This sounds very specific. I'm guessing you're asking for a friend?
Listen, chum. No point in living a life of regret. Even if you bum-murdered some innocent dudes, you're not doing anyone any favors by wallowing in those filthy memories. Might as well pick yourself up and get to that prison library and read some fucking Judy Blume. Am I right? Anyone?
Being in a band isn't all it's cracked up to be. You usually don't make much coin, and though there's a dump truck full of pussy every night, there's also a wagon load of cock-gobbling, sexually transmitted diseases. It's hard to have no cares in the world without picking up a little of the herp.
Fame is also empty and useless, so what's the point? Long touring schedules and partying until puking is as normal as watery shits. Let it go. Leave it behind. We need more engineers and educators. Get off the booze, the pussy and the thrill of tight leather and join society.
Short Answer: None of this was true. You really fucked up. Your life is forfeit. (The Judy Blume part still stands. I suggest Superfudge.)