I'm Unconfidently Confident On This Road Cracked As I Am

I should listen better.

I mean, I usually do. Dinner with Angel. This woman, this beautiful gift to me? She usually has me pretty captivated. Shit, she could read a book of nursery rhymes and I'd still cling to every word like a severely dehydrated bitch getting any drip of water she could. But my mind ain't right at the moment. Real fuckin’ shocker, huh? Previous mental health and drug problems and I might have trouble focusing? Couldn't be me.

My fork pushes around a chunk of cooked hamburger, surrounded by marinara soaked noodles. I know what's fuckin’ happening. You go through something enough, you notice the symptoms pretty damn quick if you ain't a friggin’ moron. I'm sinking into depression. Yeah, real goddamn original, huh? Before you hop on that judgement train to run my ass over on the tracks, there's a couple of things you should consider.

For one, I'm an emo kid at heart. My Chemical Romance, Pierce the Veil, Spiritbox, Type O Negative. Yep, not usually super uplifting stuff. And I've been hitting those bands harder than usual during my training. Secondly, that whole rainbow brightness, sparklingly beacon of hope thing I got going on? It can be draining. Certain miserable assholes on the roster have an easier time keeping their abject pissiness. They don't get enough sugar in their coffee and it's a fuckin’ afront that proves their shit attitudes are justified.

I don't get to think like that. It's not that I don't at times. People, plenty that I don't even know, view me as someone to look up to. It's a stupid thing to do, in my opinion. I'm a fuckin’ terrible idol! But I can't force anyone to change their minds. Ain't no Martian Manhunter, can't control people's will. I'm apparently a likeable person with a resonating message. But that means I have a cap on how much negativity I can release out into the universe. I have a standard set for me, fair or not. So Debbie Downer? Not my role to play.

But fuck… I'm so tired. A battery can only charge so much before the thing dies. I don't think I'm there yet. All I'm saying is that anyone that thinks I can just shake off losses and keep trucking, like none of what's happening around me matters… It does. Might matter too much, honestly. You got a guy like Ivan that jerks himself off to patriotism, spouting off about how much his country loves him. How many of those people does he truly listen to? How many actually get the chance to voice a dissenting opinion, if they happen to have one?

I get kids telling me they like the colors I wear. Teens and adults tell me I make them feel seen. But it ain't all positive, yeah? I still get shit from people. Little less bigoted than it used to be, but that crap will still pop up from time to time. I get told I suck, asked why I still have a job with PRIME, yada yada, sometimes with atrocious spelling and piss poor grammar. But when you're already in a hole, those hostile words dig it a bit deeper. The joy and positivity should fill it more than it does. Should.

I can feel her eyes on me. Those big beautiful blues. I can't look up just yet. I know what happens if I do; I turn into a babbling submissive mess for at least a few minutes and this bitch knows it. She'll take advantage cuz she knows if she don't, I'll snap out of it and turn the tables. I ain't gonna get into our whole song and dance cuz that shit’s private. Don't be a perv! Real talk, I am genuinely avoiding Angel's eyes. If I don't, she's gonna ask what's wrong. I know she will. And I won't be able to lie. I won't be able to brush her off.

It's something we agreed to really work on; honesty. Whatever we're feeling, whatever is bugging us, anything that's wrong, we're supposed to talk about it. And like, ninety five percent of the time, I'm more than willing to have whatever conversation we need to have. But I know how this will go. She'll try to build me up, assuage my fears and concerns, leave me feeling better than where I started. But even if she's being honest? Even if she believes everything she'd say with every inch and ounce of her heart? I wouldn't. I can't. Not right now.

“Babe… Talk to me.”

Fuck. My eyes cautiously creep up to meet hers. I dunno if it's my posture. Maybe it's the fact I've barely eaten anything on my plate. Truth is I've always sucked at hiding when I'm unhappy. Probably one of the first things Angel picked up on after we started dating. I simultaneously love and hate it. Like, fuck. She ain't supposed to be in my head already. I'm so happy she is. But get outta there! For like five minutes or so.

“I'm just… stressed.”

Well at least I'm not lying, yeah? Intentionally vague? Sure. Possibly misleading? You could make an argument. But lying? Naw. It just seems… pointless. That's it! Pointless. That's how I'm feeling about so many things lately. None of this matters. I'm just gonna keep losing. The shitheads on our roster will keep being shitheads. The people that try to do the right thing will keep getting fucked. I usually try not to metaphorically cry in my beer, but fuck… I just don't think I'm strong enough anymore. I don't think I can keep forcing myself through it all.

“Ree Ree...that’s not a ‘I’m just little stressed’ look. You’re in full on boo-boo face, and you know when you got that going, it's snap snap, time to breathe in, breathe out, and confide.” Spaghetti, bathed in sauce, makes it's way on her fork. She takes a hearty bite before reaching out for my shoulder. “I mean, DoorDashing Prego? Still in your jammies two days running? Come oooooon. You got to let whatever it is out, or it’s going to build up in your neck and you’re not going to sleep worth a shit.”

She wasn't wrong. Had plenty of past evidence of it. Problem is I was already carrying that pressure. And yeah, I could physically feel it. My neck, my shoulders, my back… Tighter than a pair of my pants. Coiled fuckin’ spring. And dear god, I want that shit to slowly release. Spread out, calm, low stress. I know what happens otherwise. I get impulsive, and not just my usual impulsive. Stupid, reckless, charge into an obvious trap and get the ever living fuck stomped out of me impulsive. Believe it or not, that ain't fun.

“Just… a lot.” Welp, there's a crack in the dam. But I ain't ready to fully blow the thing to smithereens. “You know how it is. Not getting the results you want. Kinda feeling directionless. Low confidence. It's just all bearing on me right now.”

I know Angel’s gonna pry. She's gonna try to force more outta me. I'm stubborn, though. And I know one of my deepest problems is one I'll have to work through myself. Cuz my brain is busted. I'm still here enough to know that. I don't think I'll be that lucky in the future. I do a decent job playing it off. Truth is I gotta go back and watch shit a lot. Double edged sword. I forgive people quicker than some. People that don't necessarily deserve it. It ain't just cuz I'm a decent person. I just forget why I'm mad at them.

“Like, I get it. But I also know THAT face too.” She reaches over to the end table. Vape pen secured. A cool drag before the indica plume bellows from her nostrils. “You get sullen and that, but you don’t, like, completely shut down. So what gives? Honestly? Because if that’s all, I’ll give you The Uplifting Talk and you’ll feel like running through the wall over there. But something tells me that isn’t exactly your speed right now.”

I can't help but sigh. She sees right through me. It's frustrating to a degree. But goddamn… it lightens my heart too. Angel might be the most understanding partner I've ever had. Maybe it's cuz she gets me? Can't discount natural chemistry, ya know? So why am I hiding? Why be scared? She loves me and it ain't conditional. Just put that shit out there.

“I just worry that I've put so much time into wrestling, poured so much of myself into it and for such little return. Like, you know how some people have complained about wrestling not loving them and such? I've spent almost half my life doing this.” Deep breath. Keep going, girl. “I've given so much to this sport. Blood I'll never get back. Tears that can't be unshed. Fuck, I've given my sanity for this! And what do I have to show? One Alias title reign, where I didn't even defend the fuckin' thing! I'm tired. I'm frustrated. I just don't know where to go or what to do. If I didn't have you, I might consider it a bust.”

There was more I could say. Yeah, I have friendships I wouldn't trade for anything. I've done shit a few different places that I have some pride for. I've gotten things, physically, emotionally, spiritually from PRIME, that I hold very dear to my heart. I'm struggling to balance the good with the bad at this point. Does Angel get it? Can she understand? Guess I'm gonna find out.

“So… on the real?” Angel draws her legs up from the floor, planting her socked heels firmly into the couch cushions. “Titles and wins and all that shit is really cool, and I mean, it’s part of the chase. But fact is, I’m never going to understand why all you fuckers are so goddamn insecure.” This… seemed to be going somewhere. Somewhere potentially spicy. “Before the Flynn all those years back, Bex had her welding certification. Job was hard, but you can pay the bills on as a tradesman. Tradeswoman. As a tradeswoman.” Another drag off the vape. “Me? I was working like, twenty hours a week, bouncing back and forth in shit retail jobs. I ‘quit’ my commish job selling cell phones, which, by the way, I fucking SUCKED the fattest part of YOUR ass at… because my leave request for that weekend got denied.”

Part of me wants to chuckle at that line. I could speak on that insecurity bit, but I see it. Angel ain't done talking, not yet. Gonna keep my pretty little mouth shut.

“I HAD no future, hon. At least, not one I saw. Folks wanted me to go back home and go to school. For what? Get a degree in something for when I grow up? Find something you’re passionate in? Bitch… it’s school. It’s WORK. I wanted to wrestle. That was my passion deal. And me and Bex, we were just two dipshits with pretty faces who thought shit was maybe going somewhere, maybe not… I mean, we keep hoping that, two attractive women doing crazy shit, someone would look at us. But we didn’t know that. Our noses were pressed against the glass.”

Guess Angel’s more frustrated than she wants to admit. If I couldn't see it, I definitely hear it in her voice. If nothing else, I'm good at listening. And I fuckin' know better than to interrupt my girlfriend when she's rolling.

“PRIME IS the destination. You get to have the existential crisis where you lose a few, well shit, my entire life’s work is for nothing. We get to play west coast plane tag rather than having to figure out a living situation because Lindz makes fatter stacks than God and isn’t stingy. You’ve been in and out how many times now? Did those checks bounce? Did you stop getting them?” She’s being serious. “Fucking Rose lost five million matches in a goddamn row, and sucked the oxygen out of anything she did. What happened to her? She got to walk away after filling up her ‘Free Asskickings Because I’m An Entitled Bitch’ card.” She lets out a light chuckle. “You’ve done what you’ve done. But this shit isn’t just about what you’ve done. You’re paid on what you can be. That’s investment. You are someone worth investing in. Wannabe sad? Cool. Do something about it. Get better. Keep trying. Because you know who else had a bunch of losses in a row? Coral fucking Avalon. Be Coral, not Rose.”

I sink further back into the couch. Shit, I have to talk now. Screw it, might as well put some of this out there.

“Angel… you know I love you to death. You know I was cheering you and Bex on the moment I became aware of you both. Feeling like you made it? That's awesome. It ain't enough for me. I'm getting to the point where I've been wrestling longer than I haven't. Flipping fuckin’ burgers during the weekend, wrestling that night. I make it here and in my entire PRIME career, I feel like I haven't done a fuckin’ thing! You write a book about that place, I'm a goddamn footnote. A fun fact. A curiosity. That's not enough. Coral Avalon? Yeah, I'd love to get where he was. But right now, I don't even feel fucking close, no matter how paid in I am.”

I can feel the acid in my stomach. My pulse picks up like it's the last leg of a fuckin’ race. I hate feeling like this. Nervous. Unsure. Disgruntled. It fucking sucks.

“I ain't Coral. I'm me. But I guess RIA fuckin' Lockhart is gonna have to find her own road to success, paid or not.”

GYM TIME!!!

Okay, I ain't actually that excited about it. Especially not after my talk with Angel last night. One of the most annoying things about it is mental prep. I go to the gym early, right? So first thing after I wake up, I already gotta start getting hyped up. Like, when I'm actually there and moving, I'm fine. I kinda like it. But building up the motivation to bother going? That right there is the hard part. Especially when I sleep like crap.

Last night opened my eyes a bit to where Angel’s head is at. Unfortunately, even with what I got out, I still got a few things bugging me. Hoping the physical exertion helps get it outta my system. Plus, I'm the type that throws my ear buds in and kinda goes on autopilot as far as the routines go. Different days, different sets, yeah? One thing is a constant for me. Some people skip leg day, right? Not I. Leg day is everyday for me. That's pretty obvious if you take one look at my body.

But anyway, I start with a protein smoothie. Banana, green apple, pineapple. Throw in some protein powder, blend with almond milk. It's probably my favorite part of the workout, lil fatass I am. Sweet treat, it's actually decent for you and it gives me the energy I need before jumping into things. Angel and I make jokes about drinking, smoking weed and eating garbage, but we do take care of our bodies. Especially her, shredded goddess that she is. Bex does the same, but she's all serious about it and shit. Her and Kohime have had talks about power lifting and such. It's kinda cute watching them talk in person. Funnily enough, Ami is probably closest to me in terms of body type.

Anyway, back on track. First thing I do before hitting any of the fancy torture devices we call workout equipment is stretch. Ten minutes of light yoga. Yoga is one of the staples of my routines. No matter what group I'm working on in a day, no matter what activity I'm doing, light yoga before and a full session after. That's part of the reason most (MOST) of my injuries end up as minor. Hell, I even do it before deathmatches. You never know what’ll be asked of your body in those situations.

Today, it's leg press, leg extensions, weighted leg raises, cable crunches, hanging leg raises and the plank machine. Always do an hour on the elliptical after. I do arms and upper body about twice a week. One day is dedicated to strength, the other is for toning. Don't get me wrong, Bex is hot and all, but I ain't looking to get swoll like that. Truth is whenever I do eventually retire, I'm probably cutting the strength part of that routine. Even on those days, I still address my legs and core. They're the most important parts when it comes to my wrestling style.

Moving on, one thing that tends to happen during my conditioning is thinking. Unless I'm working out with someone and we're actively conversing while we do, I'm in my own head. Stuck. Sometimes, I hate it. Lately, I've really been hating it. I'm not gonna rehash all the shit I said earlier. It's been established, I'm not in the greatest place mentally right now. I'm working through it. Quite literally when it comes to today.

There's two bugs that’re still up my ass that I didn't address during my talk with Angel. They even happen to be related. So I'm backstage at ReV 82, right? Chilling, watching the show, on my pretty gurl shit. After the main, I'm getting ready to leave when a production assistant walks up to me. Ashley. So when it comes to my bookings, I get them the same way everyone else does. If I'm feeling a bit spicy, I might poke LT early to see if she'll give me any hints. It never works and honestly, I'm still embarrassed with how I handled things with VV. So no spicy poking at 82.

I could've bugged Ami too, see if she had any ideas. But when Kerry has a match, she tends to be busy. I ain't looking to fuck with or interrupt their routine, especially not for something selfish like that. So Ashley. She hears things, yeah? Not always fully accurate, but usually has some elements of truth to it. So I gotta get the tea, right? In this situation, turns out the rumored info got confirmed as true the next day.

Bobby Neptune.

Been processing that. I ain't unfamiliar with facing new people. I don't really remember it, but I was in Daytona Diamonds’ first match. Looking through my past match listings, it wasn't just him. So PRIME newbies. Not an unusual situation matching up against them. But this dude? He's… strange. Don't get me wrong, I fuck with weird, but this guy? He's way fuckin' out there.

I'm not looking to debate the validity of if he's an extra terrestrial or whatever. We got a Time Lord, we've seen a minotaur, we had a mannequin hitting flipping piledrivers on a very specific person. Dude says he's an alien, I ain't gonna argue. So yeah. Weird. Goofy. Hanging out with Kenny and Randall. That might be the weirdest thing the dude is doing.

But as I push weights up with the leg press while Fall Out Boy blasts in my ears, there's one emotion I feel starting to really take hold. Anger. I try to be careful with my anger. I know what used to happen when I got too mad. Meds have kinda helped keep me even and keep certain people from popping back out. I still hear voices. I still hear them. But instead of constant babble from a number of different voices constantly going, they just pop out on occasion. Not as loud. Not as frequent.

So yeah, I try to keep a cap on my rage. But it's been simmering. Bubbles at the bottom of the pot. I think I've covered my struggles enough. But now I'm being put in situations where even the one thing I can count on, fan support, is being compromised. With TAL, I was willing to overlook it. I was excited to step back in the ring with him, see where I was, see if I've grown. So a split crowd there, I was willing to forgive that at least a little bit.

But now I'm being put in this situation again. And hey, I wish Bobby well. Ain't got nothing personal against this dude. But for fuck’s sake… I don't have the goddamn patience right now! And I have to fight for my popularity?! Everything else isn't enough?! Fuck this! Sorry dude, I'm looking to fucking truck you. I'm making a point with this match! You just happen to be the unlucky recipient of all this building frustration! He can go ahead and phone fuckin’ home after if he wants.