Somedays... I wonder if it's all worth it.
A breeze casually fills the air while I sit there rather comfortable looking at the fading sunlight. The waves crash in front of me, somber in tone, harsh in reality. The days have become increasingly short as of late, filled with a lack of happiness and a giant filling of loneliness. Some days I can barely open my eyes without my head feeling like it wants to split into three or four pieces from the cacophony of pain that attacks my senses. Other days, I'm brimming with energy and no place to put it except for the ring. It's what consumes me. It's the only thing that I know.
Before me sits a silver plated title belt, a sign of my struggles, and recognition for my talents. In the back of my mind, I feel as if my talents have started to fade, partly with age, mostly from the disease, but for some reason people have looked at my matches and say that I've never been better. My face shows them a modest and humble tone, but deep in the crevices of my mind, I want to just laugh as it feels like that I'm struggling just to even remain on my feet. Yet, this title sings a different song; one that says that I've still got it.
Just a few nights ago, I competed in a match that some are saying will define my year if I can ride the momentum. Pinning Tony Gamble, the pain in my ass that I couldn't get rid of for the longest time would be a memory that will be replayed at my funeral. Winning the PRIME Intense Title for the second time is something that will always live with me, reminding me of my past successes. It just sits there, glaring at me, as the sunshine bounces off the metal. I want to be proud of holding this title, being a champion, but my mind is filled, almost running over with it, with concern and fright.
My right hand shakes, the first time in a few hours, uncontrollably as if it has a nervous twitch or something. I look around, making sure there's no one there to see me as I grab it to try and calm it down. The day I was told that I had Multiple Sclerosis, I couldn't believe it. It's almost like being told that you can't have kids, except for the fact that one day this can and will kill you. If I made it public to the world that I had MS, people would ask me why I continue to compete, risking my life even worse. I'd have to look them all in the eyes and tell them that without wrestling I'd rather be dead.
Honestly, that's crazy, right? It's what my doctor said to me when I told him that I planned on continuing to wrestle. With my style and my work ethic, she had major concerns, but I refused, no, I vehemently refused to change anything in my life. Of course, I was wrong. This isn't something you cope with; it's something you live with on a daily basis. Three days before Culture Shock I was lying on my bathroom floor vomiting uncontrollably, wondering to myself if I was going to die. My friend Katie found me there and looked at me in the eyes wondering what's wrong with me. I had to tell her it was food poisoning, unable to see her tears pouring from her eyes if she found out the truth. Lying on that floor, I considered just quitting. It wasn't the first time I had flirted with that thought, and I'm certain it won't be the last time.
The medication is just downright cruel when you break it down on an intellectual level. Drugs to calm your nerves, drugs to help you sleep, drugs to help you cope with the burning sensation and tightness of the chest from another drug that you have to take to help with the muscle pain. Fatigue, exhaustion, pain, stomach cramps, it's a never ending routine. Scarily enough, the only thing keeping me sane is wrestling. What's even scarier is that I wouldn't be in so much constant pain if I decided to just quit the sport. I guess that just shows how much of an idiot I am, but honestly, I don't care.
Instead of slowing down, I've decided to pick up my game. My doctor tells me that he doesn't know when I might become paralyzed, a frightening reality, or when I might even die. He just tells me that it's far enough along that those things will happen. I could live my life constantly in fear or live it to the fullest. One evening, probably just a few weeks ago, that's what I told my psychologist when she asked me why I continued to sacrifice my life; that I would live it to the fullest. It's just the kind of guy that I am. Honestly, I think it frightens her to see someone just throwing their life away. Unfortunately, I don't think of it like that.
Now, I get to step into the ring with Harley Cain, some rookie entering a tournament. Am I crazy? A tournament? Some 64 other competitors going at it to crown the best around. The endurance and mindset that you need for something like that is something that I'm not certain that I'm capable of. Yet, even when I'm down and in the dirt, I find someway to dig it out. Most of the time, not all of the time. Even against Harley Cain, I might lose. I can only control so much anymore, and the rest of it I put in life's hands hoping that it guides me to where I need to go. So far, I've been pretty lucky.
My agent called me earlier today, asking if I had heard Harley's words earlier, talking about how my words were like impotent like a 90-year old man. I asked him where they honestly find these people, just shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. He also mentioned something about whether or not I would let my actions speak for my words. Wait not just any kind of words, but poorly chosen words that I cobble together. I just chuckled, realizing that the times have indeed changed. Can this kid beat me? Honestly, yeah. Lady luck has a funny way of rearing her head every now and then.
The words replay in my mind, over and over again. It's something that I learned earlier on in my career, internalizing what others say. Just let it sit there, like a fungus festering and ready to explode. Then, when you're ready, let it all out, let it take over you, and let it be the difference maker. I just smile at how he couldn't manage to answer a few simple questions, but thinks that he'll be to handle the pressure of thousands of fans as they chant my name. He wants to push me into a corner, then that's fine. I like having my back up against the wall and fighting out of it. It makes the victory that much sweeter.
I know, deep down, that I can beat him. On any given night, anybody can beat somebody. But, going up somebody like Harley Cain? A cocky rookie on the outside, but scared and fragile on the inside?
It's why it's all worth it.
