t was bound to happen sooner or later. We were the shiniest of the shiny, the happiest of the happy, the sweetest God-fearing boys that you'd ever want to meet. We were golden, man, golden. And the public was just waiting for one of us to fall.
Not that I'd ever wish this on anyone else, but I hate that it was me.
At least I was the most predictable, the one least likely to do more than tarnish the halo over 'Nsync. If it had been Justin or JC or, God forbid, innocent little Lance then the teenybopper world would have gone reeling, but it was just me. Joey Fatone. The guy who already partied to much, so who was surprised when he turned out to be an addict?
It was really the rest of the guys who had to face the music, while I was tucked cozily away in detox. They had to deal with the press, the fans, management. They had to explain what had happened, how it had happened, and what was going to happen next. They had to face the critics for me, take the heat, and try and come out of it smiling. And yes, I'll forever be grateful.
How did it happen? I guess that's an easy one. We all do the shit, you know. Some more than others, granted. Me, I was just the lucky one who came from a history of addiction, who liked the partying lifestyle a little too much. It was mostly drinking, even in the end. A little of this, a little of that, but mostly just the booze.
They ignored it for a while, figured it was just the way I was. Told themselves, like I did, that it was still under control. Overlooked the tabloid pictures, the trashed hotel rooms, then the periodic lapses in memory. I showed up at interviews drunk. I missed appointments altogether. Then one night I somehow ended up in Justin's hotel bathroom, the mirror smashed into pieces around me, my hands and arms cut and bloody, crying...and didn't know who or where the hell I was.
I guess that was the last straw. I woke up in the hospital and JC was the one elected to tell me what was going to happen next. And that I didn't have a choice in the matter. And that, thank God, they all still loved me very much.
They supported me all through rehab, staying away when they had to, coming to see me when they had the chance. Not telling me what was happening in the outside world so I'd have a chance to start to heal. Caring.
But rehab was the easy part. The hardest part for me was when I came back out again, and we all had to start picking up the pieces.