Free Psychos: A White Girl Problems Book by Babe Walker

Jekyll from Hyde?
    I grabbed my iPad to check the Daily Mail site and came face-to-face with this:
    Nice binge, fatso. I’m gonna have to give you lipo with a knife and a vacuum cleaner.
    TTYL
    It was written in black lipstick across the screen.
    “Noooooooooooo!” I screamed and threw the iPad away from me with such force that it shattered against the wall. A single sob escaped my lips, followed by a much larger one, and before I knew it I’d dissolved into the kind of crying that only comes from feeling completely violated or humiliated. I was alert enough to know that I had to get out of the Chateau as quickly as possible, but I couldn’t catch my breath and my body was trembling out of control. Looking around the suite, I could feel the presence of an intruder. Few sensations are as frightening as realizing you’re not alone when you thought you were. I got dressed, grabbed my purse, and got the fuck out of that hotel. The Chateau Marmont was not safe.
    By sunset, all my belongings had been moved back into the guest house, a major security system had been installed, and I’d bought two guard dogs: a Doberman named Larry and a German shepherd named Tarzan. Even though the grounds were “secure,” I was still so shaken by the experience that I spent the next few days moping around like a ghost stuck in purgatory, trying to cross over into the light of the living.
    If there was an upside to all of this, it was that it gave me time to try to figure out Babette’s reemergence. I guess I had a pretty serious personality disorder and needed professional help, but not, like, from an astrologer or facialist. There was only one person who’d be able to ease my woes, and that was my old therapist, Susan. The bad news is that Susan had terminated our doctor/patient relationship after a tiny incident (she fell asleep during one of our sessions and I drew a dick and balls on her forehead with a Sharpie in retaliation). One hugegift basket from Joan’s on Third (her weakness) and an apology from me in person got me back where I needed to be: sitting across from Susan in her safari-chic, super Ralph Lauren-y, Santa Monica office.
    “I’m a mess,” I sobbed to Susan. “I have no one. Like, I woke up today and checked my phone and didn’t have a single missed call or text.”
    “And how did that make you feel?”
    “Um, lonely? Obviously.”
    “Mmm. Hmm.”
    “This isn’t helping as much as I hoped it would.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Paying someone to talk about myself. It’s kinda not as fun after so much rehab. Could I be over hearing my own voice? Oh my God, that’s so dark.”
    Susan sighed. “I think it’s time you take action, Babe.”
    “Action?”
    “Create new relationships. Broaden your social circle. Los Angeles has so many different types of people to offer. Explore that.”
    Susan had never been more right in her life. It was obvious that I’d simply outgrown my friendships with Gen and Roman in the process of finding myself at rehab. Yes, I would always love (and mostly hate) them, but I was lost, friendless, and in need of a complete reinvention, again. Also the dark fact of the matter was that Robert and I hadn’t spoken since our Babette/salad tossing/Chateau Marmont rendezvous. It had only been a few days, but he hadn’t gotten in touch with me, and I was far too embarrassed to reach out to him, so I figured he was probably over it. It wastime to do exactly what Susan suggested and go outside of my comfort zone. As much as I hated trying to make friends, it was time to be open to new relationships. Ugh . . . fine.
    I met my first new friend, Téo, one night when I was having dinner with my dad at the Sunset Tower Hotel. I was applying eyeliner in the bathroom when a super famous (but horrible) actress stormed in. I noticed her truly heinous Louboutins before I noticed who she actually was. When we made eye contact, she screamed “Leave!” in my general direction, covered her face,