You're not the best at controlling yourself onstage. But hey, the fans love it- even if you end up doing batshit crazy things like dropping the mic during a guitar riff to make-out with one of your fellow band members.

You always despised your lack of regulation over your own body's actions, and the impulsive nature of it all. But when you're pouring your very heart out into a song and drinking in wild applause, you sometimes forget your dislike of the quality.

And even afterwards, you can drown out your self-hatred by getting piss drunk with the rest of the band. Overall, the lifestyle is perfect for you. The fans make you feel like you matter, the friends make you less lonely, and you can do the things you love whenever you want- sing and write music.

Best of all, your best friend is by your side. Five, aka the band's lead guitarist and background vocalist. He was never as spontaneous and insane as you are, but he slowly eased into the fact that he's pretty much allowed to do whatever the hell he wants onstage.

So the two of you spent plenty of time sharing a microphone to sing, making a show out of shoving each other around a bit, or just jumping around the stage doing stupid things or kissing.

He grew to love it. The freedom of being onstage, even if dealing with certain people in the music industry was a pain in the ass. And traveling wasn't his strong suit, but it was better when you were there.

The popularity of your band was growing rapidly, by this point- the sheer chaos of your actions and music, infused with such genuine, raw emotion seemed to draw people in.

Sure, you still hated yourself, but the fans and the rest of the band provided enough serotonin to keep you around. For now, at least. God knew you looked like the type of singer to meet a tragic end.