Enter the dream state of a guy who spent the better part of a year determining if I was alive or dead to the world.
It was not Central Illinois, I knew that for sure. The first recollection of the dream was taking a seat, talking to a mark about El Phantasmo versus Robbie Eagles from Best of Juniors from this year, the mark holding it higher regard than the worker of course.
Then the venue changes to a place with high enough ceilings for a ring, and I was frustrated by the glass pawn/jewelry shop like displays where seats should be. Maybe you could fit the Women of Wrestling Ring in it (I swear that is 12' by 12' whenever I see those with skills equal to mine on AXS TV). The executive vice presidents and Chris Jericho are all talking about merch, obviously, and plans for the All Elite Wrestling. As for me, it felt like I was being blatantly left out of the goings on.
They wanted me there, but did not have a reason. Was it a display of respect that I had paid my dues despite having nothing to offer them? Was it a way of mocking me because I would never be allowed to pursue my first passion? The prior sums up how I feel about the Chicago wrestling scene that I gave my all to get into. The latter sums up how Downstate refuses to give me an opportunity to because I was trying to get better rather than get over with the salt of the Earth. You know...morons.
I woke up disturbed and feeling helpless. 45 minutes before my alarm was set for an opening shift did not improve my mood. Breakfast is a meal I tend to skip and social media was not a good place for a depressed person to be. Going back to sleep could have two consequences: pride that I did it or anger because it just felt pointless.
I did my best to come up with the least desperate-sounding tweet:
Woke up from a dream and now in an #existential crisis. I am pondering if I let my empathy get the best of me. It seem I was either used up or considered an idiot for it.
Why would anyone like that on Facebook? At least this plea got more of a response than the ones where I ask everyone to migrate to Twitter.
In the end, I brushed my teeth before I made coffee was the result. So I get on the road to head to the job, arrive 20 minutes before we can open the place, drive to kill time (and unfortunately gas before I head to Peoria for a dentist appointment), and buy a five-dollar coffee drink. Damning my attempts to be fiscally wise seems to be the only thing I excel at, and it is something those closest to me love to remind me of.
The time spent between waking up and fucking up was spent pondering why I get locked out of everything I want to be a part of. Of course I think back to the beginnings of the pursuits and how they all went to shit. With wrestling, it started by my desperate nature to get into it after college that I was an errand boy from guys to dim to call con men. It turns into doing anything to get the new ownership's promotion over while they would not put me into a position to succeed because of my ambitions to make a living in the business.
In the meantime, you are tied to the whims of the guys who want to say they can get you booked elsewhere, but they never really had any plans to put you in a good spot. They knew your reserved nature kept you from demanding promoters' attention, so they would exchange a ride and food to serve as your agent. The moment my life got tough, the moment they found another ride.
I trusted the wrong people, there is no question about that. What one can ask is whether I was so giving because I thought it would serve my own ends. All I can say about Downstate wrestling is that, at some point, all of these people were my friends. And we all part of the same team, and I wanted the team to succeed. If I knew away to help out, I would help out. Even when the rift between my goals and theirs started, I would still work on trying to make the product better.
The dream just brought back that feeling of being ignored. If I am going to be ignored, why am I even going to be there? Because I am told otherwise.
Unfortunately, this has been the majority of my adult life outside of wrestling. My best friend inspires me to write about my crazy journey and wanted to make it into something greater (comic book was the initial plan). She was feeling abandoned and Stacia, the first person to encouraged to chase my dreams, had died before I could make her proud. We supported each other through a hard time.
Once she got her confidence back, she went back to the shitty people who were supposedly influential and left me without a support system. My family were just hoping I would grow up. Supporting my dreams was not an option, hence the desperation to devote three-years of athletic health to Peorians playing super hero. That was not appreciated as anyone telling me not to grow up should not be worthy of my time.
Growing up is all my family wants me to do. I guess I should be grateful for their dedication to those hopes because I do not know if I can figure out how. If I am not going to be happy, why would I want to do it? Writing and wrestling are what I love. Video games and movies are fun, but they are just that. Working a job, regardless if it is good or not, just to sit in front of the TV feels like a waste of life.
I have to spend money on the moment to stay sane and to fund any chance I can to get involved with my passions. If I succeed, the differences will be made up. The problem is that I do not know how to and no one is willing to help out a guy who will not let another person suffer if they can help it.
And to that last statement, I get ridiculed for giving a shit about people who are important to me. It could be said that perhaps a majority of these people did not deserve my help, but I have an Anne Frank disposition. If a person will can be the best they can be because of my efforts, than it will be worth it.
Perhaps I am not empathetic and I am just a shitty gambler. Gambling is an addiction that is very difficult to be a functioning addict.
I think back to the time and money spent on ineffective therapy and realize my therapist's approach. If I grew up (swallow my pride and beg my dad to get me back into Caterpillar), I could then find happiness. It makes sense in the fact I was already suffering in life, what could a nine-to-five do to make my life any worse?
Coping is quitting and it could be argued that coping had already taken wrestling from me. And this dream just made me realize that I may only be doing that right now. I have mistaken my efforts to survive as actions to thrive. The girlfriend, the cats, and the good job are not me.
My job is new and does not really serve my skill set. I took it because my previous hospitality job (whom is still fucking with me after I rejected their offer [or lack there of] from the BBB...and had now finished my FTC complaint), made my position impossible to tolerate (Once the guests declared I was the manager without any knowledge of my pay, it was time to go). If I would have waited out my lease, I could head to a city where the hospitality business would be something worth showing passion towards. Instead, I am just making a living now and hoping happiness will just show up. Hope is for the helpless, so I am angry at myself.
It is a good, maybe even great job since I can blog...at least as of this moment, but the only inspiration to want to climb the corporate ladder is money. Dedicating my time to moving into management instead on what I am already passionate about feels wrong. Feeling like I need to stay at this job a year before I can figure out my next move is enough dedication, especially when you come home without any sense of accomplishment and questioning if you are getting the most out of life otherwise.
If I was not broke all the time, the weekends could be mine again. Surely I could then find one Downstate promoter to give me a chance. But, I would be broke and further digging myself in a hole.
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