Post by Dallas Bonham on Oct 20, 2013 19:31:30 GMT -5
Rain fell outside the windows of my psychiatrist's office. Court ordered, of course. It was ok, though. He was a decent guy. Kind of a dork- you know the type. Tried really hard to relate with his horse shoe balding head and little pocket protector, but the only times he made me laugh was when he was being serious.
"So what effect has the wrestling had on your anger?"
"I think it's been a healthy outlet."
It was a lie. I knew I was thriving on the violence and pain. I always had. The loose cannon edge I'd worked so hard to get rid of in prison was starting to resurface. He clicked his stupid little pen in and out over and over.
"Well, what do you think about the men you're fighting? Do you see them as human beings with feelings and emotions?"
I had to hold back my laughter. Human beings? Vincent Hale and Marco Valintine were anything but. They were as worthy of that title as the crap I took that morning.
"Listen, Doc, I don't think all of this is really going to help me. Why don't I just give you forty bucks and we'll call it a day?"
"Dallas, I'm here to help you. This isn't just some requirement. This is a real opportunity for you to deal with some of the things that have driven you to violence in years past. Your growth so far has been exponential. If we discontinue meeting right now I think you could relapse and revert back to the man you became your first five years in prison."
The first five years were tough, I'll give him that. I felt like I'd done a forty yard dash in a twenty yard gym after them. But, I made it.
"You ever hear the one of the scorpion and the frog, doc?"
"No."
"Ok so there's this scorpion and he wants to cross this river. But he can't because he's a fucking scorpion, y'know? So he sees this frog standing by the shore. He comes up to the frog and asks him for a ride on his back or whatever. The frog says no, of course, because it's a fucking scorpion. The scorpion explains that it would make no sense for him to sting the frog because they would then both die."
Doc was following my every word, or at least pretending to. From what I could tell he was sincere.
"So the frog agrees. Halfway across the river, sure enough, the fucking scorpion stings the frog. Just as the frog's eyes are going underwater he asks the scorpion why he did it, because now they're both going to drown. The scorpion explains it's just in his nature. Violence is just in my nature. Fighting is just my nature. I was made to do this."
"Interesting. Well, our time is up for today, Dallas. But please tread lightly on the path you're walking. You could seriously injure someone with the seething bed of rage that's," he raised his hand up flat in the air and put his other hand below it, "just below the surface."
"You got it, Doc."
I couldn't have gotten out of there a moment sooner. The guy was ok, like I said, but I think I'd rather get kicked in the crotch than listen to some pencil pusher in khakis tell me about myself. Houston was waiting outside in my piece of shit Chevy C10. It reminded me of myself. Beaten up and busted on the outside, but inside was an engine that would blow your doors off.
"How'd it go," Houston asked me when I climbed in and lit up an unfiltered Camel.
"Just peachy."
"You should really get that crack in your windshield fixed. Really, you should take that check from your winnings and get a brand new car. Look at this piece of shit."
Just like me, everyone underestimated the Beast. I fondly called my truck the Beast.
"You should shut your commie mouth."
"So you know Hale is only 26, right?"
"He's only 26? Jesus, he looks and wrestles like he's 40. Oh fucking well. No skin off my teeth. I'll whip him the same either way."
I ashed my cigarette out the window and watched the burning embers explode in a fiery trail out the side view mirror.
"You must've had a good workout today, man. Talking mighty tall.," Houston shook his head at me. He always seemed to be doing that anymore.
"Well, yeah, why shouldn't I? I know I'm better than these two. Not only have I proven it, but I "know myself" as Hale put it. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that once the bell rings it's going to be nothing but pain. It just pisses me off that I'm pitted against these two clowns again."
"Why? They're both up and comers."
"Up and comers? What the fuck does that even mean? They're two slouches who wouldn't know a sneeze from a wet fart. And they sure don't know how to keep the pace with me. I know I'm new to this wrestling business, but I ain't new to fighting."
"They broke the mold after they made you."
"Yeah, probably a good thing," I said as I lit a cigarette with my free hand.
"So what's your game plan?"
What the fuck was this, Vietnam? I didn't need a game plan. My game plan was to rip the other guy's head off and shit down his throat. What else was there?
I figured a simple answer would suffice so I laughed out a cloud of smoke and a "What?"
"Well, we've been working a lot on submissions this week. Are you going to use any of that stuff, man?"
"Yeah and then I'm going to write a Nobel Prize winning novel. I don't fucking know, Houston. When I get in the ring it's instinct taking over. I don't think, I just respond."
We hit a bump and the entire windshield suddenly burst into the truck.
"I TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCKING WINDSHIELD FIXED," Houston shouted as he cleaned specks of glass from his pants.
I laughed at my brother as we pulled up in front of the trailer.
"Hey, fuck it. I like the open air."
"You're a mess, Dallas. Go get some rest."
We parted ways at the trailer. He had given me a lot to think about. Maybe I should start working with a game plan- in life and in the ring. I'd always just worked hard and thrown my everything into what was right in front of me. Aside from a decade it had worked out fine.
Maybe it was just my nature.
"So what effect has the wrestling had on your anger?"
"I think it's been a healthy outlet."
It was a lie. I knew I was thriving on the violence and pain. I always had. The loose cannon edge I'd worked so hard to get rid of in prison was starting to resurface. He clicked his stupid little pen in and out over and over.
"Well, what do you think about the men you're fighting? Do you see them as human beings with feelings and emotions?"
I had to hold back my laughter. Human beings? Vincent Hale and Marco Valintine were anything but. They were as worthy of that title as the crap I took that morning.
"Listen, Doc, I don't think all of this is really going to help me. Why don't I just give you forty bucks and we'll call it a day?"
"Dallas, I'm here to help you. This isn't just some requirement. This is a real opportunity for you to deal with some of the things that have driven you to violence in years past. Your growth so far has been exponential. If we discontinue meeting right now I think you could relapse and revert back to the man you became your first five years in prison."
The first five years were tough, I'll give him that. I felt like I'd done a forty yard dash in a twenty yard gym after them. But, I made it.
"You ever hear the one of the scorpion and the frog, doc?"
"No."
"Ok so there's this scorpion and he wants to cross this river. But he can't because he's a fucking scorpion, y'know? So he sees this frog standing by the shore. He comes up to the frog and asks him for a ride on his back or whatever. The frog says no, of course, because it's a fucking scorpion. The scorpion explains that it would make no sense for him to sting the frog because they would then both die."
Doc was following my every word, or at least pretending to. From what I could tell he was sincere.
"So the frog agrees. Halfway across the river, sure enough, the fucking scorpion stings the frog. Just as the frog's eyes are going underwater he asks the scorpion why he did it, because now they're both going to drown. The scorpion explains it's just in his nature. Violence is just in my nature. Fighting is just my nature. I was made to do this."
"Interesting. Well, our time is up for today, Dallas. But please tread lightly on the path you're walking. You could seriously injure someone with the seething bed of rage that's," he raised his hand up flat in the air and put his other hand below it, "just below the surface."
"You got it, Doc."
I couldn't have gotten out of there a moment sooner. The guy was ok, like I said, but I think I'd rather get kicked in the crotch than listen to some pencil pusher in khakis tell me about myself. Houston was waiting outside in my piece of shit Chevy C10. It reminded me of myself. Beaten up and busted on the outside, but inside was an engine that would blow your doors off.
"How'd it go," Houston asked me when I climbed in and lit up an unfiltered Camel.
"Just peachy."
"You should really get that crack in your windshield fixed. Really, you should take that check from your winnings and get a brand new car. Look at this piece of shit."
Just like me, everyone underestimated the Beast. I fondly called my truck the Beast.
"You should shut your commie mouth."
"So you know Hale is only 26, right?"
"He's only 26? Jesus, he looks and wrestles like he's 40. Oh fucking well. No skin off my teeth. I'll whip him the same either way."
I ashed my cigarette out the window and watched the burning embers explode in a fiery trail out the side view mirror.
"You must've had a good workout today, man. Talking mighty tall.," Houston shook his head at me. He always seemed to be doing that anymore.
"Well, yeah, why shouldn't I? I know I'm better than these two. Not only have I proven it, but I "know myself" as Hale put it. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that once the bell rings it's going to be nothing but pain. It just pisses me off that I'm pitted against these two clowns again."
"Why? They're both up and comers."
"Up and comers? What the fuck does that even mean? They're two slouches who wouldn't know a sneeze from a wet fart. And they sure don't know how to keep the pace with me. I know I'm new to this wrestling business, but I ain't new to fighting."
"They broke the mold after they made you."
"Yeah, probably a good thing," I said as I lit a cigarette with my free hand.
"So what's your game plan?"
What the fuck was this, Vietnam? I didn't need a game plan. My game plan was to rip the other guy's head off and shit down his throat. What else was there?
I figured a simple answer would suffice so I laughed out a cloud of smoke and a "What?"
"Well, we've been working a lot on submissions this week. Are you going to use any of that stuff, man?"
"Yeah and then I'm going to write a Nobel Prize winning novel. I don't fucking know, Houston. When I get in the ring it's instinct taking over. I don't think, I just respond."
We hit a bump and the entire windshield suddenly burst into the truck.
"I TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCKING WINDSHIELD FIXED," Houston shouted as he cleaned specks of glass from his pants.
I laughed at my brother as we pulled up in front of the trailer.
"Hey, fuck it. I like the open air."
"You're a mess, Dallas. Go get some rest."
We parted ways at the trailer. He had given me a lot to think about. Maybe I should start working with a game plan- in life and in the ring. I'd always just worked hard and thrown my everything into what was right in front of me. Aside from a decade it had worked out fine.
Maybe it was just my nature.
