“It felt like I was speeding on the Autobahn toward hell, trapped inside a DeLorean with no brakes. And even if I could somehow stop, I’d still be screwed, because there’s no way I’d ever be able to figure out how to open those insane, cocaine-designed doors.”
The two-time Emmy Award-winning actress has written her first book, a surprisingly raw and triumphant memoir that is outrageous, moving, sweet, tragic, and heartbreakingly honest. GUTS is a true triumph—a memoir that manages to be as frank and revealing as Augusten Burroughs, yet as hilarious and witty as David Sedaris.
With GUTS, Johnston takes us on a journey so truthful and relatable, so remarkably fresh, it promises to stay with the reader for a long, long time.
“One of the best books written from the addict’s perspective I’ve ever read.”
—SCOTT BIENENFELD, M.D., addiction psychiatrist
“Hilarious and moving . . . as engaging as any fiction.”
—ISAAC MIZRAHI
“GUTS is an amazing, alive, crazy, breathing, raw, throbbing, and above all, brilliant testament to one woman’s courage, humor, and heart. Everyone who reads it will live lighter.”
—BRAD LAMM, interventionist and bestselling author
“GUTS is hilarious and heartbreaking and truly shocking. . . . [Told] with remarkable mastery.”
—SCOTT ELLIOTT, artistic director of The New Group
“GUTS is at once deadly serious and wildly hilarious— an impossible magic trick at which you are powerless not to stare.”
—ROB BURNETT, executive producer, The Late Show with David Letterman
“GUTS is utterly brilliant, every page brimming with Kristen’s sexy wit. Disarming in its honesty, hysterically funny, and so heartbreakingly brutal.”
—KATE WINSLET
“GUTS is spirited, raw, and thrilling . . . with an unapologetic ferocity and a generosity of spirit that instantaneously engages your heart.”
—GEORGE C. WOLFE, director and writer
“GUTS is the opposite of the usual ‘celebrity tell-all’—a captivating, laugh-out-loud, totally vulnerable, and excellently crafted book.”
—ANDY COHEN, VP of programming and host at Bravo TV
“GUTS is absolutely dazzling and completely inspirational on so many levels. I’ve never read anything like it.”
—TATUM O’NEAL
“GUTS is a shamefully moving, entertaining, painful, hilarious, brave, and ridiculously honest tour de force.”
—KATHY NAJIMY
“I was shocked, enlightened, awed, and moved to tears.”
—JOE MANTELLO, director
“Told with fearless, devastating honesty, laser-precision humor, and a refreshing lack of self-pity.”
—JOE SCHRANK, editor and co-founder of TheFix.com
“Kristen Johnston’s heart and soul are transcribed in this book, and her wit is irresistible.”
—CHRISTIAN SIRIANO
KRISTEN JOHNSTON is an actress, a teacher, and now, of course, an enormously celebrated writer. Johnston is one of the founding executive directors of SLAM, which is dedicated to creating New York City’s first sober high school. She lives in New York City with her pit bull, Pinky, who suffers from a food addiction. Visit her website at www.gutsthebook.com.
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JACKET DESIGN BY KRISTEN JOHNSTON
FRONT COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY DAVID NEWSOM
AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY ART STREIBER—© 2011 VIACOM INTERNATIONAL INC. COURTESY OF TV LAND.
COPYRIGHT © 2012 SIMON & SCHUSTER
guts
Gallery Books
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1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2012 by Kristen Johnston
Note to Readers
Some names and identifying details of people portrayed in this book have been changed; in one instance, a character is a composite of two people; and in a few instances, the chronology of events has been slightly altered for pace.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Gallery Books hardcover edition March 2012
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Designed by Jason Snyder
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Johnston, Kristen
Guts : the endless follies and tiny triumphs of a giant disaster / by Kristen Johnston.
p. cm.
1. Johnston, Kristen, 1967– 2. Actors—United States—Biography.
3. Drug addicts—United States—Biography. I. Title.
PN2287.J582A3 2012
792.02'8092—dc23
[B]
2011044413
ISBN 978-1-4516-3505-8 (Print)
ISBN 978-1-4516-3507-2 (eBook)
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE PEOPLE OF LONDON.
ESPECIALLY THE OVERWORKED, UNDERPAID, TALENTED, AND OCCASIONALLY UNPLEASANT STAFF OF THE HOSPITAL.
YOU SAVED MY LIFE,
IN WAYS YOU’LL NEVER KNOW.
OH, AND TO ALL THE FREAKS.
YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
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The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.
—CHUCK PALAHNIUK
Somebody’s boring me—
I think it’s me.
—DYLAN THOMAS
contents
Introduction
one I See Nothing, I Hear Nothing
two The Freak Has Landed
three Anyone but Me
four Ye Olde Elvis Catnap
five The English Patient
six Dying Is Easy, Living Is Hard
seven Blink
eight I Think We’re Alone Now
nine The Suffolk Strangler
ten The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
eleven Papillon
twelve Pretty Ugly
thirteen Welcome to the Planet of the Apes
Epilogue
Thanks. . .
Photo Descriptions
introduction
thank you ever so much for buying my book. I feel as if I know you already, and maybe even kind of like you. You certainly have exquisite taste in reading materials. As long as you don’t talk shit about me behind my back or send me naked pictures of yourself playing guitar, we’re good. (And, yes, I’m referring to you, inmate 49607.)
I thought it might be best if we got a few things straight before I tell you way more about me than you ever wanted to know. For starters, because in recent years the validity of some events in certain memoirs have been called into question, I’d like to begin by vowing to you that
every single stupid, funny, tragic, shocking, disgusting, and boring thing in this book really happened to me.
At least, I think so.
No, I’m pretty sure.
You see, there are certain portions of my life that I was wide awake for, yet completely unaware of, even while they were happening. And no, I’m not crazy. Well, that’s not really true. I’m not mental institution crazy. Yet.
I can’t begin to tell you how tempted I am to fill you in on the reason I have such gaping holes in my memory, but I think it’s way too early for that. I mean, I can’t very well tell you everything in the introduction, can I? Besides, it’s a crucial plot point, and I should probably at least try to make an effort to build up some dramatic tension before revealing it—
Oh, fuck it. I hate waiting. I’m a pill-popping lush.
Your mind is totally blown, isn’t it? After all, “an actress addicted to booze and pills” is relatively unheard of. And “an actress addicted to booze and pills who then writes a book about it” is even rarer. And when I say “unheard of” or “rare,” what I really mean is “disturbingly commonplace.” It was a dark day indeed when I was forced to admit that I was about as “special” and “unique” as a manila envelope. Even worse, I began to have an awful suspicion that my oh-so-fabulous life was really one long, cliché-ridden thrill ride.
I’ve been in recovery for five years, and I’ve worked my ass off to prevent a relapse, but one never knows with something as ridiculously annoying as addiction. I could stub my toe, get a papercut, or just be bored and all of a sudden, it’s “Has anyone heard from Kristen? She was supposed to be my maid of honor last night and she never showed up.”
Because I spent a large extent of my life plowed, you might find yourself longing for more details about certain events. Trust me, so do I. But what am I supposed to do, make shit up?
That reminds me—from time to time, I’ve been known to exaggerate oh-so-slightly to make a story more dramatic or funny. However, I’ve decided to tell the truth this time, even if it kills me. Mostly because I don’t want Oprah to yell at me. (So what if she doesn’t have a show anymore? She still scares the ever-loving shit out of me.)
Oh, righ— I almost forgot, I sometimes, upon occasion, use salty language, but very rarely, and only when it’s absolutely fucking necessary.
So that’s me. Just your simple, everyday, alcoholic, pill-popping addict-slash-actress who periodically indulged in hyperbole liberally sprinkled with profanities. All that really means is I was a lying drama queen with a dirty yap and a yen for chemicals. Go ahead, say whatever you want about me, because you could never come close to what I’ve said about myself.
I think that about covers it.
You can’t say I didn’t warn you.
One last quick thing before we begin. I thought this would be a good time to say a simple and heartfelt “thank you” to all of you truly incredible people who are lucky enough to spend your lives in the happy, safe, and lavender-scented meadow of the “nonaddict.”
I know I can speak for all of us addicts when I say how deeply grateful we are to all you fortunate souls who aren’t addicted to anything.. . .
You know, that sounds funny. Let me read it again. Oh, crap. That’s right. I’m such a flake. I always seem to forget this one little thing:
You don’t exist.
Everyone’s addicted to something.
Now, before you get your panties in a twist and send me some long, defensive rant (which, by the way, no addict would ever do), just hear me out. First of all, I’m willing to admit that there’s a slight possibility I think this way because I live in the Babylon of creativity and mental illness, which is New York City. But, I travel a lot. And I read In Touch magazine.
Of course that’s not all the research I’ve done on this subject. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve also spent hundreds of hours exhaustively gathering information from my couch while carefully analyzing the countless hot messes getting smashed and imploding on one of the hundreds of quality “reality” shows offered by almost every single network on television today. That, plus talking to some people has led me to this completely nonscientific yet chilling conclusion: everyone, absolutely every single postpubescent person in the good old US of A, is or was addicted to SOMETHING.
Let me explain.
I have to admit, I don’t know why people are so touchy about being accused of being an addict. Like it’s some bad thing, when it’s really not. You see, in my experience, most addicts are charming, talented, intelligent, creative, funny, sensitive, and ambitious. Unfortunately, this is the case only while they’re not using. While engaged in their “drug” of choice, addicts are either terrifying, mortifying, or so painfully boring that eventually their loved ones find themselves praying that they’ll have an overdose. Just a minor one. A teeny coma. Just for a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Oh, please. You know it’s true. And who could possibly blame you?
But, dear “loved ones,” lest you get too excited because you’ve escaped the drug and alcohol curse (so far), do keep in mind that addiction comes in many shapes, sizes, and forms. Let me give you an example: Let’s say one fine summer day you innocently decide to take a golf lesson. You enjoy it immensely. You then begin to look forward to your weekly Saturday-morning game. Then, without warning, you decide to quit your stupid dental practice, yank your kids from school, load up a moving van, and haul ass to Arizona. You can’t understand why your party pooper of a wife is mad at you.
You do all this just so that you can live directly on a golf course because you finally realize what will make you happy: playing golf every waking minute of every single day.
This, my new friend, is when you no longer play golf. Now, it plays you.
Ring any bells?
If not, don’t worry, I’ve got another little experiment here that might better illustrate my point. The results can be just between the two of us, no one else ever needs to know. Just take a deep breath and ask yourself if you’ve ever “had an issue” with one or more of the following (and lest you think I’m being holier-than-thou, I’ve had an issue with eleven of the following, at one time or another):
Drugs, booze, sex, gambling, work, power, religion, shopping, love, cutting or self-harm, food, cleaning, plastic surgery, lip balm (or is this just me?), nicotine, television, porn, gossip, having/being “the best,” toxic relationships, sports (playing and/or watching), tattoos, home decor, cars, exercise, money, being correct, adrenaline, collecting animals, obsessively collecting anything (dolls, stamps, Hummel figurines, etc.), being too invested in one’s kids (I’d like to give a special shout-out to all you stage mothers, you naughty Munchausen syndrome by proxyites, and of course you sexy Little League rage-aholics), makeup, lying, tanning, fame, people addicted to addicts, stimulation, rage, caffeine, and, finally, what I like to refer to as the umbrella of doom, under which fall all things computer-related, including the Internet, objects that let you send/receive e-mail, eBay, Facebook, Twitter, online dating, Myspace, Google, and all video games. (Unless it’s Tetris, that’s perfectly healthy.)
Well, Jesus. I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped. I hope I didn’t skip anything. I’m not too worried, however. I’m sure if I did, all of you addicts will let me know immediately.
Now here’s where it can get quite confusing: many of the above are wonderful and fulfilling activities. Many are necessities. What morphs them into addictions is when they become a habit or an obsession to the extent that they “damage, jeopardize, or shorten one’s life. Or when ceasing these behaviors causes physical or psychological trauma.”
That definition comes courtesy of Wikipedia, but it still doesn’t fully encompass what I understand addiction to be. Scouring the Internet, I couldn’t find even one definition that fully satisfied me, probably because most of them were more than likely written by well-meaning clinicians who are only addicted to harmless activities like knitting. (Knitting! How could I have forgotten about th
ose damn knitters?) Therefore, because I am lucky enough to be an addict, and I happen to know more about everything than anyone else, I couldn’t resist adding my own definition. Hope you like it:
ad.dic.tion [noun]: When one habitually and obsessively engages in mood-altering behavior that, despite the obliteration of every single thing in their lives they once held dear, they simply cannot stop.— Kristepedia
Pretty good, right? Wanna take a quick gander at that list again? Seriously, go ahead, I’ll wait. I gotta call a toxic friend back anyway.
Now that my self esteem is in its proper place, I sincerely hope you won’t lie to me. If you do, I deserve it. If you can still honestly say to me (well, okay, say it to my book, but I’ll know it if you lie, even if you think I can’t see you skulking in the back of that airport bookstore) that you have never had an addiction to any of the above?
Well, then, my sincere apologies, I stand corrected. You are one lucky soul.
Unfortunately, you might also just be the dullest person alive, and I kind of feel even worse for you than I do for the rest of us lunatics. (Oh, and by the way, I could not agree with you more, hon. This is so not the book for you. That new James Patterson hardcover is just two shelves over, you go enjoy!)
Anyone still here?
Oh, goody, let’s go.
Guts: The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster Page 1