Being a sex symbol is a heavy load to carry, especially when one is tired, hurt, and bewildered.
–Marilyn Monroe
It’s one of those times again, one of those nights when I can’t stand the feling of discomfort. The light brown pill bottles full of my medications are sitting on my nightstand. I look at them and grab them as if they were a piece of glass falling off the edge of the table; a pill bottle in my hands has become an occasion that happens quite often. Lately, sadness has spread throughout my body as fast as cancer would. My career has been so good to me and has filled my life with happiness—happiness definitely isn’t an understatement. I was happy, just not all of the time. It was like we had a relationship, my career and I, like a long married couple; it brought me happiness, but at the same time I wanted to get away from it. My insecurities have always gotten the best of me. Recently they have really brought my career to a standstill, and that’s why I’m here again, taking five times the amount of my medications than I should. I’ve always tried to smile for the camera and not let anything get in the way of showing everyone how strong and confident I can be. When it comes down to it, I let people think what they want, and if they care enough to bother with what I do, I already know I’m better than them. Really, who wouldn’t become confident hearing, “Marilyn, over here! Marilyn!” while multiple cameras are flashing around you? But then again sometimes it’s hard, especially in times like these when I’ve been publically torn apart and deceived. My fame was a blessing, yet a curse. I mean, I never really had happiness in life until I got married to Jimmy Dougherty, but then I found where I was supposed to be, on magazine covers and starring in movies. That’s when I found real happiness. When I was five, I think, that’s when I started wanting to be an actress. I loved to play. I didn’t like the world around me because it was kind of grim, but I loved to play house. It was like you could make your own boundaries. When I heard that this was acting, I said that’s what I want to e. Some of my foster families used to send me to the movies to get me out of the house, and there I’d sit all day and into the night. Up in front, there with the screen so big, a little kid all alone, and I loved it. I was able to escape from a childhood that no child wants to live and make something of myself. I had finally fulfilled my dreams and will be remembered, but I never quite understood it, being this sex symbol becomes a thing. I just hate to be a thing. But if I’m going to be a symbol of something, I’d rather have it sex than some other things they’ve got symbols of.
I can feel the reaction the pills are beginning to take. My body’s beginning to tingle, and I’m becoming drowsy, but now I hear my phone ring. I pick it up, and it is a friend, Peter Lawford. “Hiya Marilyn!” he says to me. “I’m having a party tonight, and I’d love to see you here.” I don’t want to go, especially in my state. Peter continues to try to convince me, but I can’t be persuaded. Part of me knows he realizes I’m not okay. I can feel it continue to spread throughout my body and know I should tell him one last thing before I am completely gone, “Say goodbye to Pat, say goodbye to the president (Peter’s brother-in-law), and say goodbye to yourself, because you’re a nice guy.” The phone is still in my hand, but Peter isn’t there anymore. I being to feel myself drifting away . . .
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Then I can see it all again. After starring in Some Like it Hot, I began filming Let’s Make Love. This was the movie where I began to lose myself. People said I looked “untidy” and I “lacked the old Monroe dynamism.” Hearing people say I lost my charm in acting tore me apart; it made me really hurt. I began taking drugs to numb this pain, but after a while it didn’t take it away, so I started taking more. I overdosed multiple times; sometimes suicide crossed my mind, but they say things can always get better. I thought it would. My physical health began to decrease along with my mental health. I had to spend a lot of time in and out of hospitals to get surgeries and work on my mental state. I had to spend some time in a mental ward—my depression had gotten so bad—but I didn’t let it stop me from moving back to where I came from, California. I was able to buy my first actual house. I couldn’t wait to make the inside my home. This was one of the few things that made me happy in those days. I had been able to sing “Happy Birthday” to the president as well. I got up on stage, after I overcame my fear, in a sparkle-covered nude dress. I was able to show the part of me that I had lost for a little while, and it felt good. After singing to the most powerful man in the world, my career continued to dwindle. I began modeling again for various magazines and giving interviews. I even posed for Vogue! I was tgrying to get my image back out there, but it didn’t seem to be working as well as I had hoped. I mean, I knew I belonged to the public and to the world, not because I was talented or even beautiful, but because I had never belonged to anything or anyone else. They were the people who showed me love when no one else really did.
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I began to feel myself drifting away, slowly becoming detached from my conscious self. The pills are taking full effect as I lie here in the only home I’ve ever had, the one place I know no one can harm me, physically or mentally. But drugs are my only true escape; they create a state of content that I have become used to. They help me get away from this world of madness, and now, I’m finally leaving for good.