Last year I sat heartbroken and terrified, along with half of the known world, having heard of Bret’s health problems. I feared for his life, and for mine, for I owe this man my sanity, and in some small way, my life.
I will not harp on the details in this post. Anyone wanting to get a rough idea of what Bret has done for me and what he means to me need only to surf to the top of this blog and click on the page titled “Why Bret Michaels is My Mentor.”
I held my breath as May 28, 2010 got closer and closer, waiting to hear that the concert that I had tickets to was being cancelled or rescheduled. I had been through a lot that year; in all honesty I had been through a lot in the past several years. This new development was just another ordeal in a long line of ups and downs for me. During that time, I had relied on the sound of Bret’s voice and my ethereal-like bond with him to get me through another rough patch in an endless road of trials and triumphs that was my life.
May 28th rolled around, and I discovered myself on the Gulf Coast of my home state, standing one row back from the stage, feeling as if I was going to jump clean out of my skin. I honestly kept waiting for someone to come on stage and tell us that Bret had some sort of set back and had been carted off to the hospital once again. I kept praying silently to whatever Higher Force there may be that Bret would be okay. And as promised, at 8 pm Bret took center stage to a sold out crowd of 1400 screaming, thankful fans. I was just another face in the ocean of smiling, loving faces tilted up to see a man who is both mortal and immortal, an icon, a man among mice….and my hero.
It has always been one of my dreams to meet Bret Michaels. However, I have a confession to make. I have always had this gnawing suspicion that if I were to ever meet him, something would happen to him. I know that sounds nuts, but I really, truly fear that if we were to ever come in contact with each other, it would mean something tragic for him. I guess I have always considered myself a nobody, nothing special, nobody worth meeting or mentioning. Yes, I think I’m a pretty decent writer, an author, but as a person….well, I guess I still have the same self-worth of the scared twelve-year girl who had it beat into her every single day that she was nothing and would always be nothing.
I suppose that I know that if, by some miracle, I were to ever meet the man who I deem my own personal savior, I would not make any type of impression on him. Just another fan in an ongoing parade of fans, another face in the crowd, just one more person who is screaming, “I love you, Bret! I’m your biggest fan!”
I know that others feel just as strong of an attachment to Bret as I do. I guess there may even be some people out there who have similar stories as mine. I guess what depresses me the most, what I simply do not want to happen, is for Bret to never know that there was a small girl out there in the world, a small girl who grew into a woman, whose life he touched in such an astounding way that she stopped her suicide attempts cold turkey because she didn’t want to leave this earth without first shaking his hand. A little girl, who still to this day, follows his career, is thankful every day that the Higher Force, whatever it may be, placed him in her life.
I was so excited to learn that Bret will be back at the Hardrock on May 28th of this year as well. Unfortunately, it is looking like I will not be able to make the concert this year. I am once again heartbroken and depressed, although when put into context with what was going on this time last year, I’m once again thankful that I will not make the concert due to personal issues rather than Bret’s health. Still, I can barely stomach the thought that Bret will be a mere 100 miles away from me. In the context of the cosmos, that’s practically touching distance. So close, yet so very far away. The whole thing makes me want to weep in frustration.
I had so hoped to have finished The Red Fang by May and would somehow be able to get the book to Bret. Yeah, I know, big dreams there. But last year there were people putting gifts up on the edge of the stage through the whole show. I figured that I could always do that, and maybe, just maybe, he might someday read the dedication page. Because even if I were never to meet him in person, I could at least rest in the knowledge that he knows he has a fan who appreciates him so much that she dedicated her latest novel to him. I guess, to put it simply, I just want Bret to know that I exist, because if Bret Michaels knows my name, even if it is a pseudonym, then that would somehow make me worth something.
In honor of Bret’s continued good health and his upcoming concert on May 28th at the Hardrock Casino in my birth city, I would like to share with my readers the dedication page that will be included in the novel The Red Fang. This book is not just dedicated to Bret Michaels, rock star, but Bret Michael Sychak the man for just being the wonderful, talented person that he is:
This book is dedicated to Bret Michael Sychak, a.k.a Bret Michaels. You have been the shining light in my life, my inspiration, my mentor, my hero. Seeing you tread fearlessly into the spotlight doing not only what you love, but doing so in the face of tremendous odds, has given me the courage to let loose upon this unsuspecting world a barrage of utter crap the likes of which the world has never known before. I can’t write for shit, but that shouldn’t stop me from doing it, or others from reading it. Rock on!
Love, Poison, and Bret Michaels always,
*Please feel free to link back to this article, Tweet it, post on Facebook, Myspace, etc. My hopes are that if enough people get the word out about this article, Bret might at least have heard of the erotic fantasy writer known as Nicola Chey Matthews.