He came from a home where silence was never peaceful, only loaded, waiting to explode. In that chaos, the guitar became more than an instrument; it was armor, confession, and survival. Every down-picked riff carried a memory he couldn’t name, every snarled lyric a feeling he’d never been allowed to show. When the world finally heard him, it mistook his volume for strength, never seeing how much of it was really a cry for help.
As the tours blurred and the crowds swelled, the boy inside him stayed small, terrified, and exhausted. Addiction stepped in where comfort never had, numbing what the music no longer could. Stepping away from the stage to face himself was the bravest act of his life. Not a comeback. Not a redemption arc. Just a man choosing to live, even if it meant returning to the quiet he’d spent decades trying to outrun.
