Fitness model who got homeless after becoming an addict Loni Willison is blaming her ex-husband, “Baywatch” actor Jeremy Jackson, for her mental health deterioration.
In an interview that X17 Online published on Friday, the 39-year-old Willison—who has been spotted looking through dumpsters in California throughout the years—was asked where her life went wrong.
“My former spouse. Getting hitched. I got divorced, at least,” she answered.”He arranged for this to happen to me.”
After less than two years of marriage, the couple suffered a painful breakup in 2014.
During an apparent drunken altercation, Jackson allegedly attempted to choke Willison. The Post reached out to Jackson for an answer.
Willison formerly modeled for magazines like Flavour, Iron Man, and Glam Fit. She disappeared from the public view for over four years, until 2018.
Instead of her beautifully bronzed physique and gorgeous blonde hair, Willison had become disheveled, had short hair, and had lost her top teeth when she resurfaced.
During the interview on Friday, Willison said that her stomach hurts “really bad” and that she is “in a lot of pain.”
She said that she “can’t live inside anywhere” and that she is no longer allowed to be near power because she was “electrocuted” every day for about a year.
I believe that in addition to sensing electricity, I also detect other substances such as wire, various metals, fuses, batteries, and specific compounds. Therefore, I believe that my body even filters that kind of stuff,” she said.
I wouldn’t know for sure; I’d need to use a sonogram machine or a large X-ray machine to find out. It’s fairly intense.
When asked whether she had asked the city of Los Angeles for help, Willison replied, “There’s nothing that anybody can offer me.” There is nothing we can do to help.
She claimed to have received offers of help but never made a request for it.
She acknowledged that she’s “not necessarily” satisfied with her life’s course, saying, “There are good parts and there are bad parts, but whatever.”
The interviewer also noticed that she had serious injuries on her fingers. When he suggested that she have them checked out, Willison comforted him, saying, “I’ll be fine.”
In a 2018 interview, Willison discussed her energy issues with the Daily Mail. She said at the time that she was “getting tortured in my home, my apartment” due to her crystal meth addiction.
The 42-year-old Jackson has been open about his own battles with alcohol, drug, and steroid addiction.
In order to serve time in prison for allegedly stabbing a woman in Los Angeles in 2015, Jackson accepted into a plea deal in 2017.
He was also kicked off “Celebrity Big Brother” in 2015 after it was alleged that he had stolen model Chloe Goodman’s robe.
I Found a Girl Alone on a Dark Road – What I Saw When I Got Closer Will Haunt You
Driving alone on a foggy night, a mother sees a young girl in a torn dress, quiet and strangely familiar. As she drives closer, she notices the girl’s sad eyes, filled with secrets that might be best left unknown.
It was late, and the night seemed darker than ever. The fog hugged the car like a thick blanket, hiding everything beyond the headlights. I squinted ahead, holding the steering wheel tighter than usual.
“Just get home,” I whispered, rubbing my tired eyes. It had been a long day at work, and I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed.
I always avoided this road. I usually took the main highway, but tonight, I thought: A quick shortcut will save time.
Then, I noticed something in the distance. A shadow in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes, heart pounding. The outline was faint, but it was there in the mist.
“Please just be a tree or a mailbox,” I whispered, though I knew it wasn’t. As I drove closer, I realized it was a girl. She looked thin, and her white dress was in tatters.
A chill ran down my spine. Every instinct told me to turn back, but something held me there.
I cracked open the window, my voice shaky. “Are you okay?”
I stepped out of the car with a flashlight. The beam lit up her face, and I gasped, stumbling back. I knew that face. The pale skin, the wide eyes—it was my daughter.
“Emily?” I whispered, barely believing it. She looked at me, eyes empty and wide.
“Mommy?” Her voice was faint, like a distant echo.
Shock and relief overwhelmed me. It was Emily, my daughter who’d been missing for five years. She had vanished without a trace, and no one knew what had happened to her.
“Emily, oh my God… it’s you,” I stammered, stepping closer. “Are you hurt? Where have you been?”
She blinked slowly, her expression blank. “I… don’t know,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, like she hadn’t spoken in years.
I knelt in front of her, heart racing. “It’s okay, honey. It’s me. We’re going home now, alright?” I wrapped my coat around her thin shoulders and led her to the car. She sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out into the fog.
The drive home was quiet. I glanced over at her, but her face was blank, as if she were somewhere far away.
“Emily,” I asked gently, “do you remember anything? Anything at all?”
She didn’t look at me. “A room. It was dark. There was a man, but I can’t remember his face.”
My throat tightened. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. We’re going home.”
When we got home, she sat on the couch, looking around as if everything was unfamiliar. I asked if she remembered the place, but she only shrugged. Her voice was flat and empty.
“Mom,” she whispered, “I’m… cold.”
I wrapped a blanket around her, feeling her icy skin. The days that followed were tense. Emily was distant, barely speaking. The only time I heard her voice clearly was when she sang an old lullaby I used to sing to her. It felt strange because she shouldn’t have remembered it.
One day, I found her looking at old photo albums. Her fingers traced a picture of her father, Mark. He had died when she was a baby.
“Mom?” she said, confused. “I know him.”
I felt a chill. “That’s your dad, honey. I’ve told you about him.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I know him from… the place.”
A cold wave of fear washed over me. Emily couldn’t remember Mark, but she knew someone who looked like him. It had to be his brother, Jake. They looked so alike, almost like twins.
I couldn’t ignore the feeling anymore. I needed answers.
The next morning, I drove to our old family cabin deep in the woods. It had been abandoned for years, but something felt off when I arrived. One of the windows was covered with a cloth. Why would someone do that?
I pushed the door open, dust swirling in the air. Everything was untouched except for a small room in the back. Inside, toys lay scattered, worn but well-loved. My heart sank. This was where Emily had been kept.
I called the police immediately. Hours later, Emily sat quietly with me as the officers searched the cabin. She clutched her blanket, looking small and sad.
“Mommy… I remember now,” she whispered. “It was Uncle Jake. He looked like Daddy, but different. He would bring food and hum that song.”
The police confirmed it that night. They found enough evidence to arrest Jake. He confessed, saying he had taken Emily to “protect” her, wanting her to rely on him. It was twisted and horrifying to realize he had been so close all this time.
When Emily heard the truth, she broke down, crying out the pain she had held inside for so long. I hugged her tightly, rocking her gently. “You’re safe now,” I whispered. “No one will take you away again.”
In the days that followed, Emily started to open up more. She would hum the lullaby at night, as if testing if it was safe to sing it again.
One evening, we sat together by the window. She leaned against me, and I softly hummed the lullaby like I used to. She looked up at me with a hint of peace in her eyes.
“I love you, Mommy,” she whispered.
Tears filled my eyes as I held her close. “I love you too, sweetheart. Forever.”
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