NEW YORK CITY, 2008
I wanted to die. But how? It was 5am and I’d had 15 drinks, $200 worth of cocaine and a handful of Vicodin.
Over the past few years my depression had been building and nights like this were becoming the norm.
I was a lonely alcoholic and I desperately wanted to love someone and be loved in return. But every time I tried to get close to another human being, I had crippling panic attacks that kept me isolated and alone. I’d had a few successful years of making music and sold tens of millions of records, but now my career was sputtering. I couldn’t find love or success, so I tried to buy happiness.
Three years earlier I had spent $6m in cash on a luxury penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It had been my dream home: five storeys on the top of an iconic limestone building overlooking Central Park. Having grown up on food stamps and welfare, I’d assumed that moving to a castle in the sky would bring me happiness. But as soon as I moved in I was as sad and anxious as I’d been in my small loft. I sold the sky castle, moved back downtown and recommitted myself to debauchery. I put tinfoil over the windows and had weekend-long orgies fuelled by alcohol and drugs. But the more I threw myself into degeneracy, the more I ended up filled with self-loathing and loneliness.
The world of fame and success that gave me meaning and legitimacy was being taken away from me. And now the only respite I found from anxiety and depression was an hour or two each night when I was full of vodka and cocaine, looking for someone lonely and desperate enough to go home with me.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/moby-then-it-fell-apart-tales-of-sex-drugs-and-celebrity-hell-from-his-new-memoir-pp6spnpw0