Nikki Sixx - This Is Gonna Hurt: Music, Photography and Life Through the Distorted Lens of Nikki Sixx

I am writing this by hand because my computer has no battery life left. I think its a good way to start the last chapter, running outta juice, so to speak.

I dont know about you, but I am pretty exhausted by all this honesty. I have to tell you, this book has uncorked me in places I didnt know were stuck. I have had realizations about my childhood and decisions Ive made based on those hard years, about how they formed my outlook and perception of my life, and how I plan to move forward with the help of this newly peeled onion.

I know this will touch some of you. Some of you will relate, some may even curse because you agree with me or, better yet, will sling these pages across the room thinking, How dare he say that.

I think the biggest realization is how fear has driven me to achieve great things but also, like any double-edged sword, has cut me, sometimes to the bone. During the writing of this book I came to this realization: ego is the enemy, and fear is one of the masks of ego, as is anger. I am not a psychologist or a therapist, but I have been to both over the years, and read many books, too. I think the journey to a better life begins when you find your true self and name the issue at hand. Mine would be my abandonment by my mother and father. For me, the process of recovery happens through outside help and with a spiritual connection to a power greater than myself.

M y first taste of therapy came when I was sent to the principal for knocking out a kid with my lunch box. I went to the office, and the kid went to the nurse. I felt justified due to the months of torture I endured on the bus rides to school every day. I would climb aboard the bus and two older boys would tell me I couldnt sit down unless I gave them my lunch money. Even when I did, they would abuse me, pushing me under the seats and sitting on me for the twenty-mile trip to school.

Having no luck asking the driver for help, I decided one day to fill my metal lunch box with rocks. When the usual happened, I handed over my lunch money. As we pulled up to school and exited the bus, I called out the kids name (I cant remember it for the life of me), and when he and his friend turned around I swung my lunch box and hit that motherfucker in the face with everything I had. Blood splattered everywhere, and he hit the dirt with a thud. As I wound up for another swing, to level the second bully, he took off in a dead sprint for the nearest teacher. They told me I broke the first bullys nose, and now all the other kids were scared of me.

The principal asked me how I could do such a violent thing for no reason, but what really stung was when he said, Whats wrong with you? Its a question that has come up more than once since then. At the moment there was no leather couch for me to lie down on as I told of my wretched life, or a $350 bill owed at the end of the session. There would be plenty of time later for that.

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Somewhere inside, I have a fantasy that I can create something to help people change their lives. But maybe like a self-help book as written by William S. Burroughs. The sneer and snot of rock n roll is as much a part of me as the tattoos on my arms. Still, showing how I got here alive might make a positive difference in somebody elses struggle, just like certain books helped me through mine. That hope is a big part of what this book is about. Its what makes me passionate about getting it right.

Writing for me is therapy, like self-help with a pencil and the nearest tablet or notebook to write it all down. My life is on the pages of a million journals, scraps of paper, computer files. Ive even been known to write on myself. Its like WWF wrestling with a schizophrenic. After the second or third round you go back to your corner, rethink what you wrote, then rewrite it again and again, all whilst taking uppercuts and flying arm bars from yourself.