I never really looked into myself, deep below the surface.
I was just caught up in my job and flying around the world and wanting to be fabulous. But there comes a point when it all catches up with you and you have to deal with it. And that caused me to reassess myself and get real treatment for my anger and my addictions.
What I came to realize is that I had to surrender. I'm such a controlling person, but I had to just let go and let something higher than me be in control of my destiny. You have to let yourself become vulnerable again.
Some people can handle a drink or a line of cocaine, but I've finally come to realize that, for me, it's all or nothing—and it has to be nothing. And my life has changed since.
I'm not saying this to excuse what I did. I threw the phone—I threw it, but I didn't bash it—and that was wrong.
I'm guilty.
I take responsibility.
So I keep on sweeping. I'm moving so fast they tell me to slow down. I'm getting very protective of my pile of rubbish—kind of the way I feel about my Hermès handbag or my Louis Vuitton. I keep looking around to make sure no one is crossing into the area I was assigned to sweep. I guess that's my all-or-nothing behavior again: Once I start sweeping, I have to sweep everything.
It's time for lunch, and we order in from a Spanish restaurant. One of my coworkers gets wings; I get chicken stew. I want to treat everybody, so I pay for it. A very nice lady from the Sanitation passes out drinks. She smiles and she says to me, "Don't you want a Diet Coke?" I say, "No, I drink regular." And she's like, "You're a model. You should be drinking Diet."
Mr. Barry takes us into an office where we can eat. He saves the day because he somehow finds me hot sauce. I always carry hot sauce in my bag, but I don't have it with me. Mr. Barry is very cool.
After lunch we continue sweeping. The radio is tuned to an Eighties station, so I hear a lot of ABBA and Donna Summer. The time passes very fast.
When it's time to go, I sign out and go back into the circus outside. I go to the gym, then Steven and I go to dinner at the Dylan Hotel, which has a great steak house. I go home and watch I Love New York on VH1. Then the 11 o'clock news rolls around, and my friends start calling and texting me. I try not to read the tabloids, and I am not fully aware of what's going on, but I find out that the press is turning this whole thing into a fashion show by commenting on what I was wearing.
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