One Year Later

I wake up every day. I write my blogs. I do my job. But at some point throughout the day, I ask myself the same question- "Did I do the right thing?" This is it, the one-year mark. I made it. Today, I am one year free from alcohol and one year free from bulimia. This has been the most challenging, heartbreaking, devastating, and fulfilling year I'll ever experience. Overwhelming, uncontrollable embarrassment has run my life for the last year. But I have a platform. I want to speak on this because I might not get this chance again. They tell us to write about what we know. It is what I know, and it matters to me. This could finally be the day I graduate to the point of not giving a fuck.

I've been public about everything I've gone through ever since I started making content at twelve years old. I can't stop now. Perhaps it's not the best idea. I guess this is the way that I communicate with people. Maybe I'm a puppet, but at least I can see my strings. And I get it, man. It’s another sappy, personal blog written by someone who works for a sports site. Even while writing this, I worry that I've already used up all the bullets in my chamber. I don't know what people think of me anymore. Will this be an inspiring write-up by someone who went through it or the self-aggrandizing,overshared ramblings of a crazy person? I can already see a million TL;DR posts coming my way when people see how long this blog is. After this, I'm done with these for a while. I'm so exhausted. I've lied in wait for a year; now it's my turn. This is my story...

I had so much of what I wanted. I had this dream job that I lucked into. I had people at this company that cared about me. I might still be alive because of some of those people, yet I was so unhappy. I couldn't manage my mental health. I wish I could put a finger on what it was that made me so unhappy. I loved my job and these people, but what did I do to deserve their kindness? I was just the gas station kid, and I detested myself for how sad I was. I loathed the twisted sense of accomplishment of finishing off a half gallon of Captain Morgan or purging a beautiful dinner I'd eaten. It became much easier to hide when it was second nature. It was all I knew. I couldn’t stop the cycle. I woke up and drank, ate, and then purged. By the end, I was probably having up to twenty shots and making myself vomit about fifteen times a day. It was constant, and it was never sustainable. It was amazing that I could function the way I did. You develop such a tolerance that it becomes who you are.

At the rate I was going, something bad was going to happen. I had to do it. In hindsight, do I wish I was as public with it as I was? Yes and no. I mean, I’m not ecstatic that the internet knows my sexual history. You do dumb shit when you're drunk. But the one thing that the blog forced me to do was hold myself accountable. I got so many incredible and supportive text messages from my coworkers. It's hard for me to go back and read them, and it's even more difficult to go back and read the blog I posted a year ago today. A different version of myself wrote that. That person doesn't exist anymore. I'm glad he doesn't. 

I'd never been to rehab before. I have no intention of ever going back. I didn't know how the process worked. I was the one who made the decision. When I arrived, my roommate told me I would be there for 12 days. He had been there before, and he knew the ropes. The first two days of rehab, I don't remember. It was a whole lot of detox, many injections, and some bloodwork. The band-aid was ripped off, and I was left naked with my emotions pouring out. Those 12 days were the slowest I've ever experienced, and before I entered aftercare, I felt like I needed to re-enter the world. What scared me was that I wasn't sure if the world wanted me back. 

I think there is an expectation that the slate is clean when you get out of rehab. It's not. That baggage never goes away. I decided to get help, but no one talks about the emotion that comes with the aftermath. I saw where I was, what I did, and how I went about it, and I thought I ruined my life. I had all I ever hoped for, and I destroyed it. I was afraid that I was becoming the person I thought I would be when I got hired here: nothing but an outsider. Communication became so tough. I was learning to walk again. Without that ability to loosen up, my nervous energy was overwhelming. My image was shattered. I felt like I had lost everything I worked for. 

I thought time would heal things. But as the fog cleared around the 6-7 month mark, all I could feel was immeasurable sadness, where you can’t even cry because emotions take too much energy. And I know that people could see it. They could see it in my content, read it in my blogs, and spot it during my live streams. They could see it when I walked around the Barstool offices, unable to stand still. I flamed out and embarrassed myself publicly. I imagined a world without me, which seemed like a better place. I wouldn't have been able to hurt anyone or embarrass the company if I wasn't here anymore. I’m still not sure what stopped me from crossing that line. It might’ve been the fear that comes with not knowing what’s next or my naïve belief that everything that’s happened to me has happened for a reason, and I owe it to myself to find out what that is. Did I make myself toxic? Would my coworkers ever see me the same way again? Leaving the house felt impossible. My heart was broken, and it made me bitter. 

I'll be blunt. I've been kind of an asshole. I believe the correct term is "dry drunk." I've been short with people, and I've been hard to work with. That's been reflected in my content. I've been so angry. There’s a reason why I’ve tried to avoid showing my face at Barstool events. Working here is cool, but my sadness is not. I was in Ann Arbor for the Michigan/Ohio State game. I would’ve loved to have visited every one. But I don’t want to make anybody feel bad. I wouldn’t know how to handle me, either. I've never wanted to bring people down with me. I wish I could do this again and be better for the Stoolies. There's no excuse for being unlikable. It's gotten better, but it's challenging to accept that you're not the victim in recovery. You are the tornado that caused all the destruction, and it's up to you to clean up the mess. I can't tell you how many times I've asked myself, "What the fuck were you thinking?" over the last year. I lashed out at people and wallowed in my misery for too long. I didn't think I could do this job without alcohol. 

The toughest part of this journey has been dealing with the hard feelings and no longer having alcohol to numb that pain. Once the dust settles, you're left with the shame. That humiliation comes up in everything I do. I think about it when I wake up, I think about it when I'm on my run, and I think about it when I go to bed. I’m tired of people telling me I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I have a shit ton of things to be embarrassed about. When you're given so much, it's hard not to feel like you let people down. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm trying to do something I've never done, and that's to forgive myself. One of the greatest joys of my life is that I have a platform to talk about the things I love. But I don't want the most significant something I do with my life to be talking about Tigers baseball. I don't want that to be my legacy at this company. This journey is my legacy. I will not be the person who got sick. I will be the guy who got better. 

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I was remarkably disheartened by some people's reactions when I got out of rehab. I thought I did the right thing but got slammed for it. And I'm not talking about jokes made on podcasts by coworkers. That's part of being on the pirate ship. People can take their shots. Lord knows I’ve given the world plenty of material. You shouldn't be working here if you can't handle that heat. But to this day, I still get comments from people claiming that I faked it all for attention, was forced to go, or was never sick. It would’ve been a pretty fucking elaborate scheme to cook up just to get more page views. This was originally the part of the blog where I said that I wish I would’ve taken more time off, but no. I have a lot of things to apologize for, but not this. I know me a hell of a lot better than anybody else out there knows me. If my time off bothered you, go fuck yourself. I wouldn't have written all that dramatic shit just to flake out. The consequences of being sick weigh on me every day. People treat you differently. Everyone walks on eggshells talking to you. It sucks. Do you think I’ve enjoyed putting my family and friends through my mentally ill nonsense again and again and again? Fuck outta here. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that those who can’t are always most likely to criticize the ones who can. 

I understand the way I've gone about this is unconventional. I've tried my whole life to be normal. It's never going to happen. There will always be a part of me that will be a little off, a little different, a little awkward. Do you think I don’t notice it? I wish there were a magic cure, but there’s not. There is only Chris. And Chris knows there is a place for the misfits; that's Barstool Sports, and what a beautiful place it is. I've been saying for months, "I need to keep fighting for Barstool." I have. It’s amazing the doors that open in your brain after you’ve broken a habit. Around the six-month mark, I kicked it into overdrive. On days when I felt like shit, I blogged. On days I wanted to drink, I blogged. On weekends, when people were tailgating with friends, I blogged. I fought for this company, but more importantly, I've fought for myself. Shame is a horrible emotion, but it passes. No feeling is final. I'm still here, and I'm still working. You can say a lot of things about me, but the one thing you can’t deny is that I am a resilient motherfucker. I wasn’t supposed to be at Barstool, but I made it and deserve to be here. No matter what shit keeps getting thrown my way, I keep moving forward. Perhaps I'm too stupid to know when to quit, or maybe I'm at this company for a reason. Maybe I can help people.

The number one question people ask me is, “How are you doing?” It’s hard to answer. Some days are harder than others. I’m still not myself, and going out is difficult. It feels like the whole world knows my shame. I wish I could snap my fingers, break through the depression, and present myself as the person I was when I first got hired. But it’s getting easier because of all of you who have supported me on this wild, crazy, unpredictable journey. It doesn't matter if we talk all the time or if I only met you once at a Tigers game. Your love does not go unnoticed. I wish I could give you the world, but I’ll have to settle with giving you the best version of myself. I haven't been what you expected, but hopefully, I can be something more. I haven’t always made things easy for the Stoolies, but I love you more than you’ll ever know. I'm getting better, and those victories, however small they may be, are worth cherishing.

I have no idea what the future has in store. I will contend forever that this is home. I want to be at Barstool. It’s where I belong. If I left now, I'd feel like I failed. Having financial stability is cool, but I fell in love with this company because of the people, and I'd be lying if I told you there weren't days when it didn’t even feel like I worked here anymore. No one has ever made me feel like I don’t belong. But I can't control the future. I know who I am, and I've earned the right to stand up for myself. I said a year ago today that this will be a story of triumph and not a tragedy. I remain committed to that. When they talk about me, I won't be the guy who went to rehab. I'll be Chris Castellani, the greatest comeback in Barstool history.

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My eyes are finally open. To give up on me would be a huge mistake. I just went through the hardest year of my life, and I'm all the better for it. I'm not a liability. I'm an asset. I could shock a whole lot of people if given the chance. There is so much more content to create and many more stories that still need to be told. I will keep blogging my ass off and working as long as they let me, but regardless of what happens, I know that working at Barstool has been the most incredible honor of my life. I'm really shy. Sometimes, I don't reach out when I should, but I truly care about these people. I will never stop supporting this company. There are people here who showed me remarkable grace. At my lowest point, I still felt your kindness. Please know my life is better because many of you were in it.  

I’ve spent the last year of my life feeling like a complete loser. I felt like I failed. Only recently did I realize that’s not the case. I've had it all wrong. I’ve won. I win by fighting. I win by persevering, as does anyone with the guts to battle their demons. I don’t know much, but I know I’ll still be here tomorrow. I’ve changed, and I've grown, but at my core, I am who I’ve always been: The oddest of oddballs, the roundest peg in the squarest hole, someone who is a little bit different, trying to do all they can to obtain true happiness. I’ll find what I'm looking for. I know I will. 

One day. One day. One day…at a time.

If you or anyone you know is struggling, please get in touch with the following numbers. 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

National Drug and Alcohol Treatment Hotline 1-800-662-4357

National Association of Anorexia Nervosa & Associated Disorders 888-375-7767

YOU ARE NOT ALONE