Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

Playboy world.
I was torn on whether or not to be excited about this project.
I had come to L.A. wanting to be an actress. My newfound lack of self-esteem had made me
crave fame for fame’s sake. I had started taking hosting classes, hoping to make it in any way I could:
acting, hosting, modeling, whatever. The one thing I hadn’t considered was reality TV. Despite my
hunger to be in the spotlight professionally, I have always been a very private person. Even before I
moved into the mansion, I changed my last name, in part to protect my family’s privacy should I
become known. Even the small amount of notoriety I had already gained from being one of Hef’s
girlfriends made me extremely uncomfortable—being a part of a bimbo harem was not what I wanted
to be famous for.
On the one hand, exposure on reality television could lead to many opportunities. Perhaps even
something that could give me some pride, some financial security, and maybe even enough confidence
to leave one day.
On the other hand, the drama demanded by a reality show could turn the mansion back into the
snake pit it used to be during the Mean Girls days (on and off camera). The prospect made me
anxious and depressed.
I was also scared of being lumped into a “blond bimbo” stereotype. After all, I remembered how
I had felt recently when we had filmed an episode of Entourage at the mansion.
We were each given one simple line to say on camera, surrounded by the show’s cast, crew, and
hundreds of extras. The scene had to be shot over and over and over again to the point of lunacy . . .
because Kendra couldn’t get her one line right.
I was beyond mortified and prayed that the floor would just swallow me up. I was certain
everyone on set was assuming that all three of us were equally ditsy. The thought of having to be
compared like that, on a weekly basis, gave me crazy anxiety.
There were days I woke up, sat at the desk I had added to the vanity area, and just felt like
falling to the floor because I felt so depressed. Though it is completely obvious to me now why I felt
so dark, believe it or not, back then I was stumped.
Don’t I have everything I want? I asked myself. The Mean Girls were gone and life at the
mansion was easier. I was slowly saving up a little money, and I was living in the lap of luxury.
Of course, to keep myself from really losing it, I was completely ignoring the fact that anyone
who was part of an old man’s harem and treated like a brainless idiot would be depressed.
Feeling like I was at a breaking point, I had told Hef that I needed to see a psychiatrist during
one of my sob sessions, but my confession fell on deaf ears. He refused to let me see a therapist
because, as he put it, a therapist would just tell me to leave the mansion. He told me to talk to Mary
about my problems instead.
In spite of his objections, I did end up seeing a therapist in order to get some prescription
medication. The therapist diagnosed me with depression brought on by my anxiety over filming the
reality show and how it would affect my life. He prescribed me Effexor, a drug prescribed to those
with serious depression (one I weaned myself off of a few years later). It made me feel a little better
for the time being and helped buoy me through the mansion for a few more years.