Introspection: An Inner Monologue
Nov 14, 2016 20:53:55 GMT -5
Nathan Saniti and The Anarchist like this
Post by High Tide on Nov 14, 2016 20:53:55 GMT -5
Who am I?
Am I but another human in this world of billions? Am I but another number, another statistic? One in four, one in a million? I think the key here is one. I am one. One man, one person, one being. I am only one. One.
Am I a wrestler or a pirate? Once a father or am I a sorry excuse? Am I a lover or a fighter? Am I both? Am I none?
Who am I?
Even now as I sit here huddled beneath these trees, clutching my coat and tattered blanket for warmth, I do not know. I know not who I am, only that I am. I am living, I am breathing, I exist. What is my purpose? What are my goals and dreams? Why am I here. I don't mean that literally, I know exactly why I went from fortune and fame to fiasco. I know the circumstances, the events, how it all played out. I know the time line. No, I mean it in a broader sense, a question that everyone asks themselves probably at least once in their lives. Why am I here? WHY?
The wind is picking up now, I can't find warmth. I dare not light a fire, not on a night such as this, for the wind could carry it. I will not be the catalyst for catastrophic events. I wish I had an answer to this question, but maybe that is the purpose of life, to find this answer. Maybe I will spend my whole life searching for this answer, searching for the essence of my soul, and fail to find it. Failure is the one constant in my life. There is no guarantee any of us will wake up the next morning, draw another breath, see another sun rise and set. Failure is a guarantee. Even life will fail some day. This planet will cease to exist, the sun will die and all the life with it. Failure, that is the foundation to the building of life.
The leaves make a crinkling sound as they rustle in the wind. Once again I have to fight the urge to light a fire. I want warmth, I want comfort, I want light. Yet here I am, cold, uncomfortable, and in the dark. Literally and figuratively. I can barely see in front of my own face, and I certainly cannot see the answers to my questions and that scares me. Scares me more than I care to admit. They all see me as High Tide, the brave pirate who backs down from nothing and fears almost no one. They don't know me at all, because I am scared a lot. Terrified. One day I won't have this wrestling career to cling to, like a lifeboat on a sinking ship. Sometimes I feel like that ship is sinking, and I'm struggling to repair the leaks before I go under.
I think about my son a lot. I wish I know where his mother took him. Even if I knew, it would mean time behind bars if I approached them. A restraining order does that to you. Yet still, I think I will reach out one day, one day when I feel I have nothing to lose. I hope he is doing well wherever he is. I hope he knows that I didn't abandon him, yet he was taken from me in a time of sorrow and despair, when I thought I had reached rock bottom.
I hadn't.
I don't even think I am at a total rock bottom now. Misfortune follows me, and I am certainly miserable, but rock bottom? I don't think I've hit that. I feel like I would know that. Like I would be able to feel that I had hit it without a shadow of doubt. Without a degree of uncertainty. No, things are rough, but I am not underground yet. I still stand on the floor, and that brings me hope. Hope that my ceiling is limitless, my potential, as a human, as a man, as a father, as a wrestler, as a pirate has no finite ending point.
Another particularly cold blast of wind assaults me, but this time I embrace it. I am lucky, for when I took my hiatus from PCW, my one true home, I could have been denied reentry. I could have been cast aside, turned away, thrown in the gutter to shatter into a million pieces. Yet here I am, living in the forest, cold and alone, but I still have PCW. I still have hope. I still have a home in the abstract sense of the word. You see, home to me is a state of mind. A feeling of acceptance no matter how little or unspoken. A measure of respect and dignity. A place where my soul can truly be my soul. In PCW I am myself. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I am me. High Tide the pirate.
I am scared. Not because this night is so frigid, not because I fear I might give into the temptation of building that fire that could be the end of me and many other forms of life. Not because the future seems bleak and uncertain no matter how much hope I have. No I mean I am scared for my next match. It might seem like another match to everyone else, but for me it means a lot of things.
I am scared because I am facing legends. Grimm, the man everyone wants to beat, just to say they've beaten him. Seromine, who one day may take the mantle from Grimm as most frightening member of PCW. Alexa Black one of the most savage, brutal talents to ever walk the squared circle. I am scared because as little as I care about the opinions of Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr, I fear that I will let them down. Like this match has five great competitors and then there is me. A mediocre talent who lucks his way into wins more often than secures victory from my skills. I am afraid because I feel like I will be noticed. Noticed as the one in the match who couldn't hold his own, couldn't hack it. The one who will mar what will otherwise be a great match. I am afraid because I feel like this is my chance to prove myself, to prove I am not just another wrestler and I'm afraid I might not be up to task.
Another cold wind bites into my skin through my thick coat and I finally start to shiver. I can't tell if it's because of the temperature or because of the enormity of the task before me. To be truthful to myself, it's probably a bit of both. How am I, High Tide the King of stealing wins supposed to compete with such talent. When people speak of stacked matches, this is one of them. Except I am in it, and I do not feel like I am on the same level as these competitors. Neither my teammates nor my opponents. I feel as if I am a couple rungs down on the ladder. What a fish is to a shark. What a gazelle is to a lion. What a tree is to an axe, or a flame. I am the prey to their predator.
Yet regardless of how I feel, I will step in that ring because this is my shot. This is my chance to prove to everyone, to prove to myself, that I can hack it. That I can at the very least stand toe to toe, stand back to back with the competitors in this match, and remain standing when it is all said and done. This is my chance to prove that I will not be a noticeable weak spot in a match that features some of the greatest, that I will look like I belong. This is my chance to prove that I truly deserve to be in PCW, a place filled with misfits. Lunatics and destroyers. The odd, the broken, the maimed, the damned, the spit on and cast aside, the unsavoury and the counted out alike.
This is my chance to prove that PCW is my home and that I, High Tide belong. And maybe, just maybe along the way I will find out a little more to my eternal question.
Who am I?
Am I but another human in this world of billions? Am I but another number, another statistic? One in four, one in a million? I think the key here is one. I am one. One man, one person, one being. I am only one. One.
Am I a wrestler or a pirate? Once a father or am I a sorry excuse? Am I a lover or a fighter? Am I both? Am I none?
Who am I?
Even now as I sit here huddled beneath these trees, clutching my coat and tattered blanket for warmth, I do not know. I know not who I am, only that I am. I am living, I am breathing, I exist. What is my purpose? What are my goals and dreams? Why am I here. I don't mean that literally, I know exactly why I went from fortune and fame to fiasco. I know the circumstances, the events, how it all played out. I know the time line. No, I mean it in a broader sense, a question that everyone asks themselves probably at least once in their lives. Why am I here? WHY?
The wind is picking up now, I can't find warmth. I dare not light a fire, not on a night such as this, for the wind could carry it. I will not be the catalyst for catastrophic events. I wish I had an answer to this question, but maybe that is the purpose of life, to find this answer. Maybe I will spend my whole life searching for this answer, searching for the essence of my soul, and fail to find it. Failure is the one constant in my life. There is no guarantee any of us will wake up the next morning, draw another breath, see another sun rise and set. Failure is a guarantee. Even life will fail some day. This planet will cease to exist, the sun will die and all the life with it. Failure, that is the foundation to the building of life.
The leaves make a crinkling sound as they rustle in the wind. Once again I have to fight the urge to light a fire. I want warmth, I want comfort, I want light. Yet here I am, cold, uncomfortable, and in the dark. Literally and figuratively. I can barely see in front of my own face, and I certainly cannot see the answers to my questions and that scares me. Scares me more than I care to admit. They all see me as High Tide, the brave pirate who backs down from nothing and fears almost no one. They don't know me at all, because I am scared a lot. Terrified. One day I won't have this wrestling career to cling to, like a lifeboat on a sinking ship. Sometimes I feel like that ship is sinking, and I'm struggling to repair the leaks before I go under.
I think about my son a lot. I wish I know where his mother took him. Even if I knew, it would mean time behind bars if I approached them. A restraining order does that to you. Yet still, I think I will reach out one day, one day when I feel I have nothing to lose. I hope he is doing well wherever he is. I hope he knows that I didn't abandon him, yet he was taken from me in a time of sorrow and despair, when I thought I had reached rock bottom.
I hadn't.
I don't even think I am at a total rock bottom now. Misfortune follows me, and I am certainly miserable, but rock bottom? I don't think I've hit that. I feel like I would know that. Like I would be able to feel that I had hit it without a shadow of doubt. Without a degree of uncertainty. No, things are rough, but I am not underground yet. I still stand on the floor, and that brings me hope. Hope that my ceiling is limitless, my potential, as a human, as a man, as a father, as a wrestler, as a pirate has no finite ending point.
Another particularly cold blast of wind assaults me, but this time I embrace it. I am lucky, for when I took my hiatus from PCW, my one true home, I could have been denied reentry. I could have been cast aside, turned away, thrown in the gutter to shatter into a million pieces. Yet here I am, living in the forest, cold and alone, but I still have PCW. I still have hope. I still have a home in the abstract sense of the word. You see, home to me is a state of mind. A feeling of acceptance no matter how little or unspoken. A measure of respect and dignity. A place where my soul can truly be my soul. In PCW I am myself. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I am me. High Tide the pirate.
I am scared. Not because this night is so frigid, not because I fear I might give into the temptation of building that fire that could be the end of me and many other forms of life. Not because the future seems bleak and uncertain no matter how much hope I have. No I mean I am scared for my next match. It might seem like another match to everyone else, but for me it means a lot of things.
I am scared because I am facing legends. Grimm, the man everyone wants to beat, just to say they've beaten him. Seromine, who one day may take the mantle from Grimm as most frightening member of PCW. Alexa Black one of the most savage, brutal talents to ever walk the squared circle. I am scared because as little as I care about the opinions of Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr, I fear that I will let them down. Like this match has five great competitors and then there is me. A mediocre talent who lucks his way into wins more often than secures victory from my skills. I am afraid because I feel like I will be noticed. Noticed as the one in the match who couldn't hold his own, couldn't hack it. The one who will mar what will otherwise be a great match. I am afraid because I feel like this is my chance to prove myself, to prove I am not just another wrestler and I'm afraid I might not be up to task.
Another cold wind bites into my skin through my thick coat and I finally start to shiver. I can't tell if it's because of the temperature or because of the enormity of the task before me. To be truthful to myself, it's probably a bit of both. How am I, High Tide the King of stealing wins supposed to compete with such talent. When people speak of stacked matches, this is one of them. Except I am in it, and I do not feel like I am on the same level as these competitors. Neither my teammates nor my opponents. I feel as if I am a couple rungs down on the ladder. What a fish is to a shark. What a gazelle is to a lion. What a tree is to an axe, or a flame. I am the prey to their predator.
Yet regardless of how I feel, I will step in that ring because this is my shot. This is my chance to prove to everyone, to prove to myself, that I can hack it. That I can at the very least stand toe to toe, stand back to back with the competitors in this match, and remain standing when it is all said and done. This is my chance to prove that I will not be a noticeable weak spot in a match that features some of the greatest, that I will look like I belong. This is my chance to prove that I truly deserve to be in PCW, a place filled with misfits. Lunatics and destroyers. The odd, the broken, the maimed, the damned, the spit on and cast aside, the unsavoury and the counted out alike.
This is my chance to prove that PCW is my home and that I, High Tide belong. And maybe, just maybe along the way I will find out a little more to my eternal question.
Who am I?
