Freud - I Am the Voice Left from Rehab

I HAVE PERFORMED FOR ROYALTY, DINED WITH Superman, stood on a stage before 100,000 people and graced the covers of magazines. I lived an enchanted lifestyle at the top of the charts where fame was as fickle as the industry I once loved so dearly. I woke up one day to find it had all but deserted me and like a tornado had moved on to sweep up and spit out some other unsuspecting teenager with a dream. I found myself lying broken, beaten and bleeding upon the wreckage of my youth.

I was spiritually, morally and emotionally bankrupt and only divine intervention could save me. While I writhed in agony in a haze of booze and pills, I had run out of options. I literally crawled from the gutter that had become my all-too-familiar home, nursing a fractured skull, a liver in meltdown, a sodden brain and a bloated yellow body that I could no longer bear to look at or walk around in.

This book is the story of my blindingly painful fall to the darkest place imaginable. A place where demons are real and escapes are rare. I dont know if I believe in heaven, but I am sure hell is real I know because Ive been there. I know I also believe in miracles because I am living proof of their existence. Within the space of seven tumultuous weeks, I was raised from my deathbed and transformed into a solid, healthy, reliable father, husband and friend. I found recovery, rehabilitation and a happiness I could never have imagined.

What can we learn from the past if the stories we hear have no resemblance to the truth? I could sit here and gloss over details that might be considered distasteful or humiliating, but what would be the point? The decision to write this book was not an easy one to make. I had been open and honest about my journey through the music industry in my first book, i am the voice left from drinking . And I know that if I am to tell the story of my ensuing fall into the depths of alcoholism and subsequent recovery, I will have to maintain that same candour. But at what cost? The privacy of my familys personal lives? Probably.

After prolonged discussions we have all agreed I should go ahead with it. Why? Because my story is like many I have heard over the last two years. These stories, in their grotesqueness and brutality, are like cave drawings or early forms of the handing down of history. These stories are our stark reminders of the consequences of drug and alcohol abuse. They help to keep the sober sober. As I commit these words to paper I feel safe and strong in the knowledge that I have the total support of my family: Sally, Harrison and Jackson. We are like survivors of a shipwreck or a plane crash. There is a bond between us so powerful that it can and will never be broken as long as I stay the course I am on. Our days are full of love and we can make whatever we want of our future. We are truly blessed.

I have righted yesterdays wrongs and forgiven myself for my mistakes and the pain Ive inflicted on innocent bystanders. If you feel the compelling need to judge my disease and behaviour, make sure you clean up your own backyard first. As my dear friend Fiona Horne once said to me, When you point a finger of blame, look at your hand there are three fingers pointing back at you.

As I sit in the glorious California sun at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Vermont, banging away on my laptop, I feel a freedom and happiness like I have never known. For a start they make really great coffee. Melbourne people are so full of crap they think you can only get good coffee there or Rome. What a crock!

Today I can travel the world, safe and secure in the knowledge that I am a positive contributor to every project and life that I come in contact with. I can sleep well at night, knowing that I can make a difference. And that was my real motivation to write this book.

My story is not unique. Its simply a tale that might help to pass on a glimmer of hope to other alcoholics and drug addicts who are still suffering out there. If I can help just one person to find their rightful, happy place on earth, then any judgments I might suffer will be well worth it. Its also for all the wives, the children, the families and friends who can only watch helplessly as the one they love systematically destroys everything they once cherished. In their hearts they hope and believe that love and support will eventually win out, but sadly that love is usually wasted on the self-obsessed addict.

Too many people die needlessly every day and it never makes the news. They drop dead from liver failure, overdoses, suicide, brawls, domestic fights and numerous other catastrophes that are seemingly natural parts of an alcoholic or addicts life. And they are the lucky ones. The rest are either in prison, insane or still tormenting themselves and those around them.

Tomorrow Ill do what I do every day. Ill wake up rested and clear-headed. Ill eat a healthy breakfast. Then Ill run to the top of Mount Hollywood and look out over my new home, the city of Los Angeles. Ill give thanks for my sobriety, then Ill wander back down to the streets below where Ill try to be a better person than I was the day before.