One time, the cast and I are doing a magazine shoot at Kyle Richards’s house. I haven’t driven a car since my accident, so thank God Alberto can take me. I’m having a really bad day with that earth-pulling exhaustion, where I can’t even put one foot in front of the other. Rather than go into Kyle’s house, where all the girls are doing hair and makeup, I choose to lie down in the backseat of the car to conserve my energy until they’re ready for me on set. This is the only way I can make it through. It’s strange to me, because if someone was sitting in my driveway and not feeling well, I would go out and say, “How are you? Why don’t you come into the house, take the guest room, and relax until we start?” But Brandi Glanville is the only castmate who comes outside to see me. Nobody else goes near my car, not even to offer a glass of water.
Although I try not to be, I’m hurt by the lack of simple things like this from women who are supposed to be my friends. Lisa Vanderpump says she is my friend, but she seems to only be my friend more when the cameras are rolling and not when they aren’t. I have been in and out of hospitals and clinics in the previous year and a half, trying to find a cure for a disease that has been incredibly debilitating. I understand that my sensitivity is heightened because I’ve been sitting on the sidelines and not at my best, but Lisa visited me only once during this time period. She says it is because she’s overwhelmed with her workload. But it’s interesting to see that, as busy as she is, she found a way to show up in the middle of the day to see David get his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame a few weeks earlier. This is when I realized she is a different kind of friend, a Hollywood friend.
Without cameras rolling, I clearly feel the lack of compassion of this group of women. They are my coworkers on a reality TV show, which, although it may seem more glamorous and interesting, is no different from a job at a bank. There, you see your coworkers during business hours and maybe have a coffee with them once in a while, but you don’t share your private life with any of them. This is how it is with the women on the show. I don’t view them as close friends because I’m not intimate with them in any aspect of my life. I don’t really trust them with my heart because sometimes they become so volatile that I am afraid that anything I share with them can potentially end up on national TV, so I have my guard up. I have my real life with real friends and my show life with show friends. It’s a strange way to live, but this lack of authentic intimacy seems to be normal in this environment. To be honest, I haven’t really been able to fully participate so I try to go with the flow. The times that I have to attend all-cast events during this season are the toughest for me. The noise and stimulation are hard on my brain. This is why I choose to live in a quiet cocoon isolated from the outside world, which is the exact opposite of what is required of me as a housewife. I am supposed to be this glamorous woman who lives a fun and exciting life, yet I can barely get dressed and deal with whatever drama is brewing in the moment.
My word retrieval is so slow that, even though I attempt to participate in conversations, I’m better off just staying out of the fray. Brandi is for sure the craziest cast member, but she also has the most compassionate heart in the group and is sensitive to my struggles. With the little energy that I have, it becomes harder and harder to listen to the women fight over mostly unimportant things, so I learn to let things roll off my back. I become more timid as time passes. Who am I? Will I ever be normal again? I can’t help struggling with these question as long as the answers seem to be unknown. As crazy as it all feels at times, I never lose my laser-beam focus: my quest to find a cure for Lyme never leaves my mind. It’s sad to learn as time goes by how many people suffer from invisible chronic disease, but it’s also good to know that I’m not alone in this journey.
Fan mail starts pouring in, and I get lots of messages on social media from suffering and debilitated Lyme patients. The hard part is that they’re looking to me for answers that I don’t have. I share how I feel on social media, but I am afraid to discuss my treatments because I don’t want people to waste their money on the crazy expensive things that I have tried without success. Several celebrities who are battling Lyme reach out to me through David, and it’s fascinating to learn how many suffer in silence. This reminds me of a very famous person I met along the way, who told me that if she talked about her Lyme publicly, it would ruin her image and the sales of her beauty products. It left me stunned and speechless, because a thought like that never crossed my mind. Wouldn’t this just make her more human? I don’t know, and I guess it’s best not to hold any judgment around this for everyone should do what feels authentic to them. I just feel that the more people who speak up, the faster a shift will come about. Regarding my own path, I feel spiritually enlightened. God gave me this life because I’m strong enough to live it, and I’m determined to turn my mess into a message.
Some people question how I could be sick when I “look so good.” At one Housewives party, one of the women asks me how I feel.
“Not so great,” I say. “I’m just trying to keep it together.”
“But you look pretty, so it doesn’t matter how you feel,” Kyle says. I know she is joking because she says it with a smile, but the words ring true. That’s the frustrating part of any invisible disease: how you look has absolutely nothing to do with how you feel. Lyme patients can be in treatment for years and still look quite normal. One day, a castmate questions how I can run through Beverly Hills for an on-camera scavenger hunt if I’m actually sick. Here’s how: I spend 45 minutes to create a 10-minute scene because it’s part of my job. I am disciplined and learn to push within my limitations. I now realize that most people have no clue about what it takes—how much energy and effort—to do things that look so simple and easy on camera and that most can do without blinking an eye. Resting for a week to film for a few hours and having to recover afterward is my new normal, and, although it’s hard, I have to accept it. When it comes to parties this season, I am always the first person to go home, and I get a lot of flak about it from the other women. It’s probably hard to understand that once I leave those parties, my nervous system is so amped up that I curl into a ball in the backseat of the limo, sweating with tremors and severe exhaustion. Nobody knows that I’m hanging on by a thread and just trying to keep it all together. You can’t really understand unless you live it.
July 6, 2013
Praying for the one and only important thing in life.
#Health
In the middle of filming the show, it’s time for Gigi to leave for New York to start college and her career as a model. She’s always been extremely driven and is excited to take on both tasks. It’s crazy how eighteen years with your child goes by so fast. I’m going to miss her desperately. It’s going to be hard not to see her smile every morning at breakfast and have her energy in the house. She’s such a bright light, loving, fun, and motivating for all of us, as she always goes after what she wants. It isn’t the first time that we’ll be apart, but this time it’s for real. On the other hand, I’m excited because Gigi is the first person in my family to go to college, and I like the idea of her getting a degree. I was blessed with the opportunity to model, travel the world, and make a lot of money at a young age, but I never found my way back to college. I also feel confident that I’ve given Gigi the tools and foundation to make a life for herself.
“I know you’re going to take New York by storm and hit the ground running,” I tell her while we pack her room in Malibu.
August 11, 2013
Treasuring every moment I can
with my @gigihadid in NYC.
#nextchapter #baby1off2college.
A week later, I fly with Gigi to New York to help her move into and furnish the apartment we found online. I spent plenty of time thinking carefully about how to best manage and use my energy, because setting up her new home is a huge task. I ordered the furniture from various Web sites and had all her linens purchased, washed, ironed, and shipped to New York before we left. Tom ordered all the cleaning supp
lies and groceries. Although this living situation is clearly the right choice for Gigi, it’s hard on my relationship with David. He thinks she should experience dorm life and that I’m spoiling her by getting her an apartment. But Gigi is going to be working and starting a serious modeling career. She needs to be in a place where people wake up at six in the morning for work, not in a dorm where teenagers could be partying all night. Maybe I’m not familiar or comfortable with dorm living because I didn’t go to college, but I still want Gigi to be in a secure building with a doorman so I don’t have to worry about her. I worked in New York when I was her age and saw too many models get into dangerous situations because they lived in unsafe places. To me, the extra cost of a doorman building buys me peace of mind. Perhaps it sounds extravagant but Gigi has always been very frugal; she doesn’t care much for clothes or fancy items, probably because she spent the first eighteen years of her life in the barn and on the volleyball court.
I am carving out a little space in the big melting pot that she can call home, a grounding pad so she can focus all her energy on becoming a financially independent young woman while getting her education. Even though Mohamed lives a big and fancy lifestyle, that does not define our children. I purposely raised them away from Hollywood in a far more realistic lifestyle that feels authentic to me. It was important to me that they went to public school, where we became part of a wonderful and normal community. I always made them aware that their dad’s money wasn’t their money and that if there is anything about that lifestyle they desire, they must work for it. I’m always shocked by the attitude of entitlement that you often see in children from wealthy families. Gigi, Bella, and Anwar are very well aware that they have to make their own money starting at the age of eighteen and learn to survive on their own by the time they turn twenty-one. The training wheels are off by then, which I consider an extraordinary blessing considering that Mohamed and I both came from very humble beginnings.
I feel really sick as I move Gigi to New York and don’t have much energy, yet I push through to fulfill my obligation as a mother. I schlep from Bed, Bath & Beyond to the Container Store, move furniture, and hang paintings. Finally, she’s settled in and the time has come to say good-bye. I wish I could stay for six months, because leaving Gigi is a lot more difficult than I ever imagined. Well, I guess I don’t really know what I imagined, but I do know that even though millions of moms send their children to college each year, it’s still not easy when it’s your child—especially the first one leaving the nest. An hour or so before I leave for the airport, Gigi and I are snuggled up on her bed talking about last-minute stuff.
“I should have written a manual, like a checklist of all the things I need to talk to you about before you start college,” I say.
“What?” Gigi asks, laughing.
“I have about a thousand things in my head right now that I still want to tell you,” I say. I feel the tears in the corners of my eyes.
“Like what?” she says. I pause to think.
“Well, did you know that you should save your receipts when you get your hair and makeup done because it is tax-deductible?” This is the first silly thought in my head, and it sounds funny, not deep like the kinds of things you’d imagine you would talk to your child about before she leaves home. But that’s it: the things I want to discuss are all over the place from serious to simple.
“Yes, Mom. I know,” Gigi says. “I already made a folder for that.” Of course she has! What am I thinking? I need to relax, because there is no reason to doubt Gigi, a perfectionist who is always on top of her game and certainly a lot smarter than I was at eighteen.
“And Mom, if you want to tell me something, there’s the phone and FaceTime and we can text,” Gigi says with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “I’m not dying; I’m going to college. I promise you I will be fine.”
“I know you will be,” I say. When I was young and modeling far from home, I had to go to the bank and get a roll of quarters to call my mom in Holland from the pay phone on the street. There were no cell phones or any of that sort of technology, so my momma couldn’t reach me even if she wanted to. I feel confident that I have given Gigi the tools to survive in this world. Leaving home is part of growing up, and I know my angel is definitely ready to spread her wings and fly.
Next to a photo of a cover story about me in the Lyme Times
September 27, 2013
Unfortunately not a very glamorous cover
but a story that must be told for those who can’t be heard.
My life back in L.A. continues to be on the sidelines, solely focused on my recovery and trying to crack this code. Why is this so hard? I often ask myself. I speak to numerous Lyme patients from all over the world to continue to educate myself and share information. From talking to Avril Lavigne, who can barely get out of her bed in Canada, to fans who write me from the Australian Outback, I know that we all ask ourselves that same question: WHY is there no cure? I often feel defeated, but every day I find a way to hold a space for gratitude, because I do know I’m lucky even though I’m wrestling these terrible circumstances. One day Avril stops by my house with her mom for a cup of tea. Her light sensitivity from Lyme is so severe that she can’t even take her sunglasses off when we are sitting in the living room, even though my blinds are closed! Avril’s mother has been taking care of her, and I can see the fear in her eyes. I feel so much compassion because there’s nothing more devastating for a mother than not being able to fix your child. But we nurture and support because that’s what we do for our children.
It’s a tough first quarter for Gigi in New York. She is juggling work, school, dating, and a first heartbreak. I’ve spent most of my days in bed since she’s left, so I’ve been unable to visit her. Although we connect several times a day by text and FaceTime, it isn’t the same, and I can feel the sadness in her voice. One day when we FaceTime, it’s the middle of a dark and extremely cold winter day in New York City, and Gigi is not herself. She’s crying over little things that usually would not bother her, and even though she has a fever and has been ill with what I think is a flu and exhaustion, something doesn’t feel right. I call Marc.
“What’s the best holistic clinic in Gigi’s neighborhood?” I ask him.
“I don’t know anyone down there, but the most amazing guy is on Fifty-fourth Street,” Marc says. “I’ll find out if he can see her.”
“Okay, thanks. Then please text me the address,” I say.
“My long-distance pharmacy is running out of ideas, my love, so I need you to get in a cab uptown and go get checked out,” I tell Gigi. She sees Dr. Lee, a Chinese doctor, for acupuncture and special herbs, which clear up her flu but not her exhaustion. Somehow she is not jumping back into life like she usually does, so my mommy intuition tells me that she really needs me right now. I go to sleep worried and wake up the next morning with my mind set. I impulsively ask Paige to book me a flight to New York for that afternoon. I spend most of my time here resting in Gigi’s bed, but at least we’re together. Although she didn’t ask me to come, since she knows that traveling is difficult for me and doesn’t want to bother me, she is happy and grateful that I’m here. David feels otherwise.
In fact, this is one of the biggest blowups we’ve had. He’s furious that I have come to New York two days before our wedding anniversary. But I am in survival mode right now and doing my duty as a mother, caring for the child I put on this planet, so it’s hard to understand what is going on with David. The disconnect hurts and is very confusing to me. However, when my child needs me, nothing else in the world matters. I am running on empty and just trying to feel the best that I can.
David is not communicating well and gives me the silent treatment for several days. He actually comes to New York for work while I’m here, but he ignores my texts. Having someone disconnect from me in a relationship is the worst feeling, which is clearly a leftover from the abandonment I felt from my father’s sudden death. On the plane home from New York, I fe
el not only physically ill but also emotionally sick because of the unnecessary stress from my marriage. Something has to shift. Although I lost the ability to let my words flow freely over the last two years, writing is my only outlet, so I attempt to put my thoughts to him on paper. After all, who am I going to talk to? I’m not ready to admit that my marriage is not what we hoped it would be. I love this man, but I can’t express myself to him, and he is shaking my world right now. It’s truly been a rough road for both of us. I know I am not what I used to be.
My Love,
You pulled away the only lifeline I had which was YOU! I counted on you because you promised me you would be there for me. I begged you to please never abandon me again and not only did you do it, you did it at the worst time in my life.
I honestly will never, ever understand what I did to you to deserve this. I have not been the greatest wife due to my illness and the inability to keep up with your busy schedule. But I never stopped caring for you the way you deserve to be taken care of. You still had a loving home. You will never understand the true meaning of these words unless life brings you to your knees one day. If you could spend one day in my brain or my shoes, I’m not sure what you would do.
So I apologize if I wasn’t focused on where you thought my focus should have been. But trust me, I am just trying to endure the punches life is throwing at me, every single day, day after day for the past 400–500 days of my life while keeping you all happy and taken care of.
Believe Me Page 11