I could no longer deny the reality that I had become a failure, a shell of the man I once was. The weight of my dreams and aspirations bore down on me, a suffocating blanket that I could no longer push away. Despite the persistent haze of alcohol, I knew that change was necessary if I were to survive. With a heavy heart, I accepted a job with the studio’s owner on a separate project, hoping that it would somehow ignite the spark that had been smothered by my addiction. But every day, I found myself locked in an internal struggle, unable to come to terms with the bitter taste of failure that lingered on my tongue. Gone were the days when I stood on top of the world. Now, I spent my days wallowing in self-pity, drunk and alone in the dark studio, tears streaming down my face as I poured my soul into a karaoke app. The once vibrant energy of FirstLive CoffeeHouse was but a distant memory, and “Good Morning Bushwick” lay dormant, frozen in time. Desperate for something to cling to, I decided to try and revive “Roach TV” in the form of a podcast. I rationalized that the countless hours I spent alone in the studio could be put to better use, creating content that would “help further my career in the business.” But the truth was, I was once again succumbing to the siren call of fame and fortune, choosing to chase a fleeting dream instead of facing the harsh reality of my life. I knew that I should have been focusing on putting my life back together, on getting my finances in order and repairing the damage I had done to my marriage before our baby arrived. But the allure of superstardom proved too powerful, and I found myself pulled further and further away from the things that truly mattered. As I threw myself into this new venture, I convinced myself that it was the key to my salvation, the one thing that would finally catapult me to the heights I had always dreamed of. But deep down, I knew that I was simply running away from the truth, from the knowledge that I had allowed my life to spiral out of control.

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