Back On The Horse

The days began to blur together as Alonzo and I poured our hearts and souls into “Good Morning Bushwick.” The high-quality morning show had become our primary focus, and it made sense to scale back on the B&RS episodes we’d been recording in the other studio space. As the show gained traction, we knew we had a unique opportunity in front of us, and we were eager to seize it. But even with our growing success, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of guilt and misery that consumed me. My sister’s health had begun to deteriorate during my time in New Jersey, and even though I was now back in New York, I still felt as if I was miles away from her. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t help but resent the fact that for the majority of her sickness, I was lost in the entertainment industry. The weight of my absence during her struggles bore down on me, and I found solace in the numbing effects of alcohol, drinking myself to sleep every night. Each night, Brenna and I would climb up the ladder to our canopy bed, the one that left a mere three-foot gap between my face and the ceiling. The small space was almost symbolic of the internal battle I faced daily. As I lay there, my thoughts raced, consumed by the haunting memories of my sister’s illness, the relentless pursuit of success, and the lingering guilt of not being there when she needed me most. I would think of the countless hours spent in the sterile hospital waiting room, the smell of antiseptic and stale coffee lingering in the air, and the hushed voices of anxious families, all praying for a miracle. The pain of her condition was a constant reminder of life’s fragility and the ever-present line between life and death. No matter how close I got to achieving success, I felt as if I was always losing. The weight of my sister’s illness overshadowed every accomplishment, casting a dark shadow over the brightest moments. I was trapped in a vicious cycle of ambition and remorse, unable to escape the suffocating grip of guilt and responsibility.