Fierce (16 page)

He put me to bed – again – and I lay there looking up at the ceiling thinking that I was going to die. Jack lay next to me the whole night. It wasn’t until 8 a.m. that I finally stopped freaking out.

It was just before
The Osbournes
started that I was first introduced to Nicole Richie. I was at The Standard Hotel, which is also just on Sunset. There is a bar through the restaurant at the front called The Purple Lounge. Nicole knew a friend of mine and she came over and said to me, ‘Oh my God, you’re so cute.’ She’s older than me, but when I used to see her out and about we’d hang out. Paris Hilton and Nicole have known each other for years. I met Paris on a separate occasion. I can remember it really well because it was the night the R&B singer Aaliyah died in a plane crash which was in August 2001. It was at a house party and Paris was standing on a table holding on to a window sill and dancing. I noticed that her tit kept falling out of her dress and she’d not realised because she was drunk. Loads of people around her were taking pictures. I felt like she was being taken advantage of, so I went up to her and put the sleeve back up on her blue dress. We’ve been friends ever since. I think Paris is a lot cleverer than people give her credit for.

I was with Paris when I suffered one of the worse hangovers I’ve ever had. It was just before my twenty-first birthday. A whole bunch of us had driven from Los Angeles to Vegas. We’d gone out for dinner and then to have a few drinks. I had just a couple of glasses of martinis at dinner and then we went to a club and I did about three shots. Almost as soon as I’d downed the final shot I was throwing up. I didn’t
stop throwing up until the next day. I thought I was going to die. I really did.

On the day I got a fake ID card from downtown Los Angeles, I got alcohol poisoning for real! I’d had a massive fight with my mum and dad. I can’t even remember what it was about, which just goes to show
that big fights count for shit when you’re older.

We were living at Doheny Road and I went storming out of the kitchen and into my bedroom. I was crying and I was pissed off. I packed a bag and called a friend of mine to come and pick me up. When she pulled up outside I was still sobbing. She turned to me and said: ‘Kel, you need to calm down. You’re smudging your eye makeup.’

She handed me a Xanax, which is a drug that’s given to people who suffer from panic attacks and anxiety. I’d never even heard of Xanax before, but I took one of the pills and instantly it made me feel loads calmer.

In the end, I’d forgotten that I’d even taken it. I was drinking and I didn’t give it a second thought that I’d taken a Xanax. That night I got so unbelievably drunk. My hairdresser actually found me in the grounds outside The Standard, passed out. She recognised me by my sparkly shoes that were poking out of the bush I’d fallen into right near a bus stop. How embarrassing is this story? I don’t know how I got there and I don’t know what had happened to my friends. But mixing Xanax with alcohol was obviously not a very good idea.

My hairdresser helped me up and drove me home. As soon as I walked through the door I collapsed. Mum and Jack took one look at me and drove me to the Cedars-Sinai, a private LA hospital, where I had my stomach pumped. I can’t remember what they did to me, but I felt so unbelievably sick. Mum and Jack stayed with me and then they drove me home and I just fell into in bed. I felt so bloody weak. Every part of my body ached. My head was thumping.

The next day, I was in the foulest mood ever. I can’t remember who it was, but someone came into the kitchen when I was making some tomato soup to try and make myself feel better. Whoever it was was trying to give me a lecture on drinking too much. I just got the bowl of tomato soup and threw it at the wall. I’m not proud of doing that, but I think I just felt so angry and pissed off that I’d got myself into that situation. I didn’t need to hear it.

A
LCOHOL
is the lesser of my vices. But when there isn’t anything – else, that’s what I turn to. I can drink anyone under the table. Drugs and alcohol are my biggest vices. They will always be an issue for me until the day I die. It’s all or nothing for me, I’m afraid. The problem with being in the public eye is that you can no longer go out and drink without there being a picture in the paper the next day. That has happened to me so many times. And sometimes I’ve not even been that pissed, but all a photographer needs to do is snap you while you’re blinking and you instantly look like you’ve had too much to drink.

In May 2008, there were the most embarrassing pictures ever of me plastered all over the papers. They had a profound effect on me. I’d been out drinking every single night that week so I probably should have stayed in on this one night, when I’d gone to see a band at Koko in Camden with a whole bunch of girlfriends. Afterwards we went to the nightclub Mahiki which is known for its Treasure Chest Cocktails. Before then, I’d had a shot of sambuca. I have no idea what’s in a Treasure Chest, but you all sit around it with your straws sticking
out. It tasted fruity and it went straight to my head. Afterwards, when we left the club, it was just chaos. There were photographers everywhere and they were pushing and I was unsteady on my feet.

I don’t have a problem with the media – they’re doing their jobs and they’re usually very nice about me. But there are times when the photographers push you and shout out nasty things to get a reaction. On this night I was being bumped all over the place. Sometimes, no matter how politely you ask them to get out of your way, they don’t get out of your way. When I’ve had a couple of drinks I just say to myself, ‘Keep your head down, Kelly. Keep your head down.’

The next day I just knew I was going to get a hammering in the papers. There were headlines that said: ‘Drunk Kelly’s Legs Go to Jelly.’ Another one said: ‘Kelly’s a bit Peaky in Mahiki.’ Those pictures absolutely destroyed me, they really did. It was a valuable lesson learned. I didn’t go out drinking for a while after that. I felt so ashamed.

W
HEN
we were little (and usually just after he had just spent time in rehab and was sober) Dad would gather me, Jack and Aimee together and sit us down and tell us very seriously, but in a calm voice, ‘One of you, if not all of you, will have “the gene”.’

I must have been about eight years old when Dad first started saying this to me. I didn’t have a clue what he meant. I was aware that my father was an alcoholic and addicted to drugs because there were no secrets in our house. My mum believed in telling us the truth, but the whole ‘gene thing’ I didn’t get at all.

Of course, now I realise what my dad was trying to tell us was that he feared one of us would inherit the gene that made someone an addict just like he was, and it was very much on his conscience. As he battled his addictions to drink and drugs, he was very frightened one of his children would follow him down the same destructive path when they got older. He had no idea what they might be addicted to because it isn’t just about drink or drugs. You can be addicted to anything from gambling to tomato soup.

I didn’t feel scared for myself when my dad talked to us about addiction like this because I was too busy worrying about him. I’m not joking when I say that I’d regularly come home from school at 3.30 p.m. when we were living at Welders and find my dad, passed out on the big comfy sofa in the kitchen because he’d drunk too much during the day. He’d be sprawled out snoring his head off after falling off the wagon yet again, as family life went on around him. We’d be chatting to Mum about our homework and Dad would be lying there completely out of it.