I'm watching this documentary on Motley Crue and how some of the guys' managers were trying to get them back together for a reunion tour so they can make some money. Mick Mars, one of the guitarists, has ankylosing spondylitis, a currently incurable disease which over time fuses the bones of the spine together. The guys from the band hadn't seen him in years, so when they saw him, frail and gaunt like an anorexic, they were shocked. Mick did a little interview in which he said that to combat the pain, he started taking opiates, and became addicted. I'll try to get this as verbatim as I can because I just saw it not 40 seconds ago, but he said, "I felt like I was screaming for help, but no-one was coming. So I was just alone in this 5800 square foot house, dying. I guess I had a death wish at that point."
He's just a skinny middle-aged guy, alone and in pain with no one trying to help him. All that fame, money, mansions, women, cars, guitars, none of it mattered. Fuckin' a.
That's not my point though. Not what you think. I'm not saying that money can't buy happiness or any of that. His wealth didn't matter only because he didn't have a lasting relationship with anyone who offered to help. Same as me. That's what caught my attention. Despite all that stuff, he had fucked up too.
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