Post by mandi on Jan 15, 2017 5:59:31 GMT
’Loser.’ Her fist meets the unyielding leather of the heavy bag with enough force to sting. It’s not enough to drown out the whispers of course, it never is. But it helps, in a way, a distraction. Or at least that’s the intent, or maybe simply to work herself to exhaustion, to become too tired to think, the only way to sleep. She has excuses for why she does the many things that she does, showing up to the gym early every opportunity...she says it’s to make up for the hours she misses traveling for competition. Staying late? Same answer...but of late, they’ve had to practically shove her out the doors at the end of the day. ‘Worthless.’ ‘Hack.’ Every word echoes through her mind. ‘Irreparable damage.’ The look on her adoptive father’s face when she pulled that briefcase down and ended his storied career. The disappointment on her mother’s face before the door closed. The concern on the doctor’s face. The pity when she struggles with the words. It all circles around in her head in a vicious little cycle, refusing to be silenced. And every time she reaches, every time her fingers brush that elusive brass ring only to fail to grasp it, the little whispers get louder, become more insistent. Coupled with the smirking inner voice chanting, ‘They’re right, they’re right, they’re right.’ And so...she trains. She works. Trying, and failing, to drown the whispers out. Midswing the room shifts sideways, her vision goes grey, blurring at the edges, and the next thing she knows, she’s holding onto the heavy punching bag to keep herself upright.
There is the sound of a light thump, a water bottle suddenly sits next to her feet enticingly as a slight hand grips her upper arm with far more strength than would be suggested by looking at it. The voice is low, though not quite that whisper that’s so well known. “Faith. Let go of the bag and sit. Hydrate, then let me know if I need the kit or if this is more than that.” A distinct pause. “Your edges are still nice and sharp so I don’t think we’ll need a medic.” Rori shakes her head slightly. “Every engine needs fuel, Faith.”
Inwardly, there’s a groan, but the diminutive blonde knows better than to argue, and instead, releases her grip and eases down to the floor. She doesn’t verbally respond though, not right away, instead reaching for the bottle of water for a long drink, “I’m fine,”well no, probably not actually, but she’s not going to admit that, “Just blacked for a second there, that’s all. Happens sometimes, but it’s nothing serious.I just need a few minutes, and then I’m good to get back to work.”
“Tell me another one, Faith.”Rori’s tongue clicks against her teeth, it isn’t quite a ‘tutting’ sound but still.“If you’re pushing so hard doing something you feel dizzy or black out for a second, you know you went ten minutes past when you should’ve rehydrated for one. Do I need to write you out a shuffled workout, or something here? Because you’re also locking in too tightly. You need to be able to shift on the fly, and keep your mind out of the ruts.” It’s not honestly clear, whether or not Rori means the actual workouts and routines that Faith is doing, or something else entirely.
“I’m just...hyper focusing. That’s all,” well that at least, is the truth. Though she avoids making any kind of direct eye contact, “I have to push harder. I don’t have...I don’t have the time not to. Because I don’t like where I am right now.” Understatement of the century that.
Rori’s lips compress and she takes a few moments to think before she answers, her big green eyes seemingly unfocus as she does. “Faith, two sides to everything, remember? You keep telling yourself that you don’t have the time, that the most you can wring from your career is ten years. But you know, quite intimately there are those that never get a year, or even two - championships won or no. So what makes you feel, that you can’t take a breath? That you can’t pause to actually enjoy the journey before you get where you’re going? No one here would ever question your drive, the fact you’re willing to put in the work.” She pauses again. “Being able to focus that way is a gift, but you have to give yourself a break or that ten years, halve it. I think you know that, deep down. And that would be the real shame, because you’re so close to getting to where you need to be.”
“You know I’m pretty much, exactly where I was three years ago right? I’ve done all this work, and I haven’t gotten anywhere,” the little blonde sighs, heavily, taking another long drink of water, “And there’s...I don’t remember things. I lose time. I’m still technically cleared, but they’re just waiting for an excuse to pull that out from under me. And maybe they aren’t wrong for it. Maybe I’ve climbed as far as I was meant to. And I can’t accept that. I can’t accept that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve given up, doesn’t mean anything.”
“Give yourself a break, Faith. Step back, and see yourself as other people actually do. I want you to think about that first thing you said. That you’re pretty much where you were three years ago. That’s actually amazing, because you almost weren’t. Broken, battered, beaten, set on fire… Faith. You’ve completed an amazing journey just to be here at all. That takes strength.” She shakes her head. “I wish I could tell you that those other things don’t matter but we both know they do. But we also know, don’t we? That you’ve made your choice to try, no matter what. There are people out there that don’t have the problems you do that can’t even take the first step to even get to a gym. I know it’s hard, and I know it sucks. But give yourself a break, and maybe? A little credit.”
It isn’t that the words don’t ring with truth to her, they do. They are all things she has tried to tell herself, when everything starts weighing too heavily. But they ring hollow, “You don’t understand,” she pushes to her feet, water bottle abandoned in favor of raking her hands back through her hair, a thing she often does when stressed, or frustrated, or angry. It’s always been her tell, “How could you? No one mocks you. No one doubts you. No one questions your actions, or your decisions. It gets old. And honestly, maybe I’m a little tired. Maybe I’m tired of every single day being some kind of a fight. Maybe I’m tired of putting everything that I am into this, and still coming up short.” By the end, it’s taken on every bit of the frustration she’s been trying to repress, every shred of the bitter disappointment that’s been plaguing her, “I’ve shaped, my entire life around this. Years of training, and conditioning, before I ever even started with the wrestling. And now...I’m not even sure it’s something I was meant to do. I just keep going because it’s the only thing I know how to do.”
Rori blinks at Faith a moment, then her voice came out low, and dangerous.[/i] “I don’t understand? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be mocked, or doubted?” She rises to her full height and pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket, flips through a few things and then comes up with a Youtube clip, and turns the phone towards Faith. The expression on her face tells the tale that she knows what it says about her that she’s kept it where she could watch it at any time. The images aren’t pretty - her match years ago with one John Gone, where she had been set up to be put on the shelf permanently by her psycho ex. She counts off the seconds and then turns the screen towards her, tapping it to freeze on a closeup of her face, cheekbone and orbital bone shattered and then turns it back towards Faith. “We were told, we were told, myself, Alexa Rose Cole, Aubrey J Parker, Megan Harris, Cynthia Cross, Tee Voland… we were all told we couldn’t compete with the men, even though Robin Mayfair had proved we could. We weren’t good enough to main event a show, even when they added “World” to the Women’s title. This is bullshit, Faith. You know it is. You have chances I would have stabbed someone for when I was your age. Don’t throw it away because someone else questions your passion. It is in fact, Self Esteem. Now drink your water and think about that for awhile.”
The younger woman sighs, rubbing the back of her neck, “I’m sorry. I just get...overwhelmed sometimes. A lot really. But you’re right. Of course you are.”
An Open Letter
To Mr. Daniels ~
You’ll forgive me I hope, for breaking tradition and not digging out the camera. Actually, scratch that, saying I hope you will would mean that I somehow care about your opinion, which, I can assure you, I don’t. In fact, the only emotion that you, personally, elicit from me is...frustration. Or disgust. Mild irritation? Yeah, we’ll go with that. See, you come back, out of nowhere, and you have the balls to use one of my motherfucking matches to send your message. I don’t care that the match was over. I don’t care that I’d already lost. I don’t care that you didn’t go after my partner. It was still my time. Our time. And you intruded. Worse, you continue to intrude. Like a desperate little child screaming for attention you find your way into matches that you have no business being part of. To be perfectly honest...no. Let me state this plainly. Stop trying so hard.
You want people to be intimidated. I get it. I’ve been there. They don’t respect you, so you court their fear instead. Only...you strive so desperately that the entire world can see through it. Yeah...I’ve been there too. In fact, we are not so terribly different, you and I. I know what it is, to see the world passing you by, while you sit on the sidelines, willing to sell your soul so long as it will you back where you want to be. There should be something to be admired in that strength, the capacity to overcome such devastating injuries, not only physical in order to be able to compete again, but also psychologically, to even want to get back in the ring. And you had an opportunity, to seize that, and make it yours. Instead, you came raging back into the Phoenix like a tantruming child. You have no sense of grace. No sense of dedication. You snarl and rampage about like a rabid dog and we all know what happens to those in the end...don’t we?
So, in your predictability in the role of villain, there are certain things that you will, inevitably, make the mistake of doing. You will perhaps see my age, and immediately write me off. You will see my recent losses, and mock me for them, without taking into consideration who they were against. (There’s no shame in losing to people of that caliber, just so you know.) I will, without a doubt hear the phrase “little girl” at least three times, probably more. And all the work that I’ve done to be here, everything that I’ve conquered to still stand here, will be completely, and utterly ignored. You’ll puff out your chest and strut around talking about how I don’t stand a chance, and you’re going to destroy me, and blah blah blah. But you know what Mason? Words...are just wind. And the days of when I might have let them get under my skin are dead and gone.
Do you know what makes people like Andreas, and Aurora, and Masaru so fucking intimidating? They make it look effortless. They don’t need to make idle threats. They don’t need to ambush people from behind, or fuck with their matches. People like them, they aren’t just the kings and queens of this industry, they’re our gods and goddesses. They’re what people like you, and me, can only ever dream of being. You don’t frighten me. You’re all bark. But if you think for a second that this match is somehow going to be easy for you...honey, you aren’t just a rabid dog, you’re a dumb one. Don’t take my word for it though, by all means, you go right on ahead and underestimate me. That’ll just make it even more satisfying when I kick your fucking teeth in. I could use a set of earrings to go with my necklace honestly.
Because that’s the thing with me, isn’t it? That’s always been my thing. Win, or lose, anyone who steps into the ring with me, ends up getting pushed to the edge. Sometimes their experience wins out. Sometimes I get lucky. And for a long, long time I struggled to see that. I was lost in the production, blinded by the lights and deafened by the noise. I convinced myself that I desperately needed the victories to make all of this mean something. But at the end of the day, maybe it means more that people remember that I fought. At the core, that is all that I have ever been...a fighter. The Greeks had a proverb, and I adopted it for my own some years ago though I lost sight of it for awhile there. “If you have to crawl to live, then stand, and die.”
I had myself convinced that I needed those tallies in the win column for the respect, the recognition. I thought it was the only way to build a legacy worth leaving behind...I was you. Trying so hard I reeked of desperation. But that’s done. Rise or fall, it will be because of my strength, and my passion, and my dedication for what I do. No more crawling. From now on I stand. I invite you to do the same.
~Faith
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Word Count by Word Counter Tool = 2444
Aurora Jansen appears with permission
There is the sound of a light thump, a water bottle suddenly sits next to her feet enticingly as a slight hand grips her upper arm with far more strength than would be suggested by looking at it. The voice is low, though not quite that whisper that’s so well known. “Faith. Let go of the bag and sit. Hydrate, then let me know if I need the kit or if this is more than that.” A distinct pause. “Your edges are still nice and sharp so I don’t think we’ll need a medic.” Rori shakes her head slightly. “Every engine needs fuel, Faith.”
Inwardly, there’s a groan, but the diminutive blonde knows better than to argue, and instead, releases her grip and eases down to the floor. She doesn’t verbally respond though, not right away, instead reaching for the bottle of water for a long drink, “I’m fine,”well no, probably not actually, but she’s not going to admit that, “Just blacked for a second there, that’s all. Happens sometimes, but it’s nothing serious.I just need a few minutes, and then I’m good to get back to work.”
“Tell me another one, Faith.”Rori’s tongue clicks against her teeth, it isn’t quite a ‘tutting’ sound but still.“If you’re pushing so hard doing something you feel dizzy or black out for a second, you know you went ten minutes past when you should’ve rehydrated for one. Do I need to write you out a shuffled workout, or something here? Because you’re also locking in too tightly. You need to be able to shift on the fly, and keep your mind out of the ruts.” It’s not honestly clear, whether or not Rori means the actual workouts and routines that Faith is doing, or something else entirely.
“I’m just...hyper focusing. That’s all,” well that at least, is the truth. Though she avoids making any kind of direct eye contact, “I have to push harder. I don’t have...I don’t have the time not to. Because I don’t like where I am right now.” Understatement of the century that.
Rori’s lips compress and she takes a few moments to think before she answers, her big green eyes seemingly unfocus as she does. “Faith, two sides to everything, remember? You keep telling yourself that you don’t have the time, that the most you can wring from your career is ten years. But you know, quite intimately there are those that never get a year, or even two - championships won or no. So what makes you feel, that you can’t take a breath? That you can’t pause to actually enjoy the journey before you get where you’re going? No one here would ever question your drive, the fact you’re willing to put in the work.” She pauses again. “Being able to focus that way is a gift, but you have to give yourself a break or that ten years, halve it. I think you know that, deep down. And that would be the real shame, because you’re so close to getting to where you need to be.”
“You know I’m pretty much, exactly where I was three years ago right? I’ve done all this work, and I haven’t gotten anywhere,” the little blonde sighs, heavily, taking another long drink of water, “And there’s...I don’t remember things. I lose time. I’m still technically cleared, but they’re just waiting for an excuse to pull that out from under me. And maybe they aren’t wrong for it. Maybe I’ve climbed as far as I was meant to. And I can’t accept that. I can’t accept that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve given up, doesn’t mean anything.”
“Give yourself a break, Faith. Step back, and see yourself as other people actually do. I want you to think about that first thing you said. That you’re pretty much where you were three years ago. That’s actually amazing, because you almost weren’t. Broken, battered, beaten, set on fire… Faith. You’ve completed an amazing journey just to be here at all. That takes strength.” She shakes her head. “I wish I could tell you that those other things don’t matter but we both know they do. But we also know, don’t we? That you’ve made your choice to try, no matter what. There are people out there that don’t have the problems you do that can’t even take the first step to even get to a gym. I know it’s hard, and I know it sucks. But give yourself a break, and maybe? A little credit.”
It isn’t that the words don’t ring with truth to her, they do. They are all things she has tried to tell herself, when everything starts weighing too heavily. But they ring hollow, “You don’t understand,” she pushes to her feet, water bottle abandoned in favor of raking her hands back through her hair, a thing she often does when stressed, or frustrated, or angry. It’s always been her tell, “How could you? No one mocks you. No one doubts you. No one questions your actions, or your decisions. It gets old. And honestly, maybe I’m a little tired. Maybe I’m tired of every single day being some kind of a fight. Maybe I’m tired of putting everything that I am into this, and still coming up short.” By the end, it’s taken on every bit of the frustration she’s been trying to repress, every shred of the bitter disappointment that’s been plaguing her, “I’ve shaped, my entire life around this. Years of training, and conditioning, before I ever even started with the wrestling. And now...I’m not even sure it’s something I was meant to do. I just keep going because it’s the only thing I know how to do.”
Rori blinks at Faith a moment, then her voice came out low, and dangerous.[/i] “I don’t understand? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be mocked, or doubted?” She rises to her full height and pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket, flips through a few things and then comes up with a Youtube clip, and turns the phone towards Faith. The expression on her face tells the tale that she knows what it says about her that she’s kept it where she could watch it at any time. The images aren’t pretty - her match years ago with one John Gone, where she had been set up to be put on the shelf permanently by her psycho ex. She counts off the seconds and then turns the screen towards her, tapping it to freeze on a closeup of her face, cheekbone and orbital bone shattered and then turns it back towards Faith. “We were told, we were told, myself, Alexa Rose Cole, Aubrey J Parker, Megan Harris, Cynthia Cross, Tee Voland… we were all told we couldn’t compete with the men, even though Robin Mayfair had proved we could. We weren’t good enough to main event a show, even when they added “World” to the Women’s title. This is bullshit, Faith. You know it is. You have chances I would have stabbed someone for when I was your age. Don’t throw it away because someone else questions your passion. It is in fact, Self Esteem. Now drink your water and think about that for awhile.”
The younger woman sighs, rubbing the back of her neck, “I’m sorry. I just get...overwhelmed sometimes. A lot really. But you’re right. Of course you are.”
--- --- --- --- ---
An Open Letter
To Mr. Daniels ~
You’ll forgive me I hope, for breaking tradition and not digging out the camera. Actually, scratch that, saying I hope you will would mean that I somehow care about your opinion, which, I can assure you, I don’t. In fact, the only emotion that you, personally, elicit from me is...frustration. Or disgust. Mild irritation? Yeah, we’ll go with that. See, you come back, out of nowhere, and you have the balls to use one of my motherfucking matches to send your message. I don’t care that the match was over. I don’t care that I’d already lost. I don’t care that you didn’t go after my partner. It was still my time. Our time. And you intruded. Worse, you continue to intrude. Like a desperate little child screaming for attention you find your way into matches that you have no business being part of. To be perfectly honest...no. Let me state this plainly. Stop trying so hard.
You want people to be intimidated. I get it. I’ve been there. They don’t respect you, so you court their fear instead. Only...you strive so desperately that the entire world can see through it. Yeah...I’ve been there too. In fact, we are not so terribly different, you and I. I know what it is, to see the world passing you by, while you sit on the sidelines, willing to sell your soul so long as it will you back where you want to be. There should be something to be admired in that strength, the capacity to overcome such devastating injuries, not only physical in order to be able to compete again, but also psychologically, to even want to get back in the ring. And you had an opportunity, to seize that, and make it yours. Instead, you came raging back into the Phoenix like a tantruming child. You have no sense of grace. No sense of dedication. You snarl and rampage about like a rabid dog and we all know what happens to those in the end...don’t we?
So, in your predictability in the role of villain, there are certain things that you will, inevitably, make the mistake of doing. You will perhaps see my age, and immediately write me off. You will see my recent losses, and mock me for them, without taking into consideration who they were against. (There’s no shame in losing to people of that caliber, just so you know.) I will, without a doubt hear the phrase “little girl” at least three times, probably more. And all the work that I’ve done to be here, everything that I’ve conquered to still stand here, will be completely, and utterly ignored. You’ll puff out your chest and strut around talking about how I don’t stand a chance, and you’re going to destroy me, and blah blah blah. But you know what Mason? Words...are just wind. And the days of when I might have let them get under my skin are dead and gone.
Do you know what makes people like Andreas, and Aurora, and Masaru so fucking intimidating? They make it look effortless. They don’t need to make idle threats. They don’t need to ambush people from behind, or fuck with their matches. People like them, they aren’t just the kings and queens of this industry, they’re our gods and goddesses. They’re what people like you, and me, can only ever dream of being. You don’t frighten me. You’re all bark. But if you think for a second that this match is somehow going to be easy for you...honey, you aren’t just a rabid dog, you’re a dumb one. Don’t take my word for it though, by all means, you go right on ahead and underestimate me. That’ll just make it even more satisfying when I kick your fucking teeth in. I could use a set of earrings to go with my necklace honestly.
Because that’s the thing with me, isn’t it? That’s always been my thing. Win, or lose, anyone who steps into the ring with me, ends up getting pushed to the edge. Sometimes their experience wins out. Sometimes I get lucky. And for a long, long time I struggled to see that. I was lost in the production, blinded by the lights and deafened by the noise. I convinced myself that I desperately needed the victories to make all of this mean something. But at the end of the day, maybe it means more that people remember that I fought. At the core, that is all that I have ever been...a fighter. The Greeks had a proverb, and I adopted it for my own some years ago though I lost sight of it for awhile there. “If you have to crawl to live, then stand, and die.”
I had myself convinced that I needed those tallies in the win column for the respect, the recognition. I thought it was the only way to build a legacy worth leaving behind...I was you. Trying so hard I reeked of desperation. But that’s done. Rise or fall, it will be because of my strength, and my passion, and my dedication for what I do. No more crawling. From now on I stand. I invite you to do the same.
~Faith
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Word Count by Word Counter Tool = 2444
Aurora Jansen appears with permission
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