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Alone. (Part 1)

            “Move. Please make way for Ms. Lovato. Sir, out of her way. Move. Move.”

            “Move.”

            “Hands off, sir.”

            “Please, make way!”

            I’m shoved from behind as my body is pushed closer to the limo, the light at the end of this tunnel. It can’t even be called a tunnel because there’s no space for me to walk. Sweating, huge, muscular bodies surround me, wearing black tuxedoes, and breathing all of my available oxygen. I think I’m going to pass out.

            A hand reaches through my protective-black-tuxedo-wearing-wall and skillfully slides his hand under my dress and pinches my butt, all in a matter of milliseconds. I awkwardly jerk my body away from the hairy hand and scream. Then I close my eyes, and try with no success, to close my ears, as I hear the back corner of my wall turn and give hairy-hand-man a blow to the groin. A painful wail sounds, but the man persists, as well as the hundreds of men just like him.

            Flashes, yelling, pushing, screaming incoherent absurd questions. The journey to the limo is interminable. I can’t tell if it’s the flashing cameras, or the fact that I haven’t eaten all day, but black splotches are invading my vision, and I give up all my senses to the men surrounding me. I close my eyes, and I realize I don’t even have to move my feet. The crowd around me pushes for maybe a minute, or maybe an hour, but finally my shoulders are pushed down, and my body is shoved into the limo.

            As the door slams behind me, I collapse. My body is splayed across the back seat of the car and suddenly all the events of today come flooding into my mind. This is often how my days end because during the course of the day, I can’t actually process what I’m doing. Half the time, I don’t know what time zone I’m in.

            Today, I know that I was in LA for the whole day. The memories slowly drip into my bloodstream. I woke up at 6:00 AM and went to some talk show. I can’t remember which one. But I do remember one question in particular: “How do you handle all of the stress of your glamorous Hollywood life?” The answer screaming in my head was “I don’t.” But I think I said something like, “Oh, it’s not easy. But the support of all my family, and friends, and my whole team working with me helps me get through every day.” Bullshit.

            After that, at around 10:00, I went to the set of my show. We filmed a scene that I had to…I don’t remember. Oh yeah, I had to eat. The scene was in the cafeteria and I had to eat this banana over and over again. The stupid girl I was in the scene with kept messing up her line, and I had to keep taking a bite of this banana. By the time the scene was over, I thought I was going to throw up right there on the table. But I was able to contain myself and make it to the Porta-Potty outside.

            After that was done, at around 4:00, I went back home where my whole hair/makeup/wardrobe team was waiting for me. When they were done pulling my hair and painting my face, they told me to “look in the mirror, see how beautiful you are.” Oh yes, beautiful. Bull. Shit.

            I arrived on the red carpet for the premiere of some Disney movie. I can’t even say that I forgot what it was called, because I never knew the name of it in the first place. My manager only told me two days ago that I was going to this stupid thing. He apologized and said he “forgot to tell me” because “your schedule is just so damn busy.” So why don’t you un-busy it? Isn’t that your job?

            And now I’m here. Splayed across the back seat of a limo, half conscious, alone. After I realize we’re moving and the flashing and badgering has stopped, I open my eyes. Sitting across from me is…no one. I can barely make out the sliding glass in the distance that separates from the driver. I dig my fingers into the leather of the seat and try lifting my head up, but I’m met with a horrible wave of nausea and immediately put it back down. I finally stop fighting my body’s urge to go to sleep and let go, trying to forget, or stop remembering, all of today’s horrible events. Not only that, but also trying to forget who I actually am, what I’m actually doing here.

            I finally drift off to sleep wishing, praying, with all of the strength that my body has left, to wake up as someone not living the glamorous life of Hollywood’s biggest star. 

shared 2 years ago on April/22/2012.