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Personal journal entry of
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Thursday May 6, 2004

"I feel like a little worm on a big fucking hook."
                                                             -Skank


What a difference a year makes. That old adage is somewhat cliché but in my case, very accurate. It was around this time last year I was sitting in New England waiting to compete when the rug was ripped out from under me.

I hate surprises.

Now here I sit, on a flight headed to "Old" England. I guess there is some sort of irony in there, but the cynic in me doesn’t really care. All I really want to do is get off this plane and into a warm bath at the hotel.

It has been a while since I have been to England. My life is so completely different now that my memories seem more like something I watched on television, rather then actual events that happened to me. But that happens to me a lot. One day last week I swear that I washed the same pair of paints 3 times before I remembered that they had already been in the machine. My memory is funny; it haunts me and teases me at the same time. It's the part of me that I have no control over, if it wants it can turn on at a moments notice filling me with emotion and leaving me paralyzed.

I suppose that's why I started writing this journal. I figured that once I typed out my thoughts I would be able to control when they come to me. At least that was the original idea. Unfortunately for me it has only made them worse.

Like I say, I hate surprises.

It has been quite a long while since I have stepped in a wrestling ring. To be honest, I am quite nervous considering what happened to me the last time. I think things will be different in the RW... no scratch that... they have to be different in the RW. At the same time however there is part of me that wonders if they can be. Have I grown enough? Am I able to put the mistakes behind me? After the things I have done is it even humanly possible to change?

I picked quite the time to show up in good old Ricochet Wrestling, They appear to have a new booker that seems to take pleasure in the un-known and that means I have a match, but I have no idea who it will be against. Considering the reason I have returned to wrestling, a proposition like that makes me even more apprehensive.

Did I mention I hate surprises?

Surprises to me are never a good thing for the simple fact I have no control over them. That morning I woke up after meeting Saymama for the first time I was in shock. I was in a foreign country with a man twice my size, a man who I barely knew, on the run and with no money. To be quite honest though I was didn’t even care by this point. My head was so screwed up that I just followed whoever would lead me. That person turned out to be WidowMaker.

It was he who picked me up when I was down, it was he who took me to see Saymama, it was he who saved my life. I had no idea why he wanted me to train as a wrestler, like I say by this point I didn’t care. I was given a task and I was able to attack it with ferocity. Finally I was able to do something that took my mind off the pain... Well the emotional pain. The physical pain... that was just about to begin.

Saymama loved his job. Sometimes I think he loved it a little too much. Every morning I would be awoken by the pleasant feel of a bucket of cold water thrown on me. The next eight hours of my day was spent inside the ring, being repeatedly punished. One day he would work on my reflexes, the next he would brutally test my endurance. There wasn’t a day that passed when I didn’t feel like breaking down. Just packing it in and calling it quits. But where was I to go?

WidowMaker continuously cared for the daily bruises and welts that accumulated on my body. Every night he would come into my room and gently wash away the pain. Most of the time we did not speak. However a bond was growing between us. I didn’t know what it was at the time. He just made me feel better whenever he was near.

As for his training, WidowMaker took to it like a fish to water. Day after day Saymama would send wave after wave of experienced wrestlers into the ring, day after day he would repel them all. He seemed to get a perverse sense of pleasure from inflicting pain. It was a side of him I would grow to hate, and a side that I would get to know all too well.

This way of life continued for over a year. Day in and day out. Never taking a break, never stopping for anything. Along the way I learned how to speak Japanese, seeing as how WidowMaker was the only person to talk to me in English it because a necessity. I guess you could say that I was relatively happy. It was exactly the distraction my mind needed. Sure I was being abused physically; however emotionally I never remember a day that I felt I was alone.

Of course that is how I remember things. Like I say, my memory isn’t what it used to be.

Well the captain has turned on the seatbelt sign. So I guess I better pack away the old laptop for now. My date with destiny draws closer every day now. The first step is going to getting into that ring. Once I’m there, I can’t turn back. I will be exposed, alone, in the ring… waiting… Little worm on a big fuckin hook indeed.

God I hate surprises.

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