It’s weird, trying to get the mess of a life I had together. For what? A book. Because not everyone’s going to be as lucky as I was. Not everyone can get a wake up call. Not everyone can get that second chance. Sometimes I look at old photos and I don’t smile at them. Because I see what they don’t see. I might’ve been high on something (even if it was as minor as pot like my early years in the group). Or I’d be forcing a smile to hide the fact I was fucking miserable due to my parents. The reasons were endless really. It’s sad but, there’s not that many where I’m actually truly happy.
Before the past couple years at least.
I even fooled the world for awhile. Got myself to drop all the excess weight, scored some serious publicity for it too. I think I might’ve convinced myself I was okay. Because I could stop. I wasn’t like AJ, where it would always control me. It took me a long time to realize that I was wrong. And it took something that I can’t tell people. The guy helping me write this shit, the ghostwriter (I always think of that old 90s show when I think of him), can’t know. He’d think I’d lost my mind. Or that it was some stupid dream. But I know it happened. And I know it helped save me.
That’s why I’m so determined to save others in the same place I was.
They may not be so lucky.
