When I was on the road I didn’t eat. I threw up at every show, but no one seemed to notice. Your shelf life only lasts until you’re 30. I was 26, spent half my pay on Botox and bigger lips. My implants made it hard to lift my arms. Women who came up on their own don’t like us very much. They think we’re getting a free ride. My trainer wouldn’t teach me how to fall, said I was used to being on my back. If we don’t know what we’re doing, we’re easier to fire. My bruises wouldn’t heal. I covered them with makeup so I wouldn’t look tough. Guys in the locker room aren’t used to hearing no. When you get called a slut, you have to laugh it off. My angles always involved men—who thought I was hot, broke my heart or learned I was a whore. My boyfriend complained about my schedule, so the office let me go. They figured he’d just date another Diva. My hair was falling out. I took so many Xanax I got lost backstage. At the end of my first year, I couldn’t catch my breath, move fast enough for matches. I was afraid I’d die if I kept going. Quitting was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.