Wrestling And Depression Part Deux

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I first wrote about depression around 2 or 3 years ago now. Excuse the ballpark figure, but who can be arsed actually fact checking when it involves such strenuous activity as typing a word into a search bar. Point is, it was a while ago now. That first post was to be perfectly honest a liberating experience. To have so many people not only appreciate the most difficult words I’d ever managed to string together somewhat coherently, but to tell me the words helped THEIR struggle and they saw some comfort in reading about someone experiencing similar things that they do on a day to day to basis trying to conquer this beast once and for all, it was the most surprising and rewarding thing I’ve ever stumbled into. Not to mention the wee added bonus that writing about it became therapeutic and helpful to my own battle. We’re all winning out of this one guys. I planned to write a book about this soul sucking affliction and I still plan to/have written bits and pieces but how can anyone who’s such a horrendous, fucked up mess of a human do a thing like that? Write a book. Please. Try sorting out the sorry pile of humanity that looks back at ye in the mirror first eh. Having ambitions is silly. Goals are for other people. Better people. People who have it together. People who know who and what they are. Not you, with the apprehension and the sweat rapidly racing off your forehead like its late for getting in some other poor cunt’s eyes. Not you constantly making excuses to stay in your own wee safe haven. Away from them. Away from the eyes, and the judgement. Away from anything that isn’t perfectly still.

The thing about mental illness I’ve learned above all other things is that it’s a sneaky wee bastard so it is. Let your guard down to it and it’ll eat you alive. Stop doing the things that make it better and guess what? It’ll get fucking worse won’t it. Of course it will. Self explanatory. Don’t deviate from a path that brought success. Don’t take your eyes off the ball, or the ball becomes a medicine ball dipped in concrete heading right between your eyes, taking your head off your shoulders. And there lies the problem with being involved in something that relies on your brain being functional, creative and open. When I first started writing about pro wrestling it consumed me with fuck all but pure joy. Fuck all but worry free escape. Who gives a flying fuck who says what about it, its only words. The logical side of the brain can tell you that sunny shit all day long. You could even give someone a job following you about whispering “You’re fuckin amazin, and yer dick is perhaps the most aesthetically pleasing one ever conceived” in your ear every 5 seconds and it still wouldn’t work. You’d just be a mentally ill cunt with a wet ear listening to the even louder voice in your head telling you its not possible. You can’t do it, you’re the guy who had a panic attack in Central Station and had to get the bus home quietly in angst soaked tears because getting a train to a college course that was supposed to put you on the path to journalistic superstardom was too much that day. You’re the guy who pursued fuck all in a romantic sense for the best part of 10 year because the image that looked back at you in the mirror was sad, specky and definitely dying alone. Why even bother trying. Why.

I guess what I’m trying to articulate is that suffering from anxiety and depression is like a constant internal battle. For a while the side telling me I was worthless and good for fuck all except crustin up socks won every single day. A landslide in favour of fuck all. Sit and do nothing. Watch a TV series. Watch another one. Drink a beer alone. Drink 12 beers and a half bottle of vodka alone. Vomit up 12 beers and a half bottle of vodka alone. For fuck’s sake don’t let your brain wake up and realise what you’re trying to do to it. I wanted my brain to die. I wanted it numb. Having no thoughts other than how I’d be spending the next hour of that present misery ridden day. When I started writing regularly for the first time since I was at school the other side starting grabbing the odd unlikely win. The side that saw the good shit. The side that thought a life of eternal solitude wasn’t a guarantee. Don’t get me wrong, even the more positive side still thought that one was likely, but at least I was open again. I had purpose, and felt like something I was doing mattered and I honestly had no expectations from it at all. Everything was a bonus. Everything felt so very “yasss”. A wrestler agreed to an interview? Fuckin yass. Many wrestlers agree to interviews? Fuckin yass, plus yaldi, plus OOOH WEE. A wrestler agrees to a sit down interview? Fuckin yass plus yaldi, plus OOH WEE, plus OH MY MY, WHAT A GUY. Mick Foley DM’s you at 1am saying he really liked that piece you linked him to about ICW and that he was a big fan of your style. Fuckin…are you……is this….a joke? HOW? WHAT? WHY? REALLY??? NO WAY. Naw….naw fuck off mate. Naw.

You catch the drift there, point is, it was fucking emotion I’ve never really felt before. Mick Foley is my all time hero in wrestling and up there with my auld man, and former Celtic playmaker Lubomir Moravcik when it comes to my heroes in life generally. There’s no one I looked up to as a young yin quite like Mick Foley. Maybe its because I grew up overweight and he didn’t have the chiselled abs like the rest of the spandexed bruisers I loved watching batter lumps out each other. Maybe it was because his character tore his hair clean out his skull and I felt like doing the same to mine (figuratively like, I was bald as fuck from ages 15 to 25). Maybe it was because up against all kinda of evil he still had a soft side. Almost a innocence that remained it tact no matter how many things lined with thumbtacks got smashed off his skull. No matter how many times a “game” wielded a sledgehammer at him. No matter how many times an Undertaker actually tried all he could to put Mick Foley in the ground for good. He never relented. I love John Cena more than most, but as far as I’m concerned he’s borrowing “Never give up” from a man who literally didn’t seem to know how.

I don’t know if this deep seeded desire to never give in was driven by the voices in his head telling him HE couldn’t do it, but the fact is something kept telling Mick Foley to get up and that resonated with me. I remember staying up till 4-5am to watch the 2000 Royal Rumble, when I was at an age where staying up till that time was actually not allowed as opposed to an ill advised decision I make regularly as an adult. WWE had recently secured a deal with terrestrial TV station (purely used that word cause typing channel twice in a row wis hurtin ma brain) Channel 4, meaning the Royal Rumble could be watched without me having to beg my mum n dad to shell out 15 quid for the PPV on cable. Mick Foley under his perhaps most fabled Cactus Jack guise would challenge Triple H for the WWE Title that night and honestly, as much as the death-matches with Terry Funk and the one where he was tossed from 30 feet in the air through a table probably brought him closer to his maker than any other contest, something about this one felt more brutal. The punishment he took that night just seemed to mean more for some reason, because in my naive little brain I was CONVINCED he was taking that title from the man attached to a nose known as Triple H. Good would triumph over evil for once. Violence for the sheer fun of being violent would triumph over huge nosed violence for personal gain. Sitting on the edge of my seat quite literally watching that, and the heartbreak that came with Foley’s loss to The Rock at that same event the year before after the most sickening and probably slightly illegal attack with a steel chair I’ve ever seen are two of the most prominent and important memories I have from growing up watching wrestling. Seems weird that two of the moments I remember more than most are two high profile “failures” but it felt good to believe in someone and be lost in those moments so much that it almost felt like YOU were there. That time period solidified Foley’s role as my hero, the gift (and perhaps the curse) he gave me in 2015 was a different kind of heroism.

I think the most troubling aspect of being validated by my all time hero was the fact that I suffer from mental illness at all. If I didn’t, such a beautiful joyful thing could never have been turned into a negative but almost instantly when I read Mick Foley’s first DM to me I wondered what made me worthy of that? I mean think about it for a second, of all the wrestlers who have gone on to write books, Mick Foley is by quite a distance the most esteemed as an author and has gone on to write several more critically acclaimed books. He has a talent for this very thing I’m doing right now. To have him tell me I was talented at a thing he’s very talented at himself was just incredibly surreal. To have him vow to share my work on social media platforms where literally millions of people follow him was almost too much. I felt mostly great about it all, but the doubts were still there. The doubts that it was all a fluke, and maybe if I hadn’t written about a promotion he was about to appear for, he wouldn’t have read it at all. Truth be told that’s probably the case as he likely gets linked to all sorts every day in his social media life. The perils of being a famous man on social media. I wondered why it was right that social media connecting us all made it so easy for me to make an impression on a man who had to do a lot more to make an impression on me all those years ago. All I did was include his handle in a tweet to get him to notice me, when he nearly fuckin died trying to entertain me.

When I first started writing I had absolutely no expectations for it, but the all-time, never to be reached but keep shooting for it anyway goal was to interview wrestling people. That was it really. I’ve always been interested in stories more than any kind of critical evaluation when it comes to wrestling, so when folk occasionally pull me for not being critical enough it kinda baffles me. I’m not in an informed enough position to fire a star rating at you or tell you what you done wrong in a match and I never will be. Its a role I’ve never been comfortable with in the slightest, but telling someones story? I’m all in for that. Getting the chance to sit next to people you admire and have them give you the time of day enough to really get something good out there is a buzz I’ve never come close to doing anything else “professionally” and when I started doing it, that unattainable goal was sitting next to the man I admired the most in wrestling and getting to pick his brain a wee bit. So I figured “fuck it”. He messaged me after all. He’s in the country for ICW in a few weeks. Why not just ask. What harm can come of asking? Well, him saying no, but apart from that? A no can only kill the self esteem after all, the human shell would still remain. BUT HE FUCKIN SAID YES. Cutting a long story very slightly shorter, he said if he had the time he would do an interview with me and a month or so later there I was. Sitting next to Mick fuckin Foley with a dictaphone and my actual phone just in case the dictaphone fucked up, asking him questions. Interviewing Mick fuckin Foley. Fuck.

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It went by in a 15 minute literary heart attack. A blur. Somehow I was coherent. Somehow I asked questions that mattered to me and mattered to him. Besides transcribing it the day after I haven’t actually ever listened to it back, but a recording exists of me interviewing Mick Foley. That’s real and it fuckin scared the living shite out of my barely functional brain. How did we manage that one? The interview happened after a Micks standup show the night after ICW at the SECC, and he left for Manchester right after, with everyone else still at the venue. I remember standing outside waiting for a taxi when Billy Kirkwood pulled up on his way out asking if I was ok for a lift, and as soon as he pulled away a few tears ran down my cheek. I don’t know what specific feelings were attached to those tears at the time, but christ, around 2011-2012 I didn’t see a future for myself at all. In life. The only thing preventing multiple suicide attempts was cowardice and a reluctance to leave my loved ones with a similar pain to the one I felt every day just from being alive. The best future I seen for myself was somehow getting some kind of IT job as far away from the world as possible and becoming one of those middle aged guys with a shit tonne of money cause they spent their 20s and 30s hidden away from the world getting really invested in weird Japanese porn. The point is, to go from that daily torment to standing outside The Stand in Glasgow after having a dream literally come true, and being able to tell my long term partner about it later carried a significance that can’t be summed up properly with words. My self worth had never been higher in my adult life than it was at that point and well…fuck. Where do we go from there? The only way is dooooooown.

Truth be told from the moment I put that interview up until very recently something’s been missing. I don’t love doing this any less than I did at all. In fact quite the opposite. Often me not writing much is due to loving it a bit too much and fretting about coming up to this imaginary standard I’d set in my head. Truth be told if Mick Foley liked anything about my stuff it wasn’t the quality control aspect of it. I write what I feel and overthinking is very counter productive to doing that. Or at least doing it well. I went off anti-depressants, then back on them, and finally off them again. I got a job and for the first time in many years, maybe ever, I had a pretty normal life on the go. Girlfriend, job, even some friends for fucks sake! Something resembling a social life. Things to do that made sitting torturing yourself over the words you are writing and the word’s you haven’t been able to muster just wasn’t the same anymore. I think for a wee while I was denying it to myself that this is what I want to do with my life and quietly that was wreaking havoc on my self esteem all over again because I stopped doing one of the things. The things that made this mental illness shit seem like less of an “illness”. The things that lifted the proverbial black cloud. The key one was undoubtedly throwing myself fully into something I loved. Something I felt deep down I was born to do. Being a writer. Spending every spare moment writing for better or worse. It has to be this again.

For the past few months, on and off, I’ve struggled again. For the past 2 weeks or so, its been an unrelenting restlessness. A feeling that I’m not doing enough that’s been impossible to shake. Weirdly working in a paper shop was one of the triggers. Front page of one of the rags with a shiny celebrity (be fucked if I know who) telling us how she “Beat” depression. Turn to page fuck yersell to read how you can beat it too! The only time the media really want to cover mental illness is when there’s chaos involved in the lows, or triumph in the highs. No one wants to talk about the day to day struggle. No one wants to cover a story about a person having what they consider to be a good day purely because they overcame depression enough to eat a meal and leave the house. No one wants to talk to you about coping mechanisms, they either wan’t you to be a mess drowning in substance abuse or “cured”. There is no cure. You could be months, years, fuckin decades free of it and one day it could decide to fuck with you again for no reason. That’s the nature of it and telling folk otherwise, pushing this stupid idea that if you do certain things or be a certain way you can be rid of it for good, is something that will forever insult and eat away it me. The only thing you can do is make day to day life easier. Sometimes a lot easier. You can recover and learn to live with it. You can find things that help rather than habitially doing things that harm. One of the few things that helps me is doing this. Because it always has been and always will be a coping mechanism and that’s ok. I think I resented it being a coping mechanism for a wee while and stopped writing about mental illness because I only wanted happy things to be attached to this but that’s not what writing is. Writing is getting the wet-suit on and scuba’ing to the deepest darkest shitest most self doubt ridden corners of who you are and pulling out the words regardless. Fuck giving up. Fuck going backwards and reverting back to the guy who wanted to die. Fuck watching this writing caper pass me by for another minute. While having a full-time job fucks with it slightly, no more excuses. No more letting my brain talk me out of doing what I love. No more of anything between 3 and 6 weeks going by without a single word going on this site. I interviewed Mick Foley ffs. I am something. I am someone. I have depression.

WWE RAW Review 07/07/2014 (written by Martin Smith, filling in for Martin Smith)

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I was supposed to be having a few weeks off fae RAW duties, safe in the knowledge that my staff had it covered. Last week I called upon Connie. A respected wrestling reviewer, and prominent member of the deid eyed goth community. She gave a detailed and highly entertaining review of the show. One I enjoyed thoroughly. In the interest of fairness and keeping morale levels among the workforce up, I decided to call upon the other member of my staff, a certain dickpiece by the name of Daaaaavey who made a big song and dance about how he had to get back intae reviewing mode for this gig, and the cunt’s no even came up wae the goods. So here I am, in the middle of a wee hiatus fae WWE…fuckin reviewing some WWE.

I’m no rewatching it, so it’ll be a brief rundown of the things I can remember and how they affected me physically and mentally. Example – “Edge returned to action, cashing in his ‘Coppers in a pot’ contract for a US Title shot, which he lost after having the top part of his jaw Brogue Kicked into the fucking sun, I found this segment to be ok. Ok but boring at the same time. Bo-K’

With the format laid out to you, shall we proceed? Aye fuck it. Lets

Roman Reigns kicked off the show, cutting an extremely erotic (I men eh…..confident) promo where he licks his lips, and calls John Cena a dick. Someone came out. Did anyone come out? I cannae mind. He wants us all to believe he’ll win the fatal 4 way at Battleground. I did for a bit, then i remembered thats daft. He won’t win it. Its Cena vs lesnar at Summerslam probably for the belts. Unless one of them dies. Then it won’t be, cause deid guys can’t officially hold belts.

Dean Ambrose was magnificent as per usual. Battling it out wae Randy Orton in the match of the night, and losing that match cleanly. I fucking loved that in all honesty, cause Dean Ambrose is reckless. He’s unhinged. Unhinged guys sometimes lose. They lose cause they’re too busy being reckless tae give a FUCK about winning. Dean Ambrose is god.

Paige and AJ Lee were a tag team for some reason. Naomi and Cameron officially broke up. Why are the funkadactyls no longer pals but AJ and Paige are? Divas division is a fuckin mess man. Sort that shit out. Get heel AJ feuding wae heel Paige forever, and have them knocking the utter shite out each other in an effort to prove whos the baddest of them all.

Bo Dallas beat El Torito, and the segment re-sold me on Bo, having been a bit fatigued with his routine before. This was fuckin class. Bo showing the violent side when he reacted badly to Torito taking the piss, then knocking him over when he done his wee lap round the ring. HE’S 15 AND BO MAGGLE. THE STREAK LIVES.

Dolph Ziggler lost cause Fandango danced on a table. Just cause he dances go-go, it dont make him a ho no.

Seth Rollins and John Cena had one of the better RAW main events in recent memory. In terms of match quality you could absolutely see why Cena has the belts, and Rollins seems tae be next in line. As much as I think Reigns MIGHT be ready now, he isnae there yet. Then it aw turned intae a stupid bit stramash, with Rollins teasing the cash in AGAIN after Orton and Kane had battered Cena, before Dean Ambrose once again intervened heroically.

Jericho and Miz had a bit of a wrestle. It was fucking good, bar Miz reeling out that eyesore of a figure four and making me spew aw doon myself.

Jericho and Bray Wyatt had one of the best promo duels of the year. This is what Bray and Cena should have been doing, but Cena was too busy trying tae be funny and not putting people over. Its a shame that Jericho isnae really seen as a guy to be taken as a serious threat to Wyatt, cause as good as this feud will be, everyone knows Jericho wont win. He’s there to put folk over, line his pockets, and leave tae sing songs naecunt’s heard. Looking forward to the matches right enough, and I’m delighted Jericho seems to have his old, human shaped chest back. The lease must have been up on that one he was borrowing aff Kofi Kingston. Speaking of Kofi, he beat Cesaro again, this time not on the fuckin app, cause having matches end when the show isnae on air can fuck off, and continue fucking off until off insae even a thing anymore. A forgotten concept. The only way “off” exists, is the continual fucking off that matches ending on the WWE App is doing. Why is Kofi Kingston beating Cesaro? Did this really happen this week, or am I confused? So many questions.

The Usos lost to Harper and Rowan in another brilliant encounter between those two teams. If you’re the type of cunt to complain about WWE doing this match too often, well nae offence, but yer stupid and I hate ye.

Rusev beat RVD in another legit match. RVD had at least 15 offensive moves and even ahd me beleiving he might win for about 15 seconds, so that makes this a fuckin vast improvement to everything Rusev’s done in WWE so far, not including the Big E stuff. Rusev vs face Swagger should be fuckin brillaint. Really looking forward to that.

Sheamus was there.

Nae Big Guy segments whatsoever. Not only did we have nae big guy, we had nae Axe-man either, meaning nae Rybaxel crushin geeks. Nae Rybaxel giving Michael Cole a wedge, and telling him to “stop being a non cold beer drinking coward” . Nae Rybaxel at all, meaning the show might aswell have not fuckin happened.

Last but not least. My main man Bret Hart came strolling out and cut one of the best promos of his career. No really saying much considering he was always pretty shite on the mic, but he was entertaining enough, getting the home crowd going because Damien SandHart came out and hilariously imitated Bret. Claiming he was shite on the mic, having Bret knock him out, before going “Yer right mate, I uhm shite on the mic, but I’m good at punchin cunts” Or words tae that effect.

Overall i thought RAW was a helluva wrestling show. With various men and women daein wrestling things. 7 springboard hurricanrana outta 10. Tune in next week for something that’ll hopefully be better than this shite. 

x

 

 

WWE Raw Review – 30/06/2014 (By Connie Williams)

RAW IS WAR BAYBAY. It’s no war, there’s nae war to fight. It’s just Raw. Trips and Steph make their way out looking fab. Steph, waw, she is killing it as per. In her sexy wee suits with her heely expressions. If you look up the definition of goddess in the dictionary it will say Steph Omac. I am most certainly not making that up. Steph says some things about Rollins, bigging him up and reflecting on his Connecticut roots(Raws in Connecticut the night btw). Continue reading

WWE RAW Review – 23/06/2014

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Here’s the thing guys. I really fuckin liked RAW last week. Hunners and millions. The most complete RAW in months if ye ask me. A belter. So that made me think a wee bit so it did. I’m no a big fan of thinking. It gets in the way of havering shite, and living haphazardly, but aye. I was thinking, if I really liked the show, and I really like writing, why the fuck wis I no buzzing tae get a review done right away? Last year, if RAW was properly good, I’d either start writing right after the show finished, or first thing the next morning. Yet here I sit, 3 hours before MITBs due tae start, n there’s still nae review for the final RAW before it, then it fuckin clicked.

Guys. I think I fell outta love wae reviewing RAW. 😮

Or maybe it fell out of love wae me? I dunno. Its been a year and a bit that I’ve been reviewing this shit, and that amount of exposure tae me tends tae turn folk sour, so maybe its more a case of it getting sick of me than me getting sick of it, but I’ll tell ye whit I’m gonnae dae. I’m gonnae try and get the love back. I’m gonnae review it a bit differently this week and gush about the many positives that the show contained. Straight up fuckin leakin aw the positive vibes, all over you and that sexy boady of yours. Mess ye right up. Ye intae it? I know I’m intae it. Typed myself intae quite the frenzy here, so lets get tae it. Its about ta get NAWTY.

Continue reading

WWE RAW Review 16/06/2014

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Made a right song and dance about last weeks RAW Review eh? Kinda hard tae live uptae that in some ways. Namely me no really giving that much of a fuck about it this week. I started with that mindset anyway, and then the show only went and gave me numerous stauners, and sare heids wae the sheer activity of it.

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