Chapter 3:
Prodigal
“If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will
be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames” ~1 Corinthians 3:15
I never thought I'd be writing any of
this down. I just assumed no one cared about what I did, or how I spent my free
time. The fact is, they do, or so I've been told. Howie told me I should write
down some of this shit that goes on in my head. I write poetry for the girls I
like, so why not?
For the longest time I assumed that no one gave a rip. Until Kev
got on my ass about what a prick I became. I was so friggin' self-absorbed that
I was the one who never gave two shits about anyone else. They all cared--I
just couldn't take that.
My whole life has changed since then. I've gotten a new outlook.
You might even say I'm a new man now. I sure feel like it. Every day I open my
eyes.
When my grandmother passed away, it felt like a part of me did,
too. I mean, stuff sucked before, but I thought it was nothing I couldn't
handle. She's like, real sick for all that time and I couldn't even be
there...Oh sure, I said hey to her on camera from the Backstreet Over Broadway
deal and whatnot, but that is not the same as what Kev was doing for his
dad...He was there for his family. The only one I can really identify with
(which doesn't actually count, because no one could really get how it is) would
be Howie. When he lost Caroline. That's not the same at all, though. Totally
different relations.
After that, I felt this enormous pressure on me to push down my
grief--to put my own sorrow aside in order for my family to keep together
through all of it. That was not even cool. I mean, I minimize it now so I won't
get overwhelmed by it--but it was hell. I may have been 23, but I still felt, I
don't know, like my grandma would live, like, forever. She's been there through
my whole life. The pressure from my family afterward was just immense and I
just didn't know how to cope.
I had drunk before, but never as much as I did then. I was willing
to do anything to distract myself from the emotional state I was in. It just
hurt to damn much to face it head on. So, I drank. I got drunk every time I
started getting down. And it actually "helped" for a while.
Honestly, though, my grandmother was just the tip of the iceberg.
My career was totally dominating my life...my stage-persona started to grow
until I wasn't Alex at all anymore. AJ started totally taking over. (It was
some freaky shit.) And where before I could separate the performer from the
person, now I couldn't. I craved being the center of attention. I wanted it all
to be one big party. The guys started to catch on pretty quick. All four of 'em
were on my ass at one time or another. Kev was always after me to get my shit
together. But I never did.
I honestly thought I was in control. That's what I wanted--what I
needed. After what happened with my grandmother--I mean, there was no friggin'
way I could control what happened to her.
But, I could control my pain.
At least for a while.
When I figured out that I really couldn't, that's when things
started sucking ass. I'd do the party scene, go back to my hotel room, and it
was like I was totally lost. I mean, shit! I'd walk around all damn day being
AJ, and all the time Alex was I don't even know where. I knew deep down that
who all the fans and public loved was AJ, the rebel with all his tattoos and
crap. These people didn't even know me, and yet, there they all were screamin'
for me. I mean, what the hell? It was just overwhelming to the point that I
couldn't take it anymore.
Like I said before, there just came a point where alcohol didn't
do a damn thing for me, and that was some scary shit. I was depressed as hell.
I hid that part, though I think the guys started figuring that out eventually,
too. The anxiety came then, too. I started to just lose it whenever I thought
of where I found myself. It freaked me out totally to think about it all. I
didn't know what I would do if I couldn't perform. I didn't even want to think
about it. I was AJ all the time--the performer on and off stage. If I couldn't
do that I didn't want anything. I would've rather died.
I became my craft. I let it consume me. I was so confused and the
pain never went away anymore. That pissed me off. By that point I had tried
everything I could conjure up--even moved on to more hard-core shit. But
nothing was doing anything anymore. Not a blessed thing.
I was a mess. Sleeping became my only escape. And then, Kev came in
all his thunder and told me that I was a worthless piece of shit. He said other
things, too. He was more pissed than I ever remembered him being. After that, I
just sat in my room. For the first time I looked past myself. I saw the person
the guys saw. I saw what the public saw. And it hit me. He was right about
everything. I was a nothing--a nobody. It was true. For the first time it
really hit home what the guys were trying to say:
I had a problem. I needed help.
And as the whole friggin' world now knows, I checked myself into
rehab, and probably pissed off a whole bunch of teenage girls in Utah, since
theirs was the only tour date we ended up not being able to make up. (I'm
really sorry about that, by the way.)
I probably tell this story way too much, but you know how much I
liked rehab, right? I bet y'all don't know why, though, do you? (Oh, wait, no
one else is gonna read this--I guess you'll never know! Ahahahaha!) Nah, I'm
just kiddin'. I liked the atmosphere there; it was so awesome! The thing about
it is, while I was away, Christ came back into my heart. I let Him back in. I
gave myself up.
What happened was, I was awake real late one night. And I was
starting to really worry about everything--about our fans, the dates, whether
or not I could really make it sober out in the real world. So I was pretty much
a mess (again)!
But as I was thinking about everything, I somehow remembered how
in the hotels we were at, there was always a Bible in the bedside table drawer.
So I went over to my bag and started digging through it, thinking I may have
packed one of my own. Sure enough, the Bible was there, at the very bottom of
my bag. I took it over to the bed and started flipping through it. All of a
sudden this title jumps out at me, and it's: Warnings Against Folly. Since I'm
real big on Shakespearean stuff, I figured I'd see what Proverbs had to say
about folly. My eyes fell on a couple lines above it:
"The evil deeds of a wicked man ensnare him; the cords of his
sin hold him fast. He will die for lack of discipline, led astray by his own
great folly."
Right then, I seriously felt God's power come on me and I just
started bawling my eyes out. He led me to repent of every sinful act I had done.
I wish I could say that at that exact moment everything was cool,
but it totally was not. I was so down about the realization that I had
literally wasted years of my life that I couldn't see how God could forgive me,
or want me back again.
I was sitting there, about to shut my Bible when I remembered the
story of the prodigal son. Silently, I opened it again, turned to the book of
Luke and read:
"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him
and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms
around him and kissed him."
That's when it all clicked.
So now I can honestly say that I, Alex McLean, am no longer a
prodigal.
***
