Tunneling. Everything comes rushing in at you all at once. The sunshine blinds you like a deer in headlights. The weight of reality is standing on your chest, refusing to move an inch. The smell is like salt. Wait, salt? Is that even a smell? Now you know that it is. Your breaths are shallow and each one is a battle all on its own. And that squawking just adds to the confusion. Once your eyes adjust to the bright sun, you let out a groan. You look up from the ground, and the mess of blankets surrounding serve to assure you that you haven’t gotten a concussion despite the lightly throbbing pain in the back of your head. You reach back and rub the back of your head before sitting up. It feels like you have a hangover from hell, but unfortunately you know better than that. You wrestle your way to your feet and stumble over toward the port hole, crawling over the mess of Barbie dolls, strange clothes, and a couple of half naked men.
“What the hell happened?”
It is a natural question to ask yourself in such a situation as this. You look down to see an overgrown Cinderella gown adorning your body, white gloves and glass slippers to complete the ensemble. You hear the sleepy sigh of one of the men lying on the ground, but you can’t even get yourself to look back at them. Instead, you look out of the port hole and instantly your body is taken over by a nearly paralyzing fear. Water… As far as the eye can see. Water, seagulls, and passerby’s on the deck. You feel ridiculous judging the women on their outlandish sun hats because you look like a five year old girl who just visited Disneyland. And so many people wearing speedos that really REALLY shouldn’t.
“It’s like the Coney Island Polar Bear Club has decided to go on a summer vacation out there.”
You shudder, and deep inside, you take comfort in the fact that the crippling anxiety is starting to slowly subside as it always does. You turn your head away from the port hole and glance around the room for a sign, any sign at all, of where you have been for the last few weeks. You pray that the men in this room are the only ones that you have been soiled by, but the dirty feeling that makes your own skin crawl lets you know that it is not the case. You walk through the cabin and into the bathroom where you gently close the door. You rest against it, avoiding looking at the mess that is surely standing there in the mirror. You sink down to the ground, and every ounce of you wants to throw your head in your hands and cry. You would trade anything to shed a tear for your state of mind, and it depresses you even further that you can’t. Instead, your jaw clinches, and your fists ball up and you can’t control the angry scream that escapes your lips.
“GRRRRRRRAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”
It doesn’t make you feel much better, but any improvement is better than none. That feeling of being used eats away at you so badly that you must crawl over to the shower. You crank on the water and allow it to run to the perfect temperature as you stand up. Your face stings as you pull off the white gloves, one by one, ever so slowly. You drop them to the ground before sliding out of the glass slippers. Reaching a hand up to the zipper on your back, you undo the purple gown and start to drop your shoulders to rid yourself of it when you stop. You step into the shower, and you simply lie down in it. The warm water seems to scour the weeks of filth off of you as you enjoy a short-lived moment of silence.
”You’re getting my dress all wet! Doo-doo head!”
”You said you would always protect me, Sam. You said you would never let them get me, but you lied…”
”I tried to protect you but they wanna get rid of me. They said I’m a pain in the you-know-what. I can’t die, then I can’t never ever protect you.”
”But you aren’t protecting me at all. I’m being used in every sense of the word, even by you. How am I supposed to be a champion when I don’t even know what is going on half of the fucking time?!?”
”I’m sorry… I tried to help you win your match at Lord of Rings but those guys were so big and strong. Drew kept trying to feel their swimsuit areas so I told him ‘No!’ but I lost…”
Your face twists into disappointment. All of the preparation for that match, and all of the promises that your demons made amounted to nothing but a rainbow tattoo and a few interesting pictures on your phone. It is just another item on the list of shitty things that happens when you lose weeks at a time. You sigh and open your eyes briefly as the water obscures your vision.
”Just leave me alone. You are all the same. You get what you want out of me, and then leave me to clean up the mess. No amount of medicine can change that, and I am done trying.”
The voices all move in at once, and the arguing is so overwhelming that you reach up to cover your ears. They continue on crowding your head as you move your lips, trying to drown them out. Your eyes are clinched tightly as you feel them pounding on your temples in an attempt to break free, and all you can do is continue talking. The voices don’t even seem to notice your own as you raise your voice even louder.
”No… No… NO… NO… NO!! NO!! NO!!! NO!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!!!”
All that happens is that you fade into the darkness. Soon, you don’t even feel the warm water pressing against your face and your gown. Nothingness, which has become the only beacon of hope as of late. Numbness, which you have taken solace in. Serenity. Your breaths flow freely, and if you could feel your face, you would feel a smile. But it doesn’t last. It never does.
”Life is like a dream I can’t wake up from.”
Your eyes open up to catch a glimpse at the nightclub within the Royal Monarch. You can’t tell if your vision is blurry because of coming back to control of your body, or if it is simply the beer goggles. The dead soldiers surrounding you at the table quickly answer your question. You look around, feeling a bit woozy as you spot Gabriel off in the corner of the bar, surrounded by some die-hard fans, where he pulls a few pretzels from the nearby bowl. You watch as he moves his other hand over the one containing the pretzels, and then he quickly opens them up as a few monarch butterflies spring forward. Your eyes move over to catch Shane and Fantasia sitting at the far end of the bar, next to a mirror (what a shocker). Rage is about ready to pound a drunken rowdy fan who is getting a little too big headed. It seems like a typical Friday night until you look back over across the table to see Jamie Staggs sitting there.
”So, then I was like… How the hell does someone beat me when they were phoning in the entire match. Like I wasn’t even fucking there, dude…”
You reach over and before you know what has overtaken you, the palm of your hand is stinging from colliding with Jamie’s face. Jamie picks up a bottle and flings it across the bar before shouting out an obscenity.
”What the hell kind of right do you think you have, talking to me after you embarrassed me for the whole world to see? Get fucked, Jamie!”
Jamie rubs his cheek as he pounds his fist on the table. Your cheeks are burning as you restrain yourself from hitting him even further. It doesn’t help that “Get Up!” by Korn is playing on the jukebox. That fierce bitch, Odette knows how you feel about it, but she couldn’t resist putting in that fifty cents.
”You psychotic… GRRRRRR! Make up your damned mind, would you? I’m not your emotional ragdoll anymore. I might be a dumbass but I’m not gonna play games with you. All of you said that you wanted me back here, and we were having a good night and now this?”
”All of you?”
As the song starts going, you really do feel that creeping inside, and the anger builds up. You pick up a bottle and throw it against the wall, causing the fans sitting there to shield themselves from the shattered glass.
”Yeah… Do I need to spill it out for you? A-L-T-A-R-Z…”
”Please don’t try to spell again. It makes me feel sorry for you. It’s like the only reason I married you.”
”No, you married me for my name, and to make Misty jealous. You wanted Spike’s nuts… Do I gotta repeat your wedding vows? It was all in there. Real emotional stuff, I almost cried.”
What a smartass… You can’t help but chuckle at him, even though he is telling the truth about the vows. You need more to drink if you are going to have this talk with Jamie. You put the bottle of beer up to your lips as he polishes off his beer. As you set yours down on the table, Jamie reaches over and pulls you in for a kiss. It feels just like the first time, but it is short lived. Are you blacking out again? Really? Not yet… Jamie hands you a thick manila envelope and you stare at it, confusedly.
”I was thinking about throwing them into the ocean, but things will never change. Goodbye my love. Keep the last name; it’s all in there between all the lawyer speak.”
You choke on your words as Jamie gets up and walks out. You keep trying to say something, but nothing comes out as there is a sinking feeling in your stomach. You want to throw up and cry all at once, but neither relieving act of mercy is afforded to you as you stand up. You knock over the table and let out an ear-piercing scream. It is the only thing you can think to do with the sudden surges of different emotions simultaneously. The music doesn’t help either, as you shove the nearest person to the ground. All of the Seven Deadly Sins crowd toward you as you attack the poor girl. This is when the security team makes their way over to you. They yank you off of her. This is at this point where everything fades to black. Emptiness; caught in a daze for what seems like only a few seconds. Who knows how long it really has been at this point. When you wake up, you are staring into a camera lens. Your lips are moving, but you stop making any noise. What were you saying?
You look over to your left, hoping that Ms. Rocky Mountains has got an answer for you, but in fact, she just stares at you like you are an escaped mental patient. She slowly withdrawls the microphone from your lips and brings it back to her own.
”And how do you plan on going about that? The fans on the Royal Monarch are all curious to know…”
You would kill to know what you were saying before, so that you didn’t have to wing it. It is bad enough coming to right in the middle of a conversation, but then you add a camera with live feed to the mix, and you just can’t seem to organize your thoughts quick enough. It is almost as painful as watching an interview with Avril Lavigne. You finally connect the dots and drag the microphone back over to your lips.
”Do I even need a plan? I have already beaten this bitch. What else do I have to do to prove that I am the true champion? If I beat her, she is just going to blame the stipulation. She cannot accept the fact that I am the better competitor. She is trying to rip off my crazy crown. She probably has a secret crush on me! Do you NOT see her trying to become me? Jesus H Christ, this woman doesn’t require a plan, she requires a can of Lysol applied to her disease infested body before we step in the ring… That’s good, I’m going to tweet that one.”
You pull out your phone and quickly scroll through to see Ms Newborn has already gotten a dig into you, so you return the favor to her. You slide the phone back into your pocket, and return your gaze to Ms Rocky Mountains.
”Excuses don’t belong in the ring, Trish. You can sling all of the shit you want about me, and call me useless, but the fact of the matter is that I’ve established this belt by being the first title holder. I established it by being the best of ten women who competed for it, including yourself. No matter what happens in the ring, come Sunday, you will never break me. You will never erase the things I’ve accomplished in this company, and in my career.”
You look more directly into the camera as if speaking face to face with Trish personally. Feeling the heat radiating from your face, you know that your anger cannot be quelled. It is a very satisfying feeling to you.
”You can continue thinking that attacking me from behind after a match got under my skin. As a matter of fact…? I want you to think that. I want you to think that I will be distracted by what you did. Through everything else going on in my head, my disgust by the pure mentioning of your name will triumph all as I defeat you. I will shut you up and walk out with the Bombshell Roulette Championship still in my possession. Here is a little tip, Trish… You can’t play mind games with someone who has lost their mind. You can walk around playing the brooding little wench who lost their child, and play to the sympathy that no one has for you. You can pretend to be crazy, but the truth is that you are a self-centered, arrogant, vain person who is blatantly jealous of everyone who doesn’t buy your act.”
You inhale through your flared nostrils, taking a minute to calm down just a bit. This speech is yours, and you know it. You offer a slight giggle before allowing a wicked smile to spread across your face. You can feel the light of the deck gleaming in your eye as you proudly fly your freak flag.
”Be prepared for Sunday, Trish… because you will find out what it is really like inside of my head. I will let you pick my brain apart, dissect every bit of me, just so I can watch your fake ass cringe and cry over the monster that you’ve found. You will get to see how it feels in the asylum, and you will wish that you never tried to take my place. There is only one Kittie, and you could never measure up to me, try as you might.”
You are now done. You push the microphone out of your face and you walk out of that cameras view. You grab onto the side of your head, because of that splitting headache. You close your eyes as you fade to the blackness once again. It never lasts, but this time seems much calmer. As you wake up, you are sitting in front of a computer screen. Your vision is quite blurry, but it quickly clears up. You watch as the cursor blinks on an empty page. You sigh as you place your fingers on the keyboard.
”<3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<>
Dear SCW (Fans, wrestlers, an personnel),
I know that you sometimes think I am a bitch. I know that sometimes you think that I’m scary, or plagued with Chronic PMS. Sometimes you also think that I am that fun little party girl who is still standing while others are passing out at the bar. I am loyal, loving, deceitful, conniving, relentless, calculated, precise, sloppy, pleasant, horrible, angry, happy, immature, sexy, ugly, crazy, and about a million other contradictions. In all of your assumptions, you are right.
The one thing that I am constantly is unpredictable. Hell, half the time, I never even know what I am going to do next. I have been a bad person, and I have done bad things. I have betrayed a friend, and taken everything from her. I can try to justify it all I want, but in this single lucid moment, I want to apologize for being exactly what she turned out to be. Even though I cannot stand the sight of the bitch, I am very sorry that I betrayed you, Misty. You would have done it to me in a heartbeat, but what I did makes me no better than you.
Under that same logic, I should apologize to Trish Newborn for attacking her from behind like a coward after she lost to Odette Ryder. By doing so, I proved that I am no better than her… Wait a minute, I actually did when I left her high and dry at Into the Void, and won the belt that we are competing for in two days time. But, on a moral level, I am no better. You are a coward, and everybody knows it. You are sneaky and underhanded. Where you stick a knife in someone’s back, I prefer to put it right in their gut. But I proved that I am not any better than you when I retaliated last month on Climax Control.
Win, lose, or draw, I plan to take the higher road when we meet up on Sunday. I plan to regain some of my integrity when I prove to the world exactly why I inaugurated this belt instead of you. I am not the worthless competitor that you go on and on about on Twitter and in your promos. If I were, then you wouldn’t be trying to become me. I am not sure if you see it, but that is exactly what everyone else sees. I am certifiable, and it is no secret. I am a former Bombshell Champion, after two months of being here. Four months in for you, and where is your SCW Championship belt?
That must be your thinking when you first targeted me, and decide that you want to pretend to be crazy. You came in here a mouthy bitch, just like Angelica. Once you realized that she was nothing, you aimed for someone who actually mattered in this company. You picked a good target, but unfortunately, I will not bow to you. I will not be brought down by the likes of Trish Newborn, and I certainly will NOT be ended by you either. So many women have claimed they could do so, but they never did. And that won’t change at Summer XXXTreme either.
Now, to the rest of Sin City Wrestling… I wanted to give you all an idea of what makes Kittie tick. I wanted you all to understand me a little bit better by showing you what I go through as a person with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). You all get the opportunity to see some of the strange things that my alters do when I am in the back seat, but you don’t ever get to see what I go through, and even when I am lucid, why I do the things I do. I know that I am impossible to deal with at times, but it is hard when you suddenly wake up in the middle of an interview, or dinner, or a crowded bar, already blitzed out of your mind. Giving you my eyes might give my opponent the upper hand on me, but that won’t matter when I get in that ring and make her see that she messed with the wrong bitch. This is for those who I have wronged, so that you might see the logic (or lack thereof) behind it.
I am the Sin of Envy, that truly is who I am, love me or hate me. I have put in my time, I have done the work, so now it is time that I am paid up for it. But, to those that I have hurt during my time of making my name and gaining the glory that is rightfully mine, I do apologize. There are many. To those who got exactly what they deserved, I feel no pity for you. The only thing I can do now is hold my head up high as I become the best champion I can be, and fight valiantly to uphold the virtues that a true champion should possess.
Sincerely yours,
-Kittie
P.S. CONGRATULATIONS TO THE NEW NWA WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… SPIKE STAGGS! Love you, brother from another!”
<3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<>
You smirk as you move your mouse over to the “Send” button, posting your open letter to the Sin City Wrestling site. You nod your head in satisfaction, when once again… you feel yourself fading… TO BLACK!
