I felt as though I was losing my mind, and although Brenna and I would see each other often, my industry woes would drive me to insanity. Feeling stuck at the warehouse job, and tired of the destructive living situation I was enduring back in Queens, I created a cartoon character representative of myself, wearing a black t-shirt with the “Because I’m Famous” plastered in white letters. There I was, sitting in Brenna’s room, the walls around me adorned with her beautifully expressive artwork. Each piece seemed to hold a fragment of her soul, reminding me of the person she was and the life we shared together. Despite the comfort and solace her room offered, I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that I was slowly losing myself to the darkness within. My fingers trembled as I picked up a comb and began to manipulate my long, unkempt hair into two devilish horns. As I stared into the mirror, I could hardly recognize the man looking back at me. The twisted horns on my head seemed to amplify the devil I had become, revealing my inner turmoil and the chaos brewing inside. It was no longer about the music or the product. I wanted to be famous, and I felt the world owed it to me. The more I drank, the greater my delusions became, and the further I drove people away. I began to obsess over my cartoon alter ego, spending countless hours Photoshopping the character into photos of celebrities. It was my way of coping with the suffocating feeling of mediocrity that was consuming me. Brenna watched helplessly as I spiraled further into my obsession, trying her best to pull me back from the edge of madness. But I couldn’t hear her over the self-destructive thoughts that plagued me. I was trapped in a web of my own design, and the only way out was through fame, or so I thought.
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