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I've been through hell, hell with shit sprinkles on top. From the day I was born I felt like I was shot out of cannon with a trail of failure flames stuck to my ass. And then only to ride atop a fun train that I thought would keep choo-chooing on forever.
It didn't. Well, I mean it did, but I was ceremoniously kicked off at around "Your-life-has turned-to-shit-ville." I had hit a wall. My mustache wasn't real, nor were my friends. My authenticity was a big fake-job with an artificial pose struck for pretend. On top of that I was an addict, and a closet homosexual.
Sensing that my walls were closing in, I entered rehab. Although, I left still ever in love with the cocaina, I was finally cured of my homosexuality. With boys off my mind, and women still not doing it for me, I once again threw myself into drugs.
Six Months later. Santa Monica Blvd. While lost in a powdery haze of mirth with some of the biggest names in the modeling business, my mustache had come undone.
It was over.
They say that everything happens for a reason, and I can attest that if that reason doesn't involve a cause and affect, then it's not just a reason, it's destiny.