Guts: The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster (22 page)

To my mom, who inspired my love of storytelling. (By the way, I’m really sorry for all the F-bombs.) My brother, for giving me permission to share a difficult part of his story. My sister, for laughing at almost everything I’ve ever said since I was a kid. My dad, for such great memories. And my entire family. Whether we make each other laugh or cry, you’re beautiful people one and all, and I’m deeply grateful to each of you.

And then, of course, there’s Team
GUTS
:

My aforementioned literary agent, Lydia Wills, for not only convincing me to write this book, but for being able to effortlessly run around Manhattan in six-inch heels.

To everyone at Gallery Books at Simon & Schuster: My editor, Patrick Price, for his keen mind, obsession with formatting, and his heartless (and usually correct, dammit) blue pencil. Kate Dresser, who looks like she should be exchanging witty barbs with Cary Grant in some Capra film and is instead relegated to dealing with people like me. She does it beautifully, and I could never put into words how grateful I am for all of her hard work on
GUTS.

But there would be no
GUTS
without the soul of my stunning, hilarious, and very wise editor in chief, Jennifer Bergstrom (well, she’s wiser than me, sometimes). From our first meeting, her incredible passion for this book was obvious. (I kid you not, she entered the room crying, laughing, and quoting from the two chapters I had sent her. What a dork.) Her support and generosity has never once wavered, and it’s meant more to me than I could ever put into words. She’s become a dear friend, and I’m excited to prove to her that I’m capable of discussing something
other
than this fucking book.

I’d also like to thank everyone at Paradigm who works so hard for me, especially Sarah Fargo, Erwin Moore, and Jack Tantleff. I owe so much to my friend and manager Becca Kovacik at the Hofflund Company, who has had the misfortune of working with me for almost twenty years. Despite looking like Lily Pulitzer’s granddaughter, she’s one of the least pretentious people I know. Oh, and Rick Miller, her assistant, for keeping me sane(ish).

To Dr. Barry Cohen, who’s not only a terrific and caring physician, but a great human being, who took the time out of his incredibly busy practice to help me make sense of my over seven-hundred-page hospital file. (If there’s any medical misinformation, however, the blame lies solely on my shoulders.)

To David Newsom. Whose brilliant photographs (including the cover) added so much to my story. Thank you, truly, for your talent and generosity.

To Dr. Scott Beinenfeld, for his guidance during my sometimes bumpy, always difficult first year of sobriety.

I also have to thank my dear friend Joe Schrank, who met me when I was at my most vulnerable. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s an interventionist, runs the coolest after-care facility in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and has become an inspiration to me on so many levels. Check out his amazing recovery website, thefix.com.

There are a few friends of mine whose thoughts and ideas really helped me shape this book: Bruce Cohen, Jeff Richmond, Laura Berwick, David Dieguez, Scott Elliott, Wally Shawn, Michelle Lipinsky, Dixie Chassay, and especially Andy Cohen, John Benjamin Hickey, and Joe Mantello.

A special shout-out to Erica Smith, David Khinda, Rob Burnett, and Julie Davis for their annoyingly spot-on notes.

To Marci Klein and Laura Bauer, for being brave enough to help me build my coconut boat.

For their generosity, love, patience, and support, I’m so grateful to Cadee Viele, Chris Miller, Briget Ann Rein, Chris Bauer, Harper Simon, Jamie Tarses, Jason Blum, Thomas Krauss, John Early, Joe Reilly, Nicholas Famularo, Frank Selvaggi, Kate Moira Ryan, Brad Johns, Tatum O’Neal, Karen Kawahara, Gaetano Romeo, Deanna Swanson, and Kathy Najimy.

To my fairy godmother Wendy Neu. You supported me in such an extraordinary way right when I needed it most.

To her beautiful sister Jackie Bisbee, who’s been my best friend since we were freshman at NYU. Thank you for always loving me, especially when I couldn’t. Jackie, I’ve always wanted to ask you something, and for some reason this seemed like the appropriate moment: How the hell have you managed to be such a fascinating, fabulous, and massively successful woman, CEO of your own huge company, have a brilliant husband, fantastic kids. . . and yet remain the least crazy person I’ve ever met in my life? It’s weird. No secret obsessions, no self-harm, no quirks. It’s weird, and it’s wrong, Jackie. And I’m letting the world know.

To my English friends Daisy and Joanna, who showed me such compassion while I was sick. They were my only regular visitors in the hospital, and would bring me pillows and books. Thank you both, so much.

And to my excellent shrink, Dr. Mary Frederick. I know, it’s a bit embarrassing to thank one’s shrink. But every time I got scared, or wanted to skate over certain things, or simply wanted to give up on this book altogether, her enthusiasm and excitement were what inspired me to keep fighting to be as honest as I could, and to keep writing. Week after week, I couldn’t wait to read the next chapter to her. (Besides, I’ll admit, it was nice to have the occasional diversion from having to discuss how fuckedup I still am.) I don’t think I’ve ever met a smarter or more generous person in my life, and it’s because of her that I’m continuing the difficult process of trying to live a “mask-free” life.

To Natasha. We all miss you so much. The world isn’t nearly as sublime or complicated without you in it.

There are probably so many other people who showed their support in different ways, but due to my prolific drug and alcohol abuse, I can’t remember who they are.

So if I neglected to mention you, I suggest you go to an Al-Anon meeting and get over it.

Last, but never least—thank you to all my fellow warriors out there who are fighting bravely to get and stay well. I don’t think it makes a difference if you’ve been sober thirty years, an hour, or the length of time it took you to read this sentence. Remember, we’re all just Freaks in the same leaky coconut raft. Hold on. Life just might surprise you if you give it a chance.

Love, Kristen

Cover photograph,
by David Newsom, circa 1997. Taken in his dining room, with no special equipment. As you’ll see, there are many photographs taken by David sprinkled throughout the book. This is because not only is he a truly brilliant photographer, but also because we were dating at the time, and he just happened to chronicle me as I began to slide into the darkest depression of my life. Lucky man.

Introduction photograph
also taken by David Newsom in 1996. I had just become famous, and I was too dumb to realize that agreeing to be the grand marshal of the Fourth of July parade might be just slightly mortifying. Besides, could no one find a good, old-fashioned convertible? I mean,
a Tracker?

“I See Nothing, I Hear Nothing” photograph,
taken by Chris Miller at a party at Morningwood Farm, Pine Plains, New York, summer of 2006. One of the last photographs I have of me wasted. The expression on my face pretty much says it all.

“The Freak Has Landed” photograph,
taken by my father, circa 1978, in our backyard. I was around ten years old.

“Anyone but Me” photograph
was my school ID when I was a senior in high school, in 1984–1985. And yes, that’s a perm. Deelightful.

“Ye Olde Elvis Catnap” photograph,
taken by my dear friend and photographer David Khinda, in July 2011. It was a glorious day, surrounded by friends Kent Cummings, Chris Miller, Karen Kawahara, Gaetano Romeo, Becca Kovacik, and her daughter, Eloise.

“3rd ROCK”-ER SHOCKER” photograph,
3rd Rock from the Sun
photo courtesy of Carsey-Werner, LLC.

“The English Patient” photograph,
taken by Erica Smith with my cell phone on June 2010, at the Drama Desk Awards. I had been nominated for best actress for
So Help Me God
at the Lucille Lortel. They hold these prestigious awards in a high school auditorium, hence the PRINCIPAL OFFICES sign.

“Dying Is Easy, Living Is Hard” photograph,
taken by Kathy Najimy circa 2000, at her husband Dan’s birthday party. What can I say, I was hammered.

“Blink” photograph,
taken by my father, probably circa 1967.

“I Think We’re Alone Now” photograph,
photographer unknown. Late nineties. Taken at a Human Rights Campaign Concert. I introduced k.d. Lang, which I was so excited about. She, however, was less thrilled to meet me. Sometimes I can come off like a giant, overfriendly golden retriever.

“The Suffolk Strangler” photograph,
taken circa 1996, by David Newsom.

“The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come” photograph
taken by Natasha Richardson, Christmas 2005. She had convinced me to play Santa that year, and I was so inebriated, I’m surprised Ol’ Santy didn’t take a tumble. I almost didn’t use it because it seemed almost posed to me. But it’s real. As if we needed more proof that a boozy Santa just ain’t cute.

“Papillon” photograph,
taken by David Newsom in Ireland in 1997.

“Pretty Ugly” photograph,
taken by David Newsom in 1997. This one photograph captures the sadness and alienation I felt at the time far better than any words.

“Welcome to the Planet of the Apes” photograph,
2006, taken by Bill Sage backstage at
Aunt Dan and Lemon
, a hit play I did with The New Group.

Epilogue photograph,
July 2011 by David Khinda.

Skydiving photograph,
taken in 2000. Photographer unknown, but I sure wish whoever the hell it was had managed to take it in focus.

Photo of me and Wilbur,
taken by my father circa 1977.

Photo of me pinching my sister Julie
, taken circa 1970. I still can’t believe my father decided to take the shot as opposed to jumping in to help my poor sister, but I’m guessing he was laughing too hard.

Photo of me and Pinky
, 2008, the day I rescued her from the ASPCA.

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