was tougher
than any man he knew. The scene actually turned out really well. It
looks real… yeah, real painful!

Shortly thereafter, I was being interviewed for a magazine
and the writer was asking about my worst experience as an actress.
I didn’t want to expose this director for his silly behavior so I just
mentioned another weird thing that had happened to me. Kind of a

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funny typical LA story: I auditioned one time for a project and the
casting director requested that I bring a bathing suit and two differ-
ent lingerie outfits. I thought that was a bit peculiar because, if they
need to do a body check, wouldn’t they be able to tell what I look
like in my bathing suit? Why the request to bring several changes?
I go to the audition a little skeptical. After I was in my bathing suit
in the audition he requested that I then change into lingerie. I was
not going to do that because of his odd behavior. He was acting like
he was completely coked out of his gourd. I decided to put my street
clothes back on and he started to barge in while I was changing! I
pushed the door shut, finished dressing and left, fast. I laughed at
the situation all the way home. But I felt bad for the innocent girls
who didn’t know any better and actually thought that they were go-
ing to get an acting part.

Then, the writer of the article requests that he interview the
director of the film I had just done. Funny thing, though, the direc-
tor thought I had already exposed him for his behavior! He spills
the beans on himself!

I would often go out of my mind with frustration trying to
figure out what I could do for my career. I mean, really, if you
would like to be a doctor, you take x classes for x years and intern
and poof, you’re a doctor. I’m sure it’s not quite that easy, but, to
become an actress you are just thrown out there with all the other
wanna-be’s and poof, you’re rejected. Over and over again. An ac-
tor/actress is faced with more rejection in a month than most people
face their entire lives. No wonder so many of us “wactors” are ad-
dicted to drugs/alcohol/binging and purging, whatever! If I had too
much time on my hands, which I usually did, bulimia could take
up my entire day. Some of my worst days I would binge and purge
four or five times. I’ve lost track, some days it’s all just a big blur.
That’s all my day consisted of. It was such a waste of my valuable
time. It’s as if I were living in a fog. It was a vicious circle. Being
depressed about so many things would spark a binge and purge ses-
sion. Binging and purging spark more depressed feelings. It was a
no win situation. A dark spiral downward.

I was invited to Laker’s games, when they were THE Lakers!

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I mean, Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, Rick Fox... what a team! I
declined. I was too far gone. I was binging and purging. My friend
shook his head and said, defeated, “do you know how many people
would KILL to go to these games?” He actually invited me more
than once. He didn’t know I was sick. I’m surprised he kept asking.
He did give up after a while. I wish I had gone.

I did a couple more independent films. Playboy produced
most of them through a company called Mystique Films. I also
turned down many films. I was willing to compromise doing some
nudity but if I couldn’t use any part of the film to build my reel3
than I would not do it. Some of these films would only have the
character copulating or talking about copulating through the entire
film. That is not usable for a reel. I needed at least some substance;
some footage that I could actually use to further my career. I wanted
a stepping-stone of sorts.

At one point I was blacklisted by one of the bigwigs at Play-
boy and I didn’t even know it until years later. I didn’t really want
to continue doing soft-core anyway. I kept auditioning for other
types of roles on bigger and better films and TV shows. I had a lot
of competition. Believe me, even if it were a tiny part I would be
up against hundreds of other ingénue types. I found out that I was
blacklisted because a certain writer/director said that he wrote a film
for me to star in (now, I could be wrong, but anybody could say that.
But did he really?? Or did he just write the danged thing and say
that he wrote it for me so I’d do the film? I’ll never know.) I read
the script. It was shooting in Hawaii! It had a lot of sharks in it I
remember. I wanted to like the film. I would LOVE to shoot a film
in Hawaii!!! After I read it I had to pass. It was only because of
the reason I had turned down any of them, too much sexual content
and nothing I could use for my reel. I didn’t realize that I really
pissed the guy off. Maybe he really did write it for me but maybe
it was for the better. I wanted to do films other than the stuff guys
rub one out to late at night on “skinamax.” It’s funny, a guy wrote a
poem about that very thing, watching me on Cinemax and, well, you

3 A compilation of segments of an actor’s work used to give to casting
people or to get an agent.

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know, doing that. How romantic that poem was… Not! I found it
after Googleing my name one time. Then he found me on MySpace.
I might just have to marry him for that sentiment. Sarcasm again. I
will take it as a compliment.

I look back on my acting career and I have mixed feelings.
I loved working as an actress. I loved doing scenes that were emo-
tionally driven and well written and after a take I would look up and
see the script supervisor crying. That would give me a high like no
other. I mean, she’s seen the scene a number of times already and
knows what’s in the script, but I affected her with my performance
enough to touch something in her emotionally. Even the stupid films
I did with no budget and were of horrible quality were wonderfully
fun to do. I think the lower the budget, the more fun they were!
There was a sense of freedom and creativity that the higher budget
projects didn’t always allow. I am a bit sad that I don’t have a film
I can look back on and say, “oh my gosh, you have to see this film
I did.” Sex sells, so that’s what most people will ever see. When I
started as an actress, there was no internet. I did not have to think
about all the screen shots and movie clips that people on the internet
would steal from films and make money off my image without my
consent. It’s an uphill and losing battle to try to fight. The dramatic
films I did will probably just end up collecting dust on some shelf
and for me to look back on as a distant but fond memory. The movie
Sunsplit is a film I’m most proud of as an actress. It’s unfortunate
that the quality and script were not that great and the producer was
so silly, I’ll explain in a bit.

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9. HEAVEN AND HELL

By 1997 I was twenty-six and working on two independent
films: one was a drama, Sunsplit, the other a black comedy/hor-
ror film called Cruising Purgatory, yay me, no overindulgent love
scenes in these! The director of photography of the horror flick, Jim
Stewart, and I, became fast friends and decided to become room-
mates (purely platonic, friends, really). He wanted to live in the
same area I did and I wanted to have a horse in the backyard. I
couldn’t believe there were places like this that existed in Los Ange-
les! My mother ship had landed!

Jim and I fixed the place up really great. I discovered how
to do all kinds of things. My sister always jokes that I could build a
house from the ground up; she’s almost right. I built this really cool
fence one day. I had no clue what I was doing but I did it! I cement-
ed in the posts, used interlocking boards for privacy, and after about
a dozen trips to the hardware store and back, I finished it in one day
all by myself. I also laid some brick to put our BBQ on. I cemented
in the fence for the paddock and built a gate from scratch. Jim put
in a stone pathway leading out to the paddock and stalls. He put in

54

a beautiful pond with fish and I put in a lawn. When my birthday
came around Jim bought me a horse!! I was so happy! I still had
my horse, Bailey up on Pappy’s ranch but she was too young to ride.
So a beautiful little sorrel Arabian named Ariel took up lodging the
back yard.

Jim used to be a projectionist and was a complete movie
buff. He collected all kinds of 35mm, 17mm, VHS, DVD, (you
name it, he collected it) films. He built a movie screen in our back
yard and we would watch all kinds of cool movies back there pro-
jected onto the screen. I think Ariel liked watching them too. I’m
sad thinking about how many movies I missed enjoying back there
only because I was binging and purging.

When I auditioned for the film Cruising Purgatory I had so
much fun and really nailed the lead female character, Lulu. It was
a creepy, twisted plot but looked like a lot of fun to do. I truly en-
joyed the whole cast and crew on that project. My own dad even
auditioned for the part of my father in the film! It didn’t quite work
out but it was sure fun to audition him. That was a bit surreal.

I’ve never fought so hard for a role in my life as I did for the
lead in the drama, Sunsplit. To this day I still don’t know what the
title means, but the character, Tess, had my name written all over it.
I wanted it. Badly. She was a drug-addicted car-thief who is riddled
with guilt about her problems and raising her daughter as a single
parent. Now this was a character I could sink my teeth into! The
problem was, they wanted a certain body type that just wasn’t me.
Tess was a speed freak and the director wanted her to look anorexic.
If they only knew what I was going through - tell me that’s not cer-
tain torture for someone struggling with bulimia, geeze! I wouldn’t
stop though. I kept contacting the director and producer telling them
how much I wanted the part. I had made it to the callback so I knew
it wasn’t about my acting, it was my look. I would call and call and
kept coming back and telling them that I’d read with all the other
actresses opposite the character I wanted to play (just to stay in the
game) and if they liked them better; they could hire them, no hard
feelings. They had a small part in mind for me but I wanted to play

55

Tess. Finally, the final three actresses he read for the part didn’t
impress him so I got the part by default. I was thrilled! He wasn’t
very enthusiastic. He just shrugged and with his Hungarian accent,
muttered, “well, I guess you got it. You are Tess.” Success!

We started in wardrobe and the director kept telling me,
“Thinner! Thinner!” His wife kept telling him, “she’s thin enough!”
I kept exercising and binging and purging. I closed down the luxuri-
ous LA Sports Club one night; nobody saw me upstairs running on
the treadmill like a hamster with insomnia. I didn’t realize that they
had closed. I happened to look to my left into the long, floor-length
mirror and saw my ghostly white reflection. I decided to stop run-
ning on the treadmill for the night. I was about to pass out.

The producer mentioned, “we were looking for Audrey Hep-
burn and we got Bette Davis.” I thought about this statement for a
minute and felt insecure because I imagine that he was talking about
my less than anorexic figure to play his speed freak character. How-
ever, I had been reading biographies and autobiographies of these
very actresses and chose to be quite proud of being called Bette Da-
vis. I find her incredibly talented. One of my favorite films is Dark
Victory. So, fine, bring it on Mr. Producer.

Tess is a chain smoker in the film. I’m a non-smoker. I’m
such a non-smoker that when Clinton came to speak on the San
Jose State Campus (before he was President) and we were all there
listening with our impressionable little college minds; I made a guy
stop smoking beside me. I don’t remember what Clinton said but
I remember smelling this guys stanky cigarette smoke and lying to
him saying very confidently and authoritative-like, “this is a non-
smoking campus.” He put the cigarette out promptly. I felt good
about my little anti-smoking campaign victory.

So we start shooting Sunsplit and I have to smoke and know
what a speed freak feels like. I get into character on my own time
and ask my dad about drugs and what speed would feel like. My
dad’s a musician so he’s tried his share of recreational stuff. I also
ask around and discover where the speed freaks might possibly hang
out in LA to do a bit of study. I want to try speed but, thankfully,

56

no one I know, that I know of, knows where to get the stuff. I was 57
told it’s like having a bunch of caffeine and decongestants. Doesn’t
sound too fun but what the hell, I can figure out what that feels like
without trying it. However, now I must smoke. I go to my local
7-11 and purchase a pack of cigarettes. Ew. I don’t know what to
purchase so I get something that sounds positive. I get “Lucky”
cigarettes. I try them and curse people who choose to smoke! I
mean! How can people actually CHOOSE this shit!? I’m disgusted
by it all. It stinks and it hurts my lungs and makes me cough! But,
I’m a die-hard actress so I start smoking-ish. I continue getting into
character and figure I must try to find something else to smoke. I
then find (through a bit of help) a Benson and Hedges Ultra-Light
100 – menthol. Okay, not great, but better! Geeze. I learned how
to smoke and would smoke on occasion for a while, usually while
filming if other actors smoked - it was a bonding experience or if
I were having drinks with other smokers. I never got addicted to
smoking, THANK GOD! I am still a happy non-smoker. Yay me.
Now, if I smell cigarette smoke, I don’t mind it. It gives me a slight-
ly nostalgic feeling of my acting days. I have a strong sense memory
that brings me back to a different time in my life.

The producer of Sunsplit and I did not end up getting along.
I stopped caring much of what he thought. He didn’t realize how
much of a jerk he really was. I recall wondering if I was just being
sensitive and/or bitchy (which is not in my character AT ALL) and
wondering why he brought out the worst in me. Then one of the
actresses who played the part of a woman who was being kidnapped
and raped in this dark scene ran into me in the bathroom. She was
actually playing the role I was supposed to do if I didn’t get the lead.
I took a look at her face and wondered what was wrong. She was
shaking her head and laughing. She had all this makeup and red
“blood” smeared all over her face and arms. She muttered, “I’ve
NEVER had to use FAKE tears to get through a scene. This guy
is driving me insane (she was referring to the producer). He keeps
talking to me in-between takes and saying all this bullshit. He’s not
even making sense. I cannot get emotional for the life of me.” After
that I realized that maybe it wasn’t just me. I am not a rude person.

I became rude to him. I didn’t recognize myself around him. If he
walked up near me he would just start talking about random things.
He would act out football plays for no reason. I was confused and
just wanted to work on my character. I didn’t want to hear him. I
can normally handle all kinds of people. One time I handed him a
note regarding something important (I don’t recall what it was at the
moment) and he didn’t care what it said (which was important to
me at the moment) and he just corrected what he said was a spelling
error and handed the note back to me. It turned out to be spelled cor-
rectly. He was attempting to knock me down or something as he did
in a passive aggressive style in other ways as well. I reckon I simply
don’t like his type. I wish I could go back and make a difference in
his life so that he doesn’t feel the need to do that to others. I merely
handled it the way I did other things that disturbed me. I ate. Then
I got rid of it. Purge all the yucky feelings away.

I was in heaven but still struggling with my personal hell. I
was exceptionally happy for the most part. I was working on two
films, living in a cute little house in Los Angeles with a great friend
and had my beautiful horse in my back yard! Life was good!

Then one of my best friend’s from college called me out of
the blue and asked if I would be willing to go on a blind date. It was
her husband’s boss who had recently broken up with his girlfriend.
He needed a date for a business dinner up in San Francisco. I’m
thinkin’, wonderful, I’ll get to hang out with my girlfriend and have
a nice dinner in the bay area! Cool, sign me up! She then mentioned
that he was known to be a bit on the wild side and “are you sure
you wouldn’t mind doing this?!?!” I’m always up for some fun; of
course I’ll go! Then she informs me that he would be picking me up
in his plane and we would fly up there together. Um, okay. Sounds
good. Jim drives me to the private airport in Burbank. I don’t really
know where I’m going but we spot a couple of planes on the tarmac.
Then we see this really big one. Holy crap! It was a Gulfstream II
and it was beau-ti-ful. Then a couple of people get out, two captains
and… Bob. I was really surprised. He was cute! We introduce our-
selves and climb aboard. He poured some Crystal Champagne and
we settled in for a fun plane trip. Saweet! We went to dinner and

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had even more fun! He was hilarious and so much fun to be around.
We were like little kids being silly at the dinner table and having the
best time. At the end of our dinner I said goodbye to Ann and her
husband and Bob and I went back to the hotel. I had an amazing ho-
tel room. Bob walks me to my door and shyly gives me the sweetest
little kiss good night and then he goes to his room. I shut the door
and BAM; it hits me hard. I could actually like this guy!! I walked
away from the door and melted onto the bed. Wow. Wow. Wow.

The next day we got back on the plane and headed to Bur-
bank. He asked me if I could shop with him in Beverly Hills for a
tux because he was invited to Joe Piscapo’s wedding. I made damn
sure I had the time. I wanted to spend it with him! We continued
to have so much fun I didn’t want it to end. He didn’t either. He
asked me when I might be able to visit him in New Hampshire. Um-
mmm… soon!?! He did invite me to go to that wedding with him.
He bought me a diamond pendant necklace (I’m not sure but prob-
ably worth over $18,000) to wear to the wedding!!!! Ohmygod!!!!

You see Bob didn’t just have a lot of money. That was icing
on the cake! He was a wonderful man. If I put a little note in the
pocket of his jacket for him to find when he got to work, he would
immediately call me and tell me how wonderful I was to do that and

59

thank me. He was romantic and thoughtful in so many ways. It
was the first time in my life that I felt secure and taken care of. If
anything were to happen, he would be there to take care of me. I felt
safe. That feeling was an amazing aphrodisiac. For once in my life
I didn’t have to “worry” about survival. The year that followed was
a whirlwind of amazing events.

I met Bob’s son who was ten and about the coolest kid ever.
I bonded with him more than any other kid I’d ever met. To this
day I wonder how he’s doing. If I think too much about it I’ll cry. I
hope he is well.

Bob and I went places and did things that not many people
will ever get to say they got to do in their whole lifetime. I was
treated like a princess and I treated him like a prince. I enjoyed ev-
ery moment of my time with him.

We would take trips to his huge house in Florida and go out
on his 55-foot yacht, or the speedboat. We took a trip in a helicopter
in the fall when the leaves were turning. We flew to his home in
Vermont. Then we got in his Mercedes (that he had his maintenance
man drive up to Vermont for us), and went to his home so I could
see it… and so we could make love there then drive back to New
Hampshire. We took his plane up to France, refueling in Scotland.
We went rabbit hunting in Phoenix with his son (thank goodness we
didn’t catch anything!). He gave me a platinum and diamond Rolex
as a gift for no reason. I was working on a screenplay so he got me
a laptop so I could work wherever we were. But I was alone a lot
when I was with him because he worked during the week. That’s
not a good thing for a girl with bulimia. Even while I was in heaven
on earth, I still carried my own personal hell with me.

I was doing a lot of traveling because I was now “living” on
both coasts, which was just fine by me. When I wasn’t with Bob
I was missing him and working on the two independent films that
I was shooting. I remember smiling and laughing a lot during this
time.

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Flying…
Just watching the world slide by
Underneath this pale blue sky
Lines are roads
A map of love
What are all those flickering lights
Like daylight fireflies?
Are they angels so dear
To make my safety clear
Looking at nothing you can see more
It’s more than just lines and clouds
It’s love and joy
A turning wing
Throws my gaze up to the sky
Deep rich blue
I am in awe
The patchwork of farms
Life’s map
The relief map of a face
Where worries show
I want to stay up here
No worries no cares
Life is suspended in the air
“hi angels” high angels
Thanks for being there.
--LoriDawn Messuri

Also, looking back on the whole thing, I was young. I know
there were times when insecurity would grab a hold of me and cause
me to behave in ways that were not so attractive. I recall one eve-
ning “acting my age.” We were in Martha’s Vinyard with a group
of Bob’s friends returning from a beautiful evening. We were all
dressed up. Joe Piscapo and his new wife were with us. Bob would
often really cater to her, you know, make sure she got out of the car
okay by offering her his hand, normal, thoughtful stuff. However,
when I was getting out of the car, there was no hand to help me when

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I was expecting it. I chose to feel invisible. I chose to take it person-
ally. I was young. I didn’t know how to communicate my feelings
yet, nor would I have realized what the real issue was. I was blind
to it. Today I can look back on it and understand what would have
“worked” in the situation; and how I reacted, didn’t work. I didn’t
realize that I could have simply and lovingly communicated my
feelings about the situation. Instead I responded from my hurt and
vulnerable 14-year-old little voice that says that I’m a burden and
not worthy. Little did he, or I, know that his actions would touch a
sensitive spot. Maybe he just didn’t get to me in time because he
tripped or whatever reason… How could he know? How could I? It
wasn’t his fault; it was my past conditioning. It was my blind spot.
I mean, really, how was I supposed to know what I didn’t even know
that I didn’t know!? I know now… go to Landmark Education for
the Landmark Forum and take a look! It may not be for everyone
but it sure helped me!

I am absolutely disgusted to think back on some of my eating
disordered behavior when I was alone in that big, beautiful house in
New Hampshire. While Bob was away working, I would go to the
store and buy boxes of Boo Berry cereal and milk and ice cream
and whatever other food I felt like. I would get back to the house

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and close myself up in one of the rooms and eat everything. Then
I would throw-up in a trash bag and put it in the garage with the
other trash. I really don’t know what I was thinking by doing that.
I wasn’t thinking. That’s just gross. I’m sure his maintenance guy
caught on and probably told him. I have a few embarrassing memo-
ries that I’d love to erase from my mental Rolodex during that time.

Colby, Bob’s son, and I got especially close and it was a
time when Bob was truly trying to bond with his son. Colby would
come to me for support often. If he were upset he looked to me first
by grabbing my hand, not Bob’s. I imagine this behavior affected
Bob a bit. I loved both of them so much. Colby was a big fan of
Pamela Anderson and he would call me “the red-headed Pam-u-la
Anderson.” So cute.

I distinctly remember the trip we all took to Monte-Carlo,
France. I remember it so well because we were in the hotel late at
night when Princess Diana died. It was one of those moments you
don’t forget. Most of the group who went with us to France were
returning after a week. Bob was staying in Europe for business. I
decided since I was there why not go to Italy? I went by train so
I could see sights along the way and headed to Rome. I became a
little bit scared because once you cross that French - Italian border
on the train; suddenly no one spoke French or English! While in
France I could get by with my limited knowledge of French, no
problemo, but I knew maybe three Italian words. It certainly was
not enough to do much of anything. I didn’t have a train ticket and
I didn’t know how to get one. The, whatever-he’s-called, the-guy-
who-looks-at-your-ticket guy, was staring me in the face wanting
my ticket and I didn’t know what to say. Any English I used didn’t
seem to work. It just made him angrier. Yikes! Bobby, help! Sud-
denly I went from confident, independent, traveling woman to lost
little girl. I was getting a bit spoiled – but in the best of ways!

Thankfully, an ugly old lady (sorry, but she was pretty scary
looking) with maybe one remaining tooth absolutely saved me. In
her broken English, she told me what this lost little girl could do.
She explained how not to take the unregulated taxi’s that bombard

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you when you just get off of the train, take an official taxi and how I
should buy a ticket at the next stop; that I got lucky because that guy
left me alone about not having a ticket yet. I can only imagine what
he was muttering to himself about this silly American girl. Oh well.
Tra la la. I got to see the leaning tower of Pisa! It looked pretty
small, but it was kinda far away and seen from the train’s clacking
window.

On a bit of an odd side note, while we were in France, Bob
had started telling me some stories of what he was doing in Europe.
They were shocking and confusing. We had all gone to Monte-Car-
lo, France to have fun but he had business meetings in other parts of
Europe. Everyone else was flown back to his or her respective cit-
ies and he took his plane wherever his “meetings” were. He started
telling me of the other reason he was in Europe. We had had a few
cocktails in us and I thought his story was a bit scary and amusing
but figured that he had a creative imagination and I didn’t judge him.
He told me that if I did not hear from him by Thursday when I was in
Rome, that something bad had happened. My pain was intense and
real when I didn’t hear from him.

On Hotel de Paris, Monte-Carlo station-
ary, September 2, 1997 I wrote:

His kiss had no flavor as I said a sad goodbye and my eyes
welled with tears uncontrollably. Would it not be the last
time I see him… forever I thought. So many things are out
of one’s control. My eyes swell with tears as I write this. It’s
smoky in here, on the train to Rome. It’s tough not to under-
stand the language. France was easier. I just want to get to
my hotel room now. No smoke… so I can cry. I really want
to cry. This is not home. I want Bobby now. My heart is so
sad. I want the comfort of love. I don’t want to have to keep
reminding myself to have fun. I must smell the roses. I keep
falling asleep in little moments. My hands were interlocked
in front of me and my eyes were open. But still I began to
fall asleep in a moment of time and my hands slowly drifted

64

foreword. I thought they were someone else’s hands and I
was startled. I am a crumb. I am a crumb. I am a crumb. I
want to wake up so I can enjoy my ride in this train. 6:40PM
I’m happy that I haven’t eaten much. No appetite. I miss
everything about my Bobby. I wish I had taken a non-smok-
ing train. Too much trouble to move. My luggage is too
heavy. Thank God a man helped me through the train sta-
tion. Time go bye fast please please please. Smoke is killing
me from the inside out. 6:45 PM Italiano time. Pour Moi
il’est 1:45PM LA time. The banter to the next table of men
seems to sound like English sometimes but I believe that
they only speak Italian. 1/2 hour more. I am so tired. I’ve
been on the train since 10:00AM. Burn burn burn. My eyes
want to take a shower with cool cool water. I will cry smoky
tears when I arrive at the hotel. I am lonely for my Bobby,
my horse, my dog. I want to smell my horse’s neck. I want
to call my sister… talk to mommie. Kiss Bobby. The moun-
tains and the sea are missing from outside my train window.
It was pretty but I don’t like missing the view in the tunnels.
Too dark. My ears felt like popping in the tunnels. Weird. I
hope I can get a cab easily and go to the right hotel. Diana…
Princess Di died in a car accident a couple nights ago. I feel
nauseous. Not too good. Fucking chain smokers in here.
They smoke more than they breathe. And they cough up
loogies all the time. Yeeuck.

I arrived at my destination in the dark lugging two HUGE 65
pieces of luggage and a smaller piece and a couple odds and ends
with me. Note to self, NOT the way to travel by train in Rome. I
had not planned to continue on to Rome until after we got to France,
but that’s me, I’m always flying by the seat of my pants. That’s how
I roll.

I take the toothless lady’s advice and herd all my luggage
past the gypsy taxies as if I know what I am doing and find one that
looked authentic enough. I give him my hotel address and off we
go. Now I have to go from French Franks to Italian Lire. I’m not

stupid or anything but I do not proclaim to be good at simple math.
Hey, I got an “A” in calculus in college! However, I can barely do
simple addition quickly with my fingers and toes so you can only
imagine my dilemma translating American dollars to French Franks
to Italian Lire!!! Geeze. This was obviously before the Euro was
introduced. I paid the dude, somehow.

I make it to my Five-Star hotel in Rome, Italy. I arrive with
gratitude that I make it there alive and follow the bellboy up to my
room. I can barely fit all of my luggage in the room. It was a teeny-
tiny-Motel-6-looking-very-unglamorous-room! “Damned Ameri-
cans!” (I say quietly but out loud to myself, disgusted at my own
bad behavior). But, really, it was the size of an Easy-Bake Oven
and I am sad and I miss my Bobby and I am alone in the middle of
nowhere and I don’t know how to speak Italian! (stomp, stomp!
Spoiled biach!) Damn. I don’t even know where to get food to
binge on. Good thing I reckon.

I get over it and go to sleep. I wake up the next morning and
put some casual clothes on to go out into the Italian world. I have
my fanny pack on and put all my money in the inside zipper to be
safe. I start walking down the street and suddenly get all kinds of
catcalls from men. Believe me, I was not dressed in a sexy way at
all. I turned right around and went back up to the room. I found
something else to wear and headed out. Not so many catcalls. Good
to go.

I look around and decide to go on a horse and buggy ride
tour of Rome. Unfortunately for me the guide only speaks Italian.
Oh well. I get to see the Coliseum and all it’s fat cats and that place
where you put your hand in and if you are a liar it sucks it in or
something, and that place where they had the chariot races way back
in the day. Of course I wish I can understand at least one word he is
saying. I just nod my head and smile as if I do.

I leave the horse and buggy behind and head to the Spanish
steps. This is an area known for shopping and I’d been taking les-
sons from Bob’s best friend’s wife, Candice, as to how to shop. Be-
fore I begin I have a seat on the steps for a minute to soak it all in. It

66

was fun to people watch for a while. After that I proceed to do some 67
serious shopping damage there. It was fun but believe it or not, I
would have rather been spending time with Bob. You may call me
crazy but I don’t really have that “shopping” gene that most women,
and even men, that I know have. Anyway, I get a Gucci watch for
my sister, a Gucci wallet for my mom, some Prada boots for me and
a few other expensive items. All in a days work. The shops make
sure to tape the bags closed because I guess there are gypsies out
there who might try to steal your stuff.

I get done with my shopping and head back in the direction
of my hotel room. It is only a couple of blocks away but I am feel-
ing a bit lost-ish. I know I have to cross this one busy intersection
so I go to the corner and wait for a chance to cross with all the other
people there. Suddenly, a group of seven or more young kids start
yelling at me and shove a paper in front of my face pointing at it as if
I had done something terribly wrong. I don’t want to feel like a silly
American so I start yelling in French. So I’m sure I look like a silly
American yelling broken French to a bunch of gypsies who spoke
Turkish or something. I really didn’t know what to do. I shove my
way past the gypsies and walk into a doorway area to check myself
and my stuff. I look at everything and it looks OK. I have to catch
my breath and my bearings. I figure out where my hotel room is and
go there as quickly as I can. I shut the door behind me, set down
all my stuff and lie down on the tiny, lumpy, Five-Star bed. Whew!
That was close. I take off my fanny pack and dump it out. That’s
when I realize they stole a thousand dollars worth of French Franks
that I had in there. My heart sank. I miss Bob. I just want to be in
his arms and for him to make everything better.

I didn’t hear from Bob on the Thursday I was supposed to.
I freaked out. Regardless of why, I was supposed to hear from him
and I did not. I cried all the way home from Rome in my first class
seat. No one existed to me on the plane except the lady next to
me. She handed me some tissues. Actually she didn’t even ex-
ist. Tissues just floated toward me. There were no stewardesses or
stewards, just floating plates of food and drinks. It wasn’t like Bob
not to call - he had always been so good about that. I was worried.

I called all the numbers that I had of his. I asked his pilots if they
knew where he was. They said that the plane was back in the hanger
but they do not know if Bob was on the plane. I called and left mes-
sages for him everywhere. When I finally did hear from him days
later, he sounded different. He broke up with me. I was crushed. I
have never felt my heart hurt so badly. I wasn’t mad at him. I mean,
you cannot make somebody love you. I’ve fallen out of love with
people or broken up with them. It happens. I was beyond sad. My
beautiful world had just crumbled as I sank to the floor while I was
on the phone. I didn’t know what to say. We got off the phone and
I called my mom. My mom got my sister on the phone as well. I
needed support. I rarely ask for it but I needed it then. All I remem-
ber doing after that day for a while is drinking water. I would drink
water so then I would have something to do. I would then have to
go pee. I’d drink more water so I’d have to go pee again. I would
breath in and breath out. I didn’t want to drink alcohol or sleep or
binge or purge. If I did those things then I would have to wake up
and realize what had just happened all over again. I had to feel it
and get through it. I cried and cried but I stayed conscious. I knew
I couldn’t shove down the hurt because it was not just going to go
away. Bob wasn’t coming back to me.

Bob’s secretary contacted me because I called him a couple
of times. She asked if she could do anything to help. Yeah, I wish.
She set me up with a therapist, kind of. I guess the only person she
could find in my area turned out to be a social worker. Great. I went
to meet with the social worker not sure what to expect. I talked with
her about my sadness. She kept telling me to get angry with him.
She confused me. I was not angry I was devastated. He didn’t do
anything wrong. My heart just hurt. I think I saw her twice. She
was paid for like 10 sessions. I think I could have helped her with
some of her issues. That was a nice gesture of Bob to do what he
could given the circumstances. I hear he’s married with two more
kids now. I’m very happy for them. I’m still a bit sad for me, I
miss him and I miss Colby. Everything happens for a reason. This
I know for sure. I am truly happy for him.

68

10. LIFE GOES ON

I laid low for a while. I rode my horse. I binged and purged.
I sold my beautiful platinum and diamond Rolex. I sold my dia-
mond from the pendant necklace. I started picking up the pieces. I
submitted myself for parts as an actress in Drama-Logue (a weekly
magazine for actors to submit themselves for a variety of projects,
mostly student films and low budget stuff). I wanted to work again.

I worked on a film in November of 1997 called I’m Watching
You, it was loosely based on Hitchcock’s film Rear Window. I’m a
big fan of Hitchcock. So, cool, yeah. I had my first scene with a
chick, Jaqueline Lovell – hot, sexy blond chick. It was awkward but
we survived. I was still pretty new at doing all the sexy stuff, espe-
cially with a woman. It was funny because I recall sitting with the
director and Jaqueline and mapping everything out. We had to dis-
cuss where the camera was going to be at what times and everything.
I’m just absorbing all this and it was so cute, Jaqueline sat there after
our discussion and very seriously repeated the steps to the director,
“okay, you want me to do this, and then touch her here, play with
her boobs here and go down here and then back up…” bla bla bla. I

69

was amused at it all and only half checked in. You know, because I
truly read over these scenes and pretend-that-they-don’t-really-exist
because I’m working as an actress and don’t want to think about the
love scenes. But she was completely cute about it all and we had
fun working together and smoking cigarettes between takes. I was
so hard on myself about everything. I remember our first shot of the
movie. It was a silly little scene but fun and after I was so critical
that I had to talk to the director about it and he was like, “What are
you talking about, it was great.” I was still in my head about it. I
watched the film later and was like, what was I thinking? Silly me.
It was a cute fun scene just as it was supposed to be.

The quote I put at the beginning of my 1998 calendar was:
“you can’t experience life without feeling life, to be vulnerable is a
strength.” It’s about the time I started realizing that I should look for
help. I was coming to the conclusion that I was not able to shine and
live up to my full potential because of my eating disorder. People
were not getting the essence of LoriDawn, they were getting, what
I felt, a broken person. I felt fragmented by guilt, shame, numbness
and by fear. I started going to group therapy. It started with six girls
who had bulimia, anorexia or both. Eventually I was the only one
who would show up. I wanted help.

I didn’t understand or relate to the anorexics in group ther-
apy. I understand that some people are both bulimic and anorexic
but I didn’t understand most of the psychology of what anorexics
go through. I’ve read about it but cannot relate; so, unfortunately, a
lot of the discussions we had really didn’t make sense to me or help
me. I remember describing to the group how maybe I was bulimic
because I was working in front of the camera and didn’t want to look
fat, but they saw through that. One retorted, “well, you would be a
camera person who is bulimic. It’s not about being in front of the
camera. It’s about having bulimia.” She was right.

I saw a psychiatrist for a while so I could try antidepressants.
I read in a book, that I ashamedly checked out from the posh Bev-
erly Hills library, that some people have successfully rid themselves
of bulimia with antidepressants. I tried them but they didn’t work

70

for me. The psychiatrist I went to was completely condescending
and rude. I really couldn’t believe it. He was absolutely zero help,
except for the prescription. He was judgmental and made me feel
worse about myself than I already felt. Thanks dude. I’m not saying
that all psychiatrists suck, but some do. This guy should quit his job.

Antidepressants didn’t work for me as an actress either.
While I was taking them I went to an audition. I was stoic. I was
scatterbrained and had no feeling. I had difficulty focusing on my
lines, let alone my character. I walked away from that audition in
a daze. Another side affect that I didn’t like was that I would try
to masturbate but I couldn’t get there. Nothing would happen. No
happy ending for me. So, they weren’t helping me with my eating
disorder, my auditions nor my, er, self sex. The antidepressants took
a swim in the porcelain god and swirled clockwise down along with
my disappointment with my stupid psychiatrist. Don’t need him
anymore to make me feel even more horrible than I already did,
thank God. I bet some people end up on antidepressants because
their shrink makes them feel so damned depressed! Buh Bye.

I started taking random classes at Glendale Community Col-
lege to distract me from myself. I took Tango and Latin Salsa danc-
ing, tin smithing (I know, random – but it was kind of fun) and a
creative writing class. I enjoyed the creative writing class a lot. I
didn’t like the dance classes that much because clearly it was a class
that older, lonely men took to try to find or at least be next to chicks.
And they were not cute men either.

The years 1998 and 1999 were particularly tough years for
me. I had gone through some dark times even though I did get some
work as an actress, I moved out of my cozy house with Jim (he got
engaged to a wonderful woman) and I was still very sad about Bob
breaking up with me. I had not been a very good friend to Jim dur-
ing my time with Bob. I was so head over heels I didn’t notice and
quite frankly didn’t care if he had needs as a friend. I didn’t want to
deal with anyone else’s stuff, I just wanted to be with Bobby. I put
blinders on. That wasn’t very nice of me. I can understand that I
really needed to move out regardless of Jim’s situation. Jim handled

71

it all as lovingly as he could and I completely appreciate him as a
person. Living on my own again presented that open opportunity
for me to binge and purge at leisure. It got pretty out of control. I
needed some kind of help. I was looking in the mirror one time and
suddenly noticed these very tiny lines, not wrinkles, but fine lines
near my jaw area. I couldn’t figure out what they were. Then I
realized, they were stretch marks from retching for so many years.
Yeah, that’s hot.

JOURNAL ENTRY

1998

Chaos
Life is not
Perfect
My skin is not a china doll’s.
Learn from nature:
Perfect imperfection
What is life

I finally had to get my nose fixed (I had broken it herding
cattle up at Pappy’s ranch in 1995) I was getting this little calf out
of a dry riverbed riding my favorite horse (besides Bailey), Tyke,
and I ducked under a branch. Tyke made it under but the branch hit
the back of my head and shoved my nose into the saddle horn. Tyke
realized that he couldn’t move forward anymore so he stopped and
backed up and I slid off his back and onto the ground. I could tell
my nose got hurt and I saw blood dripping onto my boots. I called
out to my good ‘ol Pappy and we ended up at the hospital.

There wasn’t much that could be done about my nose back
then but I had to get it fixed a bit later after seeing it in a film or two.
In July of 1998 I had it done. My dear friend Rob, whom I had met
in acting classes when I first moved to L.A., helped me out a lot
here, as did my sister. I knew that I could not binge and purge AT
ALL after I got my nose fixed or I could cause some serious damage
and I needed support in that. Because of choosing to be a burden in

72

my life, this was a big step for me – to ask for help. I had confided
in Rob by this time about my eating disorder so he knew about it
and I asked him if he could understand my dilemma. I compared it
to stopping smoking (he had tried to quit smoking a few times and
failed at it) and he got it. My sister also came to the rescue, bless her
heart. She loaded up her 2 1/2-year-old, Brandon, and 5-year-old,
Ashley and headed south to help her sister out, again. On my calen-
dar I have smiley face stickers (meaning I did not binge or purge) for
almost the whole month of July – good month for me!

SEPTEMBER 13, 1998

JOURNAL ENTRY

I jumped up on my fake marble kitchen counter crouched
like a cat just to get a different perspective on life. Then
I crawled down and curled up under the arm of my green
couch, huddled against my green carpet, searching for some
kind of security. The couch put it’s arm around me for moral
support. My car is dead. My lifeline to anywhere, dead. I
called my manager. I complain of wanting a man to hold my
hand and fix everything. She laughs, “I love it. You want a
man to guide you, then you call your manager!” She sounds
supportive, amused at least. I feel vulnerable.
In my journals I had never been able to even write about bu-
limia until after many years. I would write “I’ve been bad”
or something more obscure. I was so ashamed of it I was un-
able to admit it even in my private journals. When I finally
was able to I told my mom about it a bit. It’s so weird but
I recall very vaguely that she had told me that my dad had
bulimia. I didn’t even understand it at the time but she told
me later that at times he would eat food and then she could
hear him throw it up. It’s interesting that I don’t remember
when she shared this with me. I just sort of remember it like
I shoved it into some dark corner of my brain that didn’t
want to process it yet. I have since had conversations with
my dad about it. I’ve read that it can be hereditary. He said

73

4 that he just decided to be done with it one day. He got tired
of all the energy it took to do. He made a conscious choice
74 that it wasn’t worth it anymore. It was after his forties that
he stopped. I didn’t meet him until I was 10 so I certainly
was not around it at all or exposed to it growing up. My sis-
ter and I maybe saw him in visits two or three times until we
were much older. So I definitely didn’t “learn” it from him.

SEPTEMBER 20, 1998

JOURNAL ENTRY

I’m up for some parts. I’m so unhappy with my body. My
bulimia is way out of control. I binge and purge almost ev-
ery single night. How maddening that is to be so out of con-
trol. I don’t know what to do. I’m lucky that I’m able to talk
with my mom and dad about it all. My dad understands it
a bit better having had it himself. He keeps challenging me
to binge and purge at his house. Boy, I just couldn’t do that.
Yuck. I could not do that around ANY person.4

SEPTEMBER 22, 1998

JOURNAL ENTRY

Been a bit down lately. It’s mostly because of my (God I
hate to say it) eating disorder. God that’s tough to do. I
HATE IT I HATE HOW IT MAKES ME FEEL I HATE
HOW IT WASTES MY TIME I HATE HOW IT MAKES
ME LOOK. I HATE HOW IT CONTROLS ME. IT PUTS
ME IN A BOX.
OK, let me end on a good note for now – positive thoughts –
FAITH You’re gonna be OK kid.
I booked a film that shoots in Guatemala. I love doing loca-
tion shooting! It gets me away. I was a bit anxious about
keeping my eating disorder under control but usually if I’m
busy and focused I can do pretty well. When we flew into

He was purposefully trying to help me face it – make it not hidden.

Guatemala it looked so beautiful. We circled this huge vol-
cano quite a few times because of fog. It was truly gorgeous.
Guatemala really felt like a third world country; it was so
different. There were areas that a squatter would be living
in a field next to an area that was walled off. All you would
see is the wall and then a gate. Once you pass through the
gate, it was a palace.

This was another film with love scenes but I liked the char-
acter, Pauline, I was playing. She was an edgy bi-sexual with tattoos
and liked to play with a butterfly knife. Interesting my only love
scene was with a guy, the fewer the better in my book! The other
two females had some pretty steamy scenes. They were shooting
one of them on some old church ruins one of the days I had off.

My fellow actor and wardrobe girl and I head off to do some
shopping in the area. We get some cool stuff and then head back to
the location that they are shooting. We don’t realize it but the Fed-
eralies were there searching the crew and transportation vehicles.
The director looks a bit stressed and tells us to just stay where we
are. I’m thinking, they don’t know we are a part of this so lets just
walk away. My co-star looks me in the eyes and says in no uncertain
terms, “they have several machine guns pointed at us. We are not
going anywhere.” More police show up of various ranks. Our van
had already been emptied and they are attempting to confiscate the
footage of the film. Thank goodness no one on the show had drugs
on them. The producer steps in and settles everything and gets us
packed up in the van and back to our “compound.” I think he kicked
down some money for them to leave us alone. It was quite an ad-
venture.

The next day I was doing a stunt and almost got drowned.
A “bad” guy grabs me and pulls me into a pool and tries to keep me
under. We had a code that I would give him if I really needed air.
He couldn’t feel the code during the take and it almost became a
snuff film! Yikes. Tra la la.

75

FEBRUARY 9, 1999
JOURNAL ENTRY
I’ve been auditing my friend Mark’s acting classes (we did a
film together and I was impressed with his talent and I found
out he was an acting teacher). His classes are very good. I
learn. We went to lunch and did some exercises together. I
felt so… LOOKED at. I felt mostly like crying. We were at
Good Earth restaurant. I didn’t want to cry. He said “Fuck
the place.” He’s right – I still didn’t cry. I fought it like
Mike Tyson.
I couldn’t even look myself in the eyes because of my disgust
with myself, how could I possibly let someone else look into
my eyes? I was attracted to Mark but I was afraid. When we
were working together on the film it was wonderful because
I was not me; I was the character. I had only her flaws so I
could let him look me in the eyes then, as her. But, to let him
dissect me as me was too terrifying. He could see me too
deeply. I wasn’t ready for that.

JUNE 2, 1999
JOURNAL ENTRY
I need to ride my horse. I need to. I want to. Still stuck in

76

my badness.

JUNE 6, 1999
JOURNAL ENTRY

I need expression. Of any kind. I’m lost and penniless. I
waiver from desperation. What do I have faith in? I propose
to have faith in my career. I feel numb. I want to purge my
brain, my soul of bad feelings. GET AWAY FROM ME. Let
my soul enjoy my time here, damn it. LEAVE ME ALONE.
Tick tick tick

JUNE 10, 1999
JOURNAL ENTRY

Anxiety over every little fucking plan in my life. Nothing
goes by un-angst over. WHY? WHY WHY? I want to LIVE
EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE BUT I DO NOT. WHY!?
Good night – shit – I need to write SOMETHING positive
before I go to sleep –
I’ve done 12 films so far
I’ve got talent
I’m smart
I’m learning about myself
I have failed at some things
I have been in love
I can love again and look forward to it.
Hmmmmm g’night.

JUNE 12, 1999
JOURNAL ENTRY

Everywhere you go there you are.

77

JUNE 23, 1999

JOURNAL ENTRY

Team Penning tomorrow night I look forward to it – nothing
else planned. That’s not too good… Think positive.

I got several of the parts that I was auditioning for. They
were small parts in small movies but, wait, there are no small parts,
only small actors. I forgot. So I did a fun horror flick that was a
spin off of Anaconda called Python. I got to play with a sixteen-
foot long python snake in a hot tent and kiss a chick. I’ll get to the
chick in a second but, holy crap, a sixteen-foot long python! Here
it is, like, super HOT in the Malibu State Park (where they shot
M.A.S.H. all those years ago) and we are shooting day for night
– so it’s in the middle of the hot sun but it’s supposed to be night
time out in the scene. They have a blackout tent over our cozy little
tent for the scene and that makes it extra, extra hot in our shooting
area – even for a snake. Then they bring him/her in – I asked, the
handler didn’t even know. Now, understand, I cannot stand spiders
or bugs AT ALL but I can hang with reptiles, no problemo. I used to
catch cute little wild Gardner snakes with my sister and name them
Zeke as a kid. They let me cuddle with the snake beforehand just
to get to know him/her (and, I’m sure to make sure I don’t pass out
from snakes or something) and that goes just fine. We get into the
tent to shoot the scene and after a few takes the snake starts hiss-
ing, loudly. I’m getting slightly nervous. I want to make sure little
snakey snake is a happy camper, are you with me?! So I go to the
handler and make sure that this noise is normal for a python. Now,
what he says and how he looks in his face are a bit different. So,
yeah, now I’m a bit more anxious. But I’m an actress so I make it
look like I’m not nervous at all in the scene. Snakey was “my” pet
in the movie and all. So then the hot and pissed off python in the
hot tent in the middle of hot Malibu State Park starts crawling down
the pant-leg of my co-star, the chick. It was a silly reveal that I’m
the town slut and it looks like I’m smooth talking a cute dude but
she takes her hat off and it’s a chick. So she calls out, “um… cut,

78

please,” because the snake can go no further down her pant leg. It’s
stuck. Because of the way the scales work on a snake, they move
forward really well but, yeah, try to pull them out. Is there a creepy
penis metaphor here? Anyway, this huge snake is hissing and stuck
in her pant leg and I’m just trying to stay cool. I’m pretty low main-
tenance. They cut the scene and cool the snake off a bit and the
handler gently guides the snake back out of her pants. Yay. And
so we do a few more takes and we kiss and I show my breasts and
everyone is happy. Yay boobies! It’s a must see movie, yeah. Well,
only because Jenny McCarthy gets her head whacked off by the tail
of this huge python and she is funny as an obnoxious realtor. Um,
yeah, just fast-forward to the funny bits.

AUGUST 22, 1999

JOURNAL ENTRY

If I jumped through a screen for fuzzy thoughts that run
blurry and naked in my head, I’d be hanging from my brain
for quite some time unhappily until I got them all out. Most
days are like this right now and I don’t like that about me.
I want to wake up smiling more. I have done this before.

Even though it was a difficult time, I had some wonderful 79
accomplishments too. In September, Sunsplit was showing in three
theaters in different areas of Los Angeles. We were reviewed posi-
tively in the Los Angeles Times. I went to a showing of the film in
Santa Monica and was stopped in the bathroom by a few ladies who
had just watched it. They complimented me on my work. That felt
nice. I also auditioned and booked the TV series Party of Five for
a two-episode co-star! I mean, dude, I named my horse after the
character I was playing opposite, Bailey. It was cool. I was sitting
there between takes and I told cutie Scott Wolf how, when the show,
Party of Five, just started my horse was born. I liked the name of
his character so much I named my baby filly Bailey. He got a good
laugh out of that.

I began painting during this time. I started painting out of

frustration while I was an actress because of the down time I would
experience. I needed a creative outlet – anything to be able to cre-
ate. I certainly couldn’t wait around for my next acting gig. I had
to find another way to self express. I bought a canvas. I was so
intimidated by this blank canvas before me that I started to paint on
the back of it! It turned out horrible, I mean, really! I didn’t know
what to do with the canvas. Then, I sat there for a moment and got
out of my head about it and got an idea. I was inspired. I painted
the front of the canvas white. I know, redundant, but I did it. Then I
painted a square box in black and put a red dot on the outside of it. I
then put “YOU ARE HERE” by the red dot. I titled it “Outside The
Box.” I loved it and hung it on my wall. Those who “get it” really
appreciate my first painting.

On my Day Runner calendar for the month I had continued
putting positive little stickers on my “good” days. There were four
for the whole month. Also on my calendar I quoted something, “Do
the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain.”

80

11. A DAY IN THE LIFE

One thing I had never done was work on a soap opera. I
can’t say I’ve ever been inspired by the acting that I’ve witnessed
on these shows, however, who doesn’t want some seriously consis-
tent work!? At my request, my friend (who used to work for The
Bold And The Beautiful) recommended me to the casting director so
I could go in for a “general” interview (sometimes when a casting
director has a lull in the season they have time to meet actors for a
general interview).

I was informed at the time that they have the biggest cast
they’ve ever had and haven’t been bringing in outside actors even
for small parts. However, Christy, the casting director, was very
nice and the interview went well. Months later I received a phone
call from my agent for an audition for the soap! I was excited and
terribly nervous! After I stopped jumping up and down (I get ex-
cited at EVERY opportunity!) I got my “sides” (the page or pages
of script for the audition piece) and started creating and researching

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my character. There was not much to go by so I really got to use my
creativity.

My character was the secretary/girlfriend of a slimy producer
-- Okkaayyyyy -- I really couldn’t find out much else. So, given the
dynamics of the scene, I created a backstory for my character, a re-
lationship with my producer boyfriend and came up with a secret for
my character. It’s always wonderful to have some secret (the bigger
the better) that I know about my character or another character so
that when I’m working on camera there is something going on. It’s
subtle but it works wonders. I learned this from my manager, Keith
Farmer, in a book he wrote called “Acting is Storytelling.”

I drive onto the CBS lot entering at the artist’s entrance to go
to my audition. I give them my driver’s license and get my parking
pass. I park and take a deep breath and check my makeup. I go over
my scene and visualize the scene with the casting director. I visual-
ize myself walking onto the lot after I’ve booked the job and I’m
going to work. I do a few relaxation exercises with my face, like
squishing it up tightly for a few seconds and releasing it -- moving
my lips all the way to one side as far as they will go, then releasing
it etc. I really look like a goon as I’m doing this so I hope no one
sees me.

I watch people come out of a building with big “Price is
Right” name tags stuck on their shirts. I think about doing that game
show someday. Oops! Sidetracked! Focus. Focus. I feel good and
head up to the casting offices. Through the security entrance, up the
elevator, publicity photos of all the CBS shows line the walls.

I enter the casting outer office. Beautiful women sit on cushy
chairs going over their scenes. I sign in. I sit and wait. And wait.
They are running behind. I’m distracted by the TV on the wall be-
cause it is playing what is happening on The Bold And The Beautiful
sound stage. In that office we can see the rehearsals and taping and
waiting that is going on -- a lot of waiting. I try to tune it out.

I’m finally called in. I say hello and Christy asks me if I
have any questions. I don’t. I do the scene. It goes pretty well.
They, Christy and her assistant, thank me. I leave. I’m happy that

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it’s over but I feel like I could have done better. I realize that I didn’t
listen in some areas and that is one of THE MOST IMPORTANT
parts of acting! I’m a bit upset at myself so I try at least to learn
from the whole discouraging situation. I don’t get a call. I’m wait-
ing for a callback and it doesn’t happen.

My agent phones me up (I assume he needs more pictures
and resumes).

He asks, “Are you going to be in town on January 9th?”

I respond, “Yeah, Why?”

“Because they want to book you for The Bold And The Beau-
tiful.”

Me, “Um -- YEAH! No callback???”

Him, “No, they want you.”

YEAH! Yaayy! Now I really do my homework and get as
creative as I can (even though the part is so small). I go to the mall
and discover little props that will help me develop my character.

I don’t care if I’m starring in a film or doing a small walk-on
bit part. I’m going to be prepared! I use EVERY opportunity as a
chance to move forward. It’s really silly not to do that. It’s just too
competitive in this business not to. So now I’ve booked it and every
time I turn on the TV and see a Soap Opera I feel nervous pangs. I
instantly have to poo (is that too much information?). I’ve never
done a soap before and I take my job very seriously. It’s interesting
how the body responds via our nervous system.

It is the day before I’m supposed to shoot and I know NOTH-
ING. Wardrobe has not called me -- a production assistant has not
called me to confirm that I’m even working the next day. I’ve done
about twenty films and a couple T.V. series and I’m used to getting
some information before I work???!!!

Finally, in the evening I receive a message that my call time
is 10 a.m. on January 9th and to report to makeup. After that I go
to wardrobe. Whew, I actually am working on The Bold And The
Beautiful. I have no idea where makeup is or wardrobe -- I guess
I’ll find out. Pre-Shoot day: Relax, review dialog & backstory and

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overall scene. Do a facial and steam my face. Relax. When I’m
working on a film (with a much larger part) I don’t always have so
much time to relax. I just have time to review the next day’s scenes
and sleep. Shoot day: Wake at 7:30am. Relax in the tub with va-
nilla/orange aromatherapy and candles. Wash hair and blow dry.
Leave with a clean, moisturized face. I only curl my eyelashes and
put just a swipe of mascara on -- otherwise I look like I’m either
very tired or 12 years old (which doesn’t always suck).

Get to CBS Studios at 9:30am. I like to get there early so I’m
not rushed and I can find out where to go. At the gate the security
girls recognize me (I really have no clue why – were they watching
Cinemax last night!?) and ask me if I’m playing a “bad” girl or a
“good” girl. Cute. I say I’m not really either -- sorry. I’m just the
secretary/girlfriend to a producer. Kinda boring, but fun anyway.
They let me in. I park and relax and gather the fluffy props that I
purchased and a few wardrobe ideas that I have. I go through more
security -- up the elevator and start asking anyone I see where make-
up is. I’m pointed in the right direction and discover that whoever it
was gave me the wrong direction. I finally find it on my own. I walk
in. I see a good-looking guy sitting there, and a makeup person says
“Hi”. The news is on a TV. I introduce myself to everyone and I’m
told that the good-looking guy is my “slimy producer boyfriend”. I
expected a slimy producer type -- oh yeah, this is a soap opera!

I sit in a make up chair and then go into hair, then, to find
wardrobe (lost again), find it, get fitted into a fun, cheesy, pink
blouse and now it’s time to find my dressing room. It’s on the set?
Up some stairs??? I find a janitor to help me. Whew! He helps me
find it. I would have been lost for hours. I sit and relax and enjoy
having my own dressing room with a bathroom! Whew! 11:00am I
am still waiting. I wander around and a PA (I think) asks me if I’m
LoriDawn. I say yes.

She regrets to inform me that we will not have a rehearsal
because a meeting took too long. Okayyyyy. No problem. I find
my “boyfriend” and ask him if he’s ever done a soap. He says that
he did MTV’s Spider Games. Oh. I’ve seen an episode of that.

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Eeek. 12:00pm still waiting. I wander around the sets and find out
which one we will be using. I look around and find my space in it.
I bring my props and set them where I feel like it. I have no clue if
some prop master person is going to bite my head off for doing this.
I’m just taking a chance. I don’t think anyone has time enough to
say something to me.

12:20 pm: A camera is brought over. A voice from some
speaker says something -- the voice of God -- it’s the director, I’m
told. A “floor” director walks up to me and apologizes that we didn’t
get a rehearsal and that we will be shooting soon. I sit in my space
and familiarize myself with what I can work with. I ask my “boy-
friend” if it’s okay if I throw a fluffy pen at him to get his attention
in the scene. Thankfully, he says okay. 12:35pm someone says “ac-
tion.” I go through the scene (thinking that they are only taping the
young woman with whom I’m talking on the phone two sets over).
I like that I can actually hear her voice through the phone. Usually
there is just someone reading off camera lines and you have to create
how they are actually talking to you (the off-camera person is usu-
ally a script supervisor who doesn’t want to do anything near “act-
ing” so you get a monotone reading that is much like talking with a
robot -- or a wall). We go through the scene twice. Then they move
on to the next scene that I’m in. I think hmmm -- when am I going to
be on camera?? I can’t imagine that they are going to do both scenes
over again for my “close up” -- ha ha.

I’m told “Thank you.” What??? We’re done??? A camera
operator asks for a photo with me, I’m flattered (Wait, was he watch-
ing Cinemax last night too!?). I’m still in a daze. Wait! Did we
shoot this??? I’m speechless. I just smile for the camera and go and
sign my paperwork. I hear the voice of God setting up the next shot.
2:00pm I’m on my way home. I had fun ... I think. A day in the life.

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PART III. SOLUTION

12. EVOLUTION

It is funny how certain spiritual progressions come to us.
I had heard about a book called Conversations With God several
times. Because of the word “God” in the title and my conditioned
response to that word, I resisted reading the book. I didn’t have
a super positive feeling about religion and the word “God” meant
religion to me. The only memories of religion I have are from my
mom taking my sister and I to a Lutheran church when we were
young. We lived a few blocks away so we went there. I was mad
because my mom would make me wear a dress and I was a tomboy.
I didn’t want to wear a stupid dress. I would cry because of it. I also
remember listening to some of what they would say and it didn’t
sound too positive. Something about guilt and being born in sin.
Depressing. I didn’t gain any enlightenment by attending church or,
I hated, kid’s bible study or whatever it was after the service. I was
shy and scared and didn’t want to be forced to listen to what they
had to say. I didn’t understand any of it. So when I was told of a
book called Conversations With God I passed, at first.

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Finally, after hearing about this book several times from sev- 87
eral different sources, it hit me over the head in the form of a fellow
actor. Here we were, Gary Daniels and I, doing a love scene and
we were having this amazing conversation. The love scene was for
a film called Fatal Blade. They added my character after they shot
the film because they needed to add another dimension to the lead
character, played by Gary. He was a bad-ass fighting dude and they
needed to add a softer side to him so they gave him a wife. Me.
He had this wonderful British accent and was such a gentleman of
a person. I don’t know how it started but we started talking about
spirituality as I was getting my make-up done. He brought up this
book he read called Conversations With God. I was like, Okayyy,
God, I get it… Time to read the darned book. Here we were, mostly
naked, we just met, he was happily married and we were on this bed
in the scene. Oh, the life of actors. We are in the middle of our love
scene and the director calls “cut.” So there we are. Nose to nose.
Between takes. We take up our conversation about the book and
spirituality. He describes more about how the book is not religious.
I finally “get it” and then, later, I go get it, the book. That book seri-
ously began my journey to my own spirit. It sang to my heart and
opened my mind. The director called “action” and we continued on
with the love scene. Gary Daniels will be remembered fondly in my

heart for guiding me in this loving direction. He was a catalyst in
my spiritual evolution.

I had bulimia for 12 years. I couldn’t see a light at the end
of my very dark tunnel. I figured that I would have to deal with it
for the rest of my life. That thought was very scary to me. I didn’t
know what that looked like, what my future looked like. What do I
look like as a 40 year-old woman with bulimia? I wasted so much
of my life in the grips of my eating disorder already. I turned down
so many of my friend’s invitations to do things because of my eating
disorder. I was fragmented, scared, frustrated, lonely, sad, and tired
because of my eating disorder. On the inside I was crying for help
but on the outside I did nothing.

I got to shoot one more film in 1999. It was a film with Mike
Tristano, my second film with him. Mike’s a fun guy to work with.
It was a small, independent action film called Warriors of the Apoc-
alypse, a remake of the movie Hannie Caulder that starred Raquel
Welsh5. Mike’s done weapons on hundreds of films so it’s always
fun to work with him and his myriad of guns. He taught me how to
handle an AK-47 like a pro.

I met actor Peter Brown on this film. Peter is a true gentle-
man who began his career as a contract player back in the romantic
days of Hollywood. He started on the Lorado and Lawman series’
and is a cowboy in every sense of the word. We became fast friends
through our love of horses, acting, wine and what I discovered later,
spirituality. I am honored to call this wonderful man my dear friend.

We shared so much growth as people and spiritual beings
that I understand it helped me on my path to being a person without
an eating disorder. We would read and share books of enlighten-
ment and spirituality from authors such as: Ram Dass, Wayne Dyer,
Neil Donald Walsh, Eckhart Tolle, Richard Bach, Miguel Ruiz, Pau-
lo Coelho, Carlos Castaneda, Dan Millman, and books like: The
Bagavagad Gita, The Prophet, Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiog-
raphy of a Yogi and so many more.

5 Hannie Caulder came out as a film in 1971, the year I was born.
Kinda cool.

88

We would sip red wine by the fireplace and just hang out and
talk. We would go to The Bottle Inn Restaurant in Hermosa Beach.
We would sit outside and do a crossword puzzle (he was good) and
eat way too much garlic with our bread and share fish and a bottle
of chardonnay while we joked around with Silvio, the owner of the
restaurant.

Peter has so many amazing friends in his world, one of which
is Hugh Hefner. I have been honored to be a guest up at the Playboy
mansion many times as a friend of Peter’s. Hef is a gracious host
as are all of those in his employ. It astonishes me every time I am
able to go up there (and it may have been 6 months since I’ve seen
everyone) the staff members remember my name and even little tid-
bits about me! I mean, they meet thousands of people on a weekly
basis! I’m completely in awe and everyone up there just makes me
feel so special. It is an amazing place to be and I am constantly in
pure gratitude to be able to spend some of my time there. My favor-
ite memories are the Friday movie nights when it’s a smaller crowd
normally and Hef gets on the back of the couch and reads all the
gossip and interesting information about the upcoming films for the
weekend. Of course that’s after we all got to indulge in some of the
best food EVER by his kitchen staff.

I feel guilty to say that there was more than one occasion that
I would eat the amazing food there and leave - missing the movie.
I would drive down from that paradise off of Charing Cross Road
through Sunset to Beverly Glen Boulevard, down to the Ralphs
store, grab more food to binge on and head home in my bulimic
haze. Yuck.

The property is zoned a zoo so feeding the spider monkeys
grapes and bananas is always fun as well as visiting the reptile and
fish cove. And who can’t resist a dip in the grotto followed by a
shower in one of the many bathrooms that have a view of your own
private outdoor plant terrarium.

Sunday funday had to be my most favorite of all. I felt so
spoiled! Peter and I would arrive early in the afternoon and start off
with a glass of champagne while we watched a few people play ten-

89

nis. Sometimes Peter would play, often it was Ray Anthony, Keith
Hefner (Hugh’s brother) Walter Ralphs (yeah, of the Ralphs grocery
stores) and any other person who was game to play. I would then
head down to the gym, grab a bottle of Playboy water and a Play-
boy magazine (you know, to look at, I mean, read the articles!) and
work out for a bit. I’d either do a kickboxing or yoga class with a
few other girls. After that I would get a 15-minute massage that was
pure bliss! Then I would order a small lunch sandwich or something
and relax in the grotto for a few. I’d shower and do my makeup and
hair and prepare for the dinner time festivities. I can’t remember
one bad meal up there. The soups were always my favorites, un-
believably yummy, always. Then we would be treated to a first run
movie (that’s a movie that would be currently out in the theaters).
After that we would all congregate and discuss the movie and hang
out a bit. Boy, I miss going up there. Now I make a special trip if
I’m in the area and friends are up there or when I’m invited to the
big fantastic parties such as Halloween or the Midsummer Night’s
Dream party. I’m a lucky girl.

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13. THERAPY

I met with Ed Bloch on the recommendation of Kevin, a
friend of mine. My friend was kind enough to take action on my
behalf because he saw me struggling with bulimia (let me be clear…
he never, nor did anyone, actually “see” my disorder, I just finally
became strong enough to talk with a select few about my struggles
and to utter the word b-u-l-i-m-i-a) and he did some research and
gave me the phone number of a therapist he found who specialized
in eating disorders. I called. I met Ed. Our first meeting was set for
January 5th, 2000.

I understand now that if I did not talk with others about my
experiences, my thoughts remained a monologue of destruction in
my head. I needed to make my monologue a dialog with others in
order to get it out of me. In order to change anything about hav-
ing bulimia, I needed to acknowledge it and get into a conversation
about it. Our lives are an expression of our conversations. This
is the beginning of my transformation. I began building a support
network for myself of safe and caring people to help me crawl out
of my personal hell. As long as it stayed a monologue in my mind,

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my eating disorder stayed with me.

That first meeting with Ed I basically cried through the
whole thing telling him about my experiences. He was a kind and
gentle spirit who listened to me without judgment. I could simply
“be” with him. I explained to him how I felt like there was just too
much of me, also, I felt uncomfortable in my skin. I remember an
analogy he gave me that sticks with me today; He was describing
how my idea of not being “perfect” because I feel there is too much
of me relates to say, a tree. A tree is a perfect tree even if it has big
branches or small branches, or a big trunk with a bunch of knots in
it. It is still a natural, “perfect” tree and we don’t judge it as being
anything but a tree. He asked me to attempt to accept myself as be-
ing just fine exactly as I am.

Something that continues to touch my heart to this day is that
Ed knew I was struggling financially. He asked me what I might be
comfortable paying per session. My heart sank because I knew I
was in so much debt and going deeper and didn’t have any room to
pay for therapy. I had nowhere to ask for money. I didn’t want to
burden anyone in my life with my burdens upon burdened burdens
blaaaaa my bulimia burden. Stupid word, burden, why do I keep
it so close? Ed saved me from myself by letting me see him every
week for free. He shared with me that he had some room to do some
work “pro bono.” I didn’t even know what that word meant until
he told me. I feel such gratitude for that gift that it often makes my
eyes tear-ductable. I was so ready for help that I completely opened
up to him about everything going on in my struggle with bulimia. I
left nothing out. I wanted help so very badly. He learned from me
as I learned from him. He saved me. Every week for one hour, usu-
ally on Wednesdays from 2:00pm – 3:00pm we met.

I wrote a check to Ed for $10,000.00 on our last meeting
together about a year after our first. I didn’t have the money but
I wanted to give it to him and live into him being able to cash that
check one day.

Ed asked me when it is that I feel most at ease or at peace. I
told him it’s when I’m riding my horse. Nothing matters then except

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my communication with my horse. It’s easy communication and
it is second nature to me. I communicate with my entire body and
think only of how my horse is doing. I don’t have space in my head
to think about anything or get “clicked” over or feel depressed. Too
bad I couldn’t be on my horse day and night.

Ed had a small pile of rocks. He asked me to choose one.
I did. I chose a smooth, flat, roundish rock that was a light tan in
color. He asked me to keep the rock with me and allow the rock to
ground me during my day. He asked me to write about anything that
comes up for me.

JANUARY 12, 2000

EMAIL TO ED

The rock makes me feel special and that makes me very sad. 93
A silly little rock. It was given to me by you, my “therapist”
and that somehow makes me feel special. Like I’m worth
paying attention to. I’ve never acknowledged this before.
It (rock) gave me something to do. I like rubbing it on my
face. I feel it there. I am still sad.
My rock has a story, my story has a rock. I wish my story
were as happy as my rock’s. Rock came from the Source.
He She It. The Source allowed the rock to become a rock
of it’s own, to experience being a rock outside of it’s Source
so the Source could experience what being a rock was like.
Rock chose to become a he. Rock became smooth and rough
through time from the elements carving and weathering him.
He has one tiny bump. An imperfection. Natural asymme-
try. Not perfect but still there and just as good, in fact bet-
ter because of it. Rock stayed hidden in my bra for several
hours. I’d forgotten where I had placed him. I became wor-
ried and looked for him. I casually noticed my white cotton
“t” shirt with some weird stained gray laundry blotch on it
that looked weirder than just having a blotch. I had stopped
looking for Rock because I was distracted by some other life
duty… probably inputting into my computer some schedul-

ing update. I touched my breast where it looked weird and
found Rock in my bra. I chuckled at Rock. There He was.
Rock is content being a rock… The Tao of Rock. Simple.
No expectations. Only what he is. Now. Any other mo-
ment matters not. Hrumph… I don’t live that way. I live
with expectation and time. All relative. Relative to what?
Relative to… others… relative to me now and relative to
me one second from this eternal “now.” Anxiety of the next
moment becomes too strong. The/My expectations of me.
To be strong… what do I do with the rest of my day? Anxi-
ety covers me… midday or mid evening. To be alone with-
out my “disorder” leaves me with just me. Why can I not
be with just me? Rock doesn’t give me enough distraction.
My eyes are leaking now. I’m sad by this. My rock has
helped me again… too late. My bump seems bigger than
Rock’s bump. I want to make the world perfect. When I
drive on the freeway I want to clean it and plant trees and
make it pretty. I want to clean up neighborhoods and make
them have lawns and flower beds… But even nature is not
symmetrical, not “perfect” but it is perfect imperfection. A
snowflake has five sides.
A rock is never unhappy.
Tears dry quickly on Rock.
(On this page I have a list of what I had eaten that day total-
ing 1490 calories for the day so far)

JANUARY 19, 2000

EMAIL TO ED

I’m naked
My breasts are perfect.
That is all. Well, my calves are great too.
Everything else is flawed. I could never be comfortable, yet,
naked… this naked around someone else. Well, my dog,
only. I would love to be this naked around someone else and
feel as OK… not that I even feel OK but as OK as I feel right

94

now which isn’t’ much.
My dog doesn’t care
My dog doesn’t see me as a person… with flaws.
I am a two-legged being of dominance and control and, most
of all, food. Survival.
She is the only one that has seen me throw up.
No one else could see this…ever. She doesn’t judge me.
She doesn’t see me as I am.
Disgusting and gross in these moments. She doesn’t see me
as my naked vulnerable yucky self in these moments. I am a
solid physical mass of flesh and bone that gives her comfort
and safety. Much like my addiction does for me. I cannot
stand her insecurity and reliance on me. She drives me nuts
sometimes. Today and yesterday were OK. Far and few
between.
Blick.
Blaa.
Scrutiny.
Diffident.
Magnesia… no… something else just as good, I hope. My
body is not me.
I’m looking forward to love. I am looking forward to my
matrix of life to mix with another’s and be able to feel naked
but not. Will I ever feel that comfortable? Will I have to be
thin?
It tastes like a hospital. Citrate of magnesia. Well, for
Christ’s sake… I have a fucking photo shoot. How can I
compete with that? My image there. For all to see and criti-
cize and judge… pressure. Beauty/ugliness. OK.
I am a show horse.
LoriDawn

JANUARY 20, 2000
EMAIL FROM ED
Hi LoriDawn,

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I admire your courage as you let yourself be seen. Though
the camera may create a fixed image, you are ever changing.
There is no I in your physicality. The body, thoughts, and
emotions flow in constant changing patterns, never fixed in
any one identity. Therefore your identity flows from mo-
ment to moment in interaction with that which is before you.
Don’t try and capture it, for your magic is found in those
changes. Between horsewoman, actress, beautiful woman,
and caring friend, flows a mysterious energy that can engage
and alter the world around her in moment to moment won-
der. It is when you or someone tries to capture, define, or
otherwise stop this process that the real you becomes lost.
Stay present, attempt not to capture perfection. You will
miss you.
Thank you for allowing me to bear witness to your struggle.
Anon,
Ed

JANUARY 26, 2000

EMAIL FROM ED

Thoughts for your back pocket:
Hi LoriDawn,
Just a reminder that the young woman, seen as one with her
horse as she rides, provides that same wonderful flowing en-
ergy to the world as she moves about. You offer great magic,
a flow of consciousness that is ever changing and seeking.
You are you in relation to that before you. Do not try to
grab at the moment. Let your energy be present. Many will
want to connect with it, some for healthy reasons, others for
less than healthy reasons. Trust that you will know when it
is time to hold back, that you will pick up the signals. Just
as you know to let up on the reins, nudge the rear end, set
more firmly onto the horse, slow down, you will know when
to move forward or backward with others. Yours is a much-
needed energy in the world. Your spirit is recognized even

96

when you try and hide it. Let it spring forward and those of
like kind will move closer. Hold it back and you will attract
those who wish only to conquer. Enjoy Sundance. I will
look forward to being with you next week.
Ed

At the end of January I was heading to The Sundance Film
Festival for a few days of fun with some friends. Still carrying with
me my dis-ease. No light appeared at the end of my dark tunnel. I
felt like a bulimia lifer. I’ve been able to “manage” bulimia around
people for the most part but staying with a group of people in one
house for a week was always a bit stressful. If I were to “click” over
it would be an uncomfortable and tense situation for me. Hiding my
disease from others in close proximity can be a scary prospect.

I survived the trip but fell hard back into binging and purg-
ing upon my return.

FEBRUARY 3, 2000

JOURNAL ENTRY (two days after my 29th birthday)

I was able to make it past the … restaurant… the dread-
ed restaurant… the thing that upsets me is that the craving
doesn’t seem to go away too easily. I’m still wanting to eat
that particular food. And, I know I couldn’t do it too eas-
ily in moderation. In fact I might just try to but I know it
wouldn’t work. I didn’t fare too well later in the night. I
didn’t plan on it (I purchased non-binge foods but ended up
using them as binge foods anyway.) It made me kinda mad.
I am proud of the first part though. I cried all the way home
from our meeting together and then went to bed. It felt good
to do that… cry… My manager called and woke me – bless
her heart – she understood as much as she can understand (I
will expound on why I am meeting with you to her when I
get the chance to – not over the phone – we are both busy
peoples and it is difficult to get together but I know she will

97

understand. She’s such a wonderful spirit.) … Anyway, I
just wanted to share that with ya. You make me feel better.
Thank you.
Oh, I just remembered as I was leaving our being together, I
was laughing and crying so hard that I could barely see and I
couldn’t quite tell which was which (laughing/crying). The
comment that caused this was something like “you’re not
going to be the ‘model therapy recovery person’,“ It cracked
me up because… why do we do this?! Why do we have
to be this perfect “recovery person” like we have to be the
model for others… or, as I should say, like “I” have to be the
model for others, “I” have to be the perfect one. The state-
ment was just so “me” that I had to laugh. And, given the
dynamics of this disorder, I’m not the only one who feels
this way. It made me laugh at myself… And cry…
I wanna get better.
--Me

FEBRUARY 4, 2000

ED’S RESPONSE

And you will
At some point you may want to smile at your disorder. Thank
it for the time spent in your service. Embrace it for its gifts;
dismiss it for having stayed too long at your parade and for
having over-stayed its welcome. Feel your breath without it.
Feel your heart without it. Feel your soul without it. Mak-
ing room for others and other things. Breathe deep; you will
pass many restaurants, however life will not pass you. Take
a moment to listen to your breath, quiet your mind, smile,
wrap your arms around yourself, and sleep gently into the
night.
Anon,
Ed
(Ed gave me an “assignment” to write down a list of all the
titles that I give myself and then, one by one, release them.)

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FEBRUARY 9, 2000

EMAIL TO ED

My title list… I’m sure I could think of more.
My titles:
Girl
Woman
Unwitting sexual object to men
Ex-girlfriend
Witting, but not quite understanding, sexual object to men
Soul
Mind
Body
Be-er with rock
Be-er with Earth and the laws attached, i.e., gravity, entropy,
etc.
Be-er with Bailey
Daughter to mom
Daughter to Steve
Sister to Lisa
Sister-in-Law to Craig
Friend to many
Aunt to Ashley
Aunt to Brandon
Provider to animals, Nika, Bailey, Shasta Brown and Ariel
Pseudo daughter to Charles “Papa Squirrel”
Actor
Student
Teacher
Product
Client to Robyn, Manager
Marketer of self
Be-er with Ed Bloch
As I released these titles I began to feel lighter however, I
was disturbed by the means in which I had to release them.

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