I was a miserable drunk and you were kind.
I was sick and you took away my emptiness.
You took me from my secret haunt and gave me talent.
You turned my space to celebration.
Always, you gave me warmth.
You departed, I allowed it.
I had something to give, but that is past.
My influences are mere pretenders.
My weapon is gone, leaving only anger.
My very being has become a sham.
Name the subject of this riddle.