Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you figure out the score. Take me. I had it all: guitar player in a popular band, top forty single, groupies, recording contract, American tour. There was even talk about having one of our songs in Rock Band, but after I was arrested in Cleveland, that deal fell through.
The thing is, I never wanted to get hooked on Smack. I never even wanted to try it, but when you’re backstage with a dozen groupies sitting around you and someone pulls out the needle, well, it can be really hard to say no. I didn’t want to be known as the band buzz kill. Turns out that the rest of the guys were able to self-regulate. Not me. It was like a switch flipped and suddenly I found myself as a full-blown addict. I lost fifty pounds and started having trouble playing. My bank account was empty, then one day the band announced I had been replaced. I finally got off my butt and looked into drug rehab.
That began what I frequently refer to as my lost year. I was in and out of programs so frequently that I really didn’t need an apartment. Of course I was eventually evicted anyway. I scrounged money from family and friends, but the clinics would take it, send me on my way and blame my poor character when I relapsed. Then John, my former manager, found me begging outside the bus station one day and arranged for me to go to a real treatment program. It took four full months, but this place was on a huge country estate, the counselors treated me with respect, the therapy was intense but rewarding and it worked.
I’ve been clean for a year. I released my first solo CD to critical acclaim and sent the proceeds to John.