Over the years I have given hundreds of interviews and never mentioned anything about the dark part of my life.
The stories in this book mark the first time I have shared the details of these years of sexual and emotional abuse and the effects that followed me well into adulthood. I tried to write with the courage, fearlessness, and honesty that kept me alive. I hope it can have the same effect on those who need to find a story like mine to give them hope—hope that they can survive abuse and trauma and hope from realizing they are not alone.
Coming upon the suicide note I wrote began the process for me. “Take care,” it said toward the end. “I’ll see you again someday. Make the most of what you have and remember you’re never alone.” It took me twenty years to find that letter, but that was the day I saw myself again, as I had once written, and began this process of healing. I always thought I was healing, but only when I read that note did I begin to face every moment that came before and stop running away from the past and begin to truly heal.
It was time to tell my story. I was inspired by the courageous women who went public with their stories as part of the #MeToo movement, and I was equally if not more inspired by those who came forward with their stories of abuse for reasons other than #MeToo but were not believed. Above all else, I was inspired and indeed compelled to share my story by all the people who were like me, gripped by fear and denial and suffering in silence. Yet, there was still a lot of work I needed to do in order to get out of my own way and be vulnerable enough to write.
One day I went into my office with a cup of coffee and a handful of courage, opened my computer, and laid my fingers on the keyboard. I said a silent prayer and gave myself permission to remember, to speak, to exercise my voice. I didn’t know if anything would come out, if I could put words on the page. To my surprise, the words poured out of me. The feeling grew into something awesome, difficult, painful, purposeful, and freeing.
Between the ages of twelve and twenty, I was the victim of repeated sexual abuse. It continued for years, defining my future relationships. Like many such victims of sexual abuse, I conflated feelings of shame and anger with affection. As I grew up, I gravitated toward men who took advantage of my vulnerability and confusion. A photographer. A manager. A lighting engineer. I assumed each unhappy stop was my fault. I got what I deserved. I didn’t know life could be different. I felt powerless to change.
I took drugs to numb myself from the pain. Alcohol. Pot. Coke. Crystal meth. Acid. Ecstasy. Mushrooms. Mescaline. It was my way of detaching from the hell of my existence—and surviving. As my career took off, this life of mine was my secret—my secret world of shame, embarrassment, and guilt. As an actress, it was easy for me to be the person other people thought or wanted me to be. I slipped into whatever role was required and safe, including two marriages that served as ill-conceived escapes. In many ways, art saved my life.
In the meantime, my real self was a shadow in hiding, someone I knew was there, someone with value and potential but also a fragile, broken soul in need of help. I couldn’t reach her. It was crippling—until finally, after escaping into two bad marriages, I met loving individuals who helped me see and understand it didn’t have to be that way.
I have come to believe that the most important thing we can do with one another is share our experiences and try to help and teach and inspire one another. Our culture is geared around tearing others down. I believe we should lead with kindness. The only path to our greatest peace is through an open heart.
I am grateful that I was able to meet up again with my sixteen-year-old self and help her understand that the terrible pain she suffered was her greatest gift. She gave me my voice, and now I am giving her a voice—the voice that those of us caught up in this suffering are brainwashed to believe we don’t have. I want this book to provide companionship to those who are isolated and alone. I hope it can be a light showing there is a way out. I never want anyone to look at me, or anyone else who has gone through similar experiences, and ask, How could you let that happen to you—and not just once but repeatedly? It’s not our fault.
I spent a lifetime hiding from the truth.
Then I discovered that truth was my power.
Truth is our power.