Other than that, the only thing that marked the little pity party at the end of the episode was an absence. It was like the gap in the back of your mouth after a molar has been pulled. Your tongue is magnetically attracted to it, plumbing its vacancy over and over again, prodding at the pain and wondering what was lost. It's like trying to remember this new world, one that is not complete. That pulled molar was Kim Richards, home alone at her Sad Valley Ranch with the blinds pulled. She was sitting in the corner of the living room which was strewn with used food containers, various and assorted bottles, and the flaming slits of afternoon light. But she couldn't face the sun. No, Kim couldn't face anything.

She couldn't stop crying. She was out of pills, she was out of love, she was out of hope. She had nowhere to go. Her sister was still angry with her, her children were disillusioned with her constant need for reassurance, even Pumice, the rock that she painted a face on and called a boyfriend, disappointed her. It couldn't love her. It couldn't fill that emptiness inside. Nothing could. She knew that. She knew that again, like a name she had forgotten. For the millionth time she knew it and kept saying it over and over again to keep herself from forgetting again. It wasn't something wrong with her sister or her kids or the pills. It was something wrong with her. It was something about the Disney castle past that just never lived up to the ruined ranch present.

She couldn't stop crying. She couldn't stop everything. Feeling everything at once, every bristle of the carpet beneath her and the texture of the wall that was too lumpy to ever be smooth, too inherently flawed to ever be perfect. She could feel the scratch of her clothes and the heat of the house, sufferingly sweltering as the day's sun heated everything. She was insane with feelings. That's when she saw it, just out of reach: her phone. She crawled over, still wracked with sobs and picked it up. She pushed the little green button with a phone on it. Nothing happened. She pushed it again. Still the screen was blank. She pushed it again and again and again and nothing happened. It, too, was dead. She wished she had the energy to to throw it, but she didn't. She just fell back into the carpet and let it lie there in her hand—weak and helpless.

She couldn't stop crying. She thought she could lie there forever, one slat of light across her face as the rest of her sulked in the shadow. They would find her just like this when she died. If she died. This was the end, she thought, as she pulled her knees into her body a little bit tighter. Unless...

She couldn't stop crying, but she felt something like electricity in her feet, a stern tingling that said, "If you want to. You can move a little." And she did, up and onto her feet as she stumbled into the kitchen and fell toward the cordless phone, energized in its cradle. She grabbed it like Sylvester Stallone grasping for a crag in Cliffhanger. That is how Kim always thinks, in movie moments. This was the scene of her redemption. She just realized this wasn't the end of her tale. There was still one more act. The act where she gets it together. The act where she slowly lunges toward happiness every day. She pushed the button on the phone and it came alive with a beep and a hum. She dialed, too slowly to be called frantic, but with a shaky purpose. She dialed. She did it. She finally did something. "Help," she said into the receiver while it was still ringing, before anyone picked up. "Help."

'I'm an alcoholic': Real Housewives of Beverly Hills star Kim Richards finally admits that she has a problem

By Amelia Proud

Last updated at 8:57 PM on 26th January 2012