Post by kylecongdon716 on Nov 22, 2017 19:06:05 GMT -5
Buffalo, New York
Location: My Basement/Living Quarters
Time: I honestly lost track
It's almost hard to believe that I am wrestling again. For a legitimate company and not hole in the wall that bounced every check they wrote me. But it's always the same goal.
Arrive. Fuck Shit Up. Drink Whiskey. Repeat.
As is such the novel of my life. A modern day tale of a man after his own goals, while pushing others aside. I've been like that ever since my brother passed. Secluding myself to near 100% isolation. Empty handles of Jack Daniels often scattered across the concrete in my basement where I basically stay. Days on end of not showering, and ignoring phone calls from someone who I once called the love of my life. But I always had wrestling to some degree. Whether it be old tapes of the days in the Burgh, or my brothers old matches in the UK. Studying. Always studying. Always working out.
I say this because coming back into the fold, is actually encouraging me. Even if I beginning to make enemies online without actually physically meeting anyone in the company yet. Basically using my old personality as a cover for the now depressive, boozy lush who masquerades as a modern day version of Wade Wilson without the crazy mutant abilities and sword prowess. Even though the last time I used a sword, I nearly cut my finger off.
Don't drink a fifth of jack, and play with a sword. It pisses it off your then girlfriend.
I truly feel bad for people who come around me. I don't really bring anything to the table like I once used too. I guess me joining up with WCF is trying to bring back the old facade of someone who once broke down barriers for a newer generation. I was a real young kid, on my own and trying to prove myself. The support system was there...but when it is no longer there you become the same alone 18 year old kid who was trying to prove himself as his brothers superior.
I have this whole house to myself. Everything is fully furnished but I stay in the basement as almost a testament to myself. Start from the bottom, but work your way up. I have all the needed materials down here to function. Pull out coach, internet, hot plate, mini-fridge and even my cat Randy. Randy has been the one thing that honestly probably kept me from killing myself sometimes. He's got that furry little face, and without me he would probably just get forced into some shitty meth house with people who would abuse him. I can't leave him to that fate.
Sorry for the short, boring sober entry journal. I'm trying to peace my mind together once again.
And I think that's a scary situation for anyone around.
Kyle D. Congdon/Randy
Location: My Basement/Living Quarters
Time: I honestly lost track
It's almost hard to believe that I am wrestling again. For a legitimate company and not hole in the wall that bounced every check they wrote me. But it's always the same goal.
Arrive. Fuck Shit Up. Drink Whiskey. Repeat.
As is such the novel of my life. A modern day tale of a man after his own goals, while pushing others aside. I've been like that ever since my brother passed. Secluding myself to near 100% isolation. Empty handles of Jack Daniels often scattered across the concrete in my basement where I basically stay. Days on end of not showering, and ignoring phone calls from someone who I once called the love of my life. But I always had wrestling to some degree. Whether it be old tapes of the days in the Burgh, or my brothers old matches in the UK. Studying. Always studying. Always working out.
I say this because coming back into the fold, is actually encouraging me. Even if I beginning to make enemies online without actually physically meeting anyone in the company yet. Basically using my old personality as a cover for the now depressive, boozy lush who masquerades as a modern day version of Wade Wilson without the crazy mutant abilities and sword prowess. Even though the last time I used a sword, I nearly cut my finger off.
Don't drink a fifth of jack, and play with a sword. It pisses it off your then girlfriend.
I truly feel bad for people who come around me. I don't really bring anything to the table like I once used too. I guess me joining up with WCF is trying to bring back the old facade of someone who once broke down barriers for a newer generation. I was a real young kid, on my own and trying to prove myself. The support system was there...but when it is no longer there you become the same alone 18 year old kid who was trying to prove himself as his brothers superior.
I have this whole house to myself. Everything is fully furnished but I stay in the basement as almost a testament to myself. Start from the bottom, but work your way up. I have all the needed materials down here to function. Pull out coach, internet, hot plate, mini-fridge and even my cat Randy. Randy has been the one thing that honestly probably kept me from killing myself sometimes. He's got that furry little face, and without me he would probably just get forced into some shitty meth house with people who would abuse him. I can't leave him to that fate.
Sorry for the short, boring sober entry journal. I'm trying to peace my mind together once again.
And I think that's a scary situation for anyone around.
Kyle D. Congdon/Randy
