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So, Sue keeps me well drugged up as needed. I get Xanax every night before bed and Coke every time I start to feel like I am low on energy. She calls it my pick me up.
Again, I can admit I am lucky. I don’t have that bad of a setup, all things considered. It could be worse. I am still living out my dream, getting to sing my heart out on stage almost every night.
Yet, still, I am unhappy.
Some would say ungrateful, but that’s not the case.
I’m just in a constant state of misery.
We are halfway through another long, gruesome tour in the middle of summer. I guess I should be thankful it isn’t a stadium tour but smaller indoor venues instead, so at least I’m protected from the sun and heat. Still, a thirty-date tour is a lot to handle for anyone, regardless of their mental health.
While I enjoy singing, it was also hard to do it so many nights in a row. I mean, technically, they aren’t in a row. There are days in between most shows, but being stuck on a tour bus in the heat waiting for the next date also isn’t fun.
Add in being under lock and key with constant security. It isn’t always fun or as glamorous as people might think.
Singing is my dream. The only thing I know I’m good at, but having to play the part of sexy rockstar is a full-time job. I have a lot to deal with. I’m constantly in the headlines for something, and it’s never on purpose or for a good reason.
It’s always rumors and gossip. Who am I fucking? When? Am I pregnant? Am I addicted to drugs? Stumbling drunk again? Am I dating this guy or that guy? Am I cheating on someone? Am I dying? Wasting away? Losing my edge? Do I have an eating disorder?
It was an endless torrential stream of rumors with some half-truths thrown in, but still. The endless scrutiny of my life is tiresome. I don’t get much privacy, and now, with the arrangement with Sue, I get even less.
It isn’t just the touring. When I am off the tours, I am constantly being set up on dates on the occasion I am single. I’m forced to go to events, such as award shows, charity events, and other bands’ shows. If it wasn’t those, there would be photo shoots and ad campaigns. Interviews where they always asked who I was dating and what I was wearing. Like my decisions somehow made a difference in the grand scheme of things.
Maybe that’s why I am in a constant state of misery. My dream came true when I got the contract of a lifetime, but I didn’t know what I was signing up for. I didn’t know I was signing away every ounce of privacy I had. I didn’t know I was signing up to have my life put under a microscope.
I guess I was fooled by the media, just like they use me to fool other kids into following this path. I thought it would be fun.I believed it would be glamorous, just singing on stage to sold-out shows and attending wild parties with other famous people. I had no idea there would be more than just singing involved. No one tells you how much control you lose when you sign a record deal.
I’m sure a therapist would say that’s why I starve myself, to gain back some control, some semblance of normal in my life. They were probably right.
In my mind, it would always be that beautiful, hollow feeling I had when my stomach was empty.
I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup while I throw myself a pity party when Sue walks in, without knocking, of course. The knocking seemed to have stopped the day I got caught. Thankfully, she has been away most of the day, doing damage control over the latest rumor. The press would like everyone to think I was knocked up with Tyler Manson’s love child after we were seen talking a few months ago.
My forced weight gain has people assuming I am pregnant.
Tyler Manson is some guy in a famous boy band. The press loves the idea of us together. A boy band singer with a rock star? It was so taboo. Why would a good-boy band guy like the bad, edgy rock star?
Of course, we didn’t even kiss. The press just liked to cause drama. All we did was speak for a few minutes at one of my shows.
“Abbey,” Sue says, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah?” I assume she wants to know if I was a good girl while she was away. She will probably ask if I ate all my lunch since she couldn’t be there to watch me eat every bite.
I had two bites, if that. I rarely have opportunities to cheat the system like I did today, so of course, I had to take the opportunity while it had nicely presented itself wrapped in a pretty red bow.
“Need a pick me up?” She asks, walking behind me. I lock eyes with her through the mirror. My blue eyes stared into her dark brown eyes. Her sharp brown bob looks nicely tucked into place behind her ears. Her thin, bare lips form a straight line as she looks me over in the mirror.
I wasn’t expecting a pick-me-up today. We just had a two-day break, but I wouldn’t say no. Doing coke burned calories. Which, why they let me use something as damaging as coke, I haven’t the slightest idea. I just hope they never catch on that I am rigging the system.
“Sure, I could use a pick-me-up,” I say. Anything to make this night more bearable.
She pulls a small glass vial from her pocket. She sets it on the small table next to me. “Pace yourself this time. We don’t need another bloody nose incident.” She is referring to the show in Chicago a few days ago, where my nose started to bleed right before taking the stage. They had to push my start time back by ten minutes and cut two songs.
“Did you eat lunch?” She asks the question I know she’s been dying to ask since she walked in.
“Yes.” I lie. Two bites of a sandwich and some bile were all that was in my stomach. She didn’t need to know that. This is the emptiest I’ve felt in weeks.
Her lips press together, forming a tight line against her face for a moment as she studies me in the mirror. I run a brush through my hair as she watches me, probably wondering if she should believe me or not.
