Post by Amelia Hearts on Nov 27, 2020 21:06:05 GMT -5
Dear Harry,
What is love?
BABY DON’T HURT ME!
Man, I fuckin hate that song.
Anyways! I’ve been asking myself that question for a while now. I haven’t felt any sort of love or even a strong liking for anyone in a long time. Not since Charlie.
I mean, there are the girls. Nat, Kells, and Cin. But I don’t think they really care about me back. So I keep my distance. But I haven’t had a real, living friend since Charlie died. Maybe I know I won’t find anyone who understands me as much as she did.
I don’t know why I don’t feel a physical attraction to anyone. Maybe it’s because of all the shit I watched my dad do to the woman he supposedly loved as well as their children and didn’t want to put anyone else, especially someone as young as Charlie and I were, through that kind of torture. So I just shut myself off. I don’t fuckin know. Maybe I know I’m just a toxic piece of shit and don’t want to drag anyone down with my implosion. Maybe, just maybe, I’m just that fucking dead inside I’m just numb, wandering through life until I decide enough is enough.
For example, I was invited to spend Thanksgiving with other people for the first time since I was 12. Natalie invited Cin, Kells, and me to her place to spend the day with her, her husband, and their kids. Now, a normal person would probably think “wow, that’s so sweet! They must really care about me!”
But here’s the thing about me… I’m not normal. I know Nat only invited me because she invited the rest of the band and had to bring me along so things didn’t get weird. I get it, it’s cool. I’ll just show up and stay out of the way until it’s socially acceptable to leave.
So, there I am, sitting in the corner of the room, awkwardly drinking my beer while Nat, Kells, and Damian talked and Cindy played with the kids.
Why am I like this? Why can’t I just accept anyone into my life? Why can’t I trust anyone? Not even my band, the ones I spend the majority of my time with, be it in the studio or on the bus.
I’m tired of it. I’m sick of being alone. I’m tired of this me against the world mentality but I just can’t fucking break it. I want friends, I want a husband, I want children but I can’t fucking smash through the mental lead wall in front of me.
I… I just want someone to love. Someone to hold and to hold me. Tell me I’ll be okay, that it’s okay to not be okay. I just… want to know I’m not alone.
Everyone wants to be unique, to stand out from the crowd. But the catch is that, when everyone is unique, no one is. You try to stand out so much you’re just turning into what everyone else is trying to be. It gets to a point where it's more unique to fit in with the rest of the crowd… That’s what I want to do. I’m tired of standing out from the crowd, the rebel punk who looks like she isn’t good for anything besides fighting “the man”. I’m fuckin sick of being the poser. I just want to be normal. I want to have a head that isn’t full of ghosts. Is that too fuckin much to ask for?
I want to be able to ask my band to hang out outside of playing or writing or recording. I wish I could go on a date and not spend the entire night waiting for the other person to walk away out of pure boredom. I wish someone could help me figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. I want to not be so fucking alone all the goddamn time!
I want I want I want but its no fucking good! I work my ass off to do it myself but I'm just running on a goddamn treadmill! It doesn't do any fucking good!
So uh… anyway... I got tired of sitting on my own and playing along with the conversations they include me in out of pity. They’re great, but I get so fucking jelous of Kells and Cindy when they get all kissy and cute. I had to get away for a while. So I snuck away from the festivities and made my way to the basement to record a little video for my opponent this week, Miles Way.
I cut a fucking wrestling promo by myself during a holiday built around togetherness. That’s a fuckin Amelia Hearts trademark right there. How fucking lame am I?
I felt bad, recording that. Saying everything I said to Miles. I don’t hate the kid. I don’t hate him at all. I like him, I think he is the future. He’s fucking fun to watch. If he can figure things out, he’s going to be fuckin dangerous.
But… for all those same reasons, I hate him. I fucking envy him. I want to be him, I want his life. I want to know what it’s like to go through life with a cheery exposition, with a positive outlook. I wanted a nice childhood, to act like a real fucking kid. Not as a fucking hostage, forced to provide for myself and my little sister at age fucking fifteen.
I want to be able to take weeks and months off at a time without feeling like I’m going to die without the income. But that’s the mentality you develop when you have to provide for yourself and your little sister on minimum fucking wage.
I need to beat Way. I need to beat him bad. I need to beat him so I can beat myself if that makes any sense. Maybe beating him will end this petty one-sided rivalry I have with him. Maybe it’ll give me the kick in the ass I need to believe I could actually win that horrorcore title and be someone in this company. Maybe… just maybe… things will start to look up for me.
Although… I’ve been hoping for all of that stuff for every match I’ve been in to this point and so far, no results. The definition of insanity and all that shit.
They’re starting to call for me now, I guess either they finally realized I was gone or dinner’s ready. Either way, I’d better wrap this up.
Oh yeah, I also snuck you into this little party. That’s how fucking lame I am. Just don’t let me get blackout drunk and forget you here. That’d wouldn’t be cool for a wingman to do. On either end ; )
But yeah, I’m gonna go. Wish me luck with the rest of this social interaction crap. I’m gonna need it.
Oh. And uh… Thanks, Harry. Thanks for being here to talk to when I’m going fucking insane. Which is often. So… thanks. we’ll talk soon.
Signed,
AH.
P.S. Sorry about not signing off with you last time around. That’s what happens when you get blackout drunk. You uh… blackout. I’ve discovered I don’t have the dream when I drink until I can’t feel feelings anymore. So there’s a fuckin loophole for ya! But I’m not as blitzed this time around so just for you, to say sorry to my only true friend right now (how fucking sad that is… my one real friend is a fucking book) I’ll give you two! See ya, Harry!
Signed,
AH.
What is love?
BABY DON’T HURT ME!
Man, I fuckin hate that song.
Anyways! I’ve been asking myself that question for a while now. I haven’t felt any sort of love or even a strong liking for anyone in a long time. Not since Charlie.
I mean, there are the girls. Nat, Kells, and Cin. But I don’t think they really care about me back. So I keep my distance. But I haven’t had a real, living friend since Charlie died. Maybe I know I won’t find anyone who understands me as much as she did.
I don’t know why I don’t feel a physical attraction to anyone. Maybe it’s because of all the shit I watched my dad do to the woman he supposedly loved as well as their children and didn’t want to put anyone else, especially someone as young as Charlie and I were, through that kind of torture. So I just shut myself off. I don’t fuckin know. Maybe I know I’m just a toxic piece of shit and don’t want to drag anyone down with my implosion. Maybe, just maybe, I’m just that fucking dead inside I’m just numb, wandering through life until I decide enough is enough.
For example, I was invited to spend Thanksgiving with other people for the first time since I was 12. Natalie invited Cin, Kells, and me to her place to spend the day with her, her husband, and their kids. Now, a normal person would probably think “wow, that’s so sweet! They must really care about me!”
But here’s the thing about me… I’m not normal. I know Nat only invited me because she invited the rest of the band and had to bring me along so things didn’t get weird. I get it, it’s cool. I’ll just show up and stay out of the way until it’s socially acceptable to leave.
So, there I am, sitting in the corner of the room, awkwardly drinking my beer while Nat, Kells, and Damian talked and Cindy played with the kids.
Why am I like this? Why can’t I just accept anyone into my life? Why can’t I trust anyone? Not even my band, the ones I spend the majority of my time with, be it in the studio or on the bus.
I’m tired of it. I’m sick of being alone. I’m tired of this me against the world mentality but I just can’t fucking break it. I want friends, I want a husband, I want children but I can’t fucking smash through the mental lead wall in front of me.
I… I just want someone to love. Someone to hold and to hold me. Tell me I’ll be okay, that it’s okay to not be okay. I just… want to know I’m not alone.
Everyone wants to be unique, to stand out from the crowd. But the catch is that, when everyone is unique, no one is. You try to stand out so much you’re just turning into what everyone else is trying to be. It gets to a point where it's more unique to fit in with the rest of the crowd… That’s what I want to do. I’m tired of standing out from the crowd, the rebel punk who looks like she isn’t good for anything besides fighting “the man”. I’m fuckin sick of being the poser. I just want to be normal. I want to have a head that isn’t full of ghosts. Is that too fuckin much to ask for?
I want to be able to ask my band to hang out outside of playing or writing or recording. I wish I could go on a date and not spend the entire night waiting for the other person to walk away out of pure boredom. I wish someone could help me figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. I want to not be so fucking alone all the goddamn time!
I want I want I want but its no fucking good! I work my ass off to do it myself but I'm just running on a goddamn treadmill! It doesn't do any fucking good!
So uh… anyway... I got tired of sitting on my own and playing along with the conversations they include me in out of pity. They’re great, but I get so fucking jelous of Kells and Cindy when they get all kissy and cute. I had to get away for a while. So I snuck away from the festivities and made my way to the basement to record a little video for my opponent this week, Miles Way.
I cut a fucking wrestling promo by myself during a holiday built around togetherness. That’s a fuckin Amelia Hearts trademark right there. How fucking lame am I?
I felt bad, recording that. Saying everything I said to Miles. I don’t hate the kid. I don’t hate him at all. I like him, I think he is the future. He’s fucking fun to watch. If he can figure things out, he’s going to be fuckin dangerous.
But… for all those same reasons, I hate him. I fucking envy him. I want to be him, I want his life. I want to know what it’s like to go through life with a cheery exposition, with a positive outlook. I wanted a nice childhood, to act like a real fucking kid. Not as a fucking hostage, forced to provide for myself and my little sister at age fucking fifteen.
I want to be able to take weeks and months off at a time without feeling like I’m going to die without the income. But that’s the mentality you develop when you have to provide for yourself and your little sister on minimum fucking wage.
I need to beat Way. I need to beat him bad. I need to beat him so I can beat myself if that makes any sense. Maybe beating him will end this petty one-sided rivalry I have with him. Maybe it’ll give me the kick in the ass I need to believe I could actually win that horrorcore title and be someone in this company. Maybe… just maybe… things will start to look up for me.
Although… I’ve been hoping for all of that stuff for every match I’ve been in to this point and so far, no results. The definition of insanity and all that shit.
They’re starting to call for me now, I guess either they finally realized I was gone or dinner’s ready. Either way, I’d better wrap this up.
Oh yeah, I also snuck you into this little party. That’s how fucking lame I am. Just don’t let me get blackout drunk and forget you here. That’d wouldn’t be cool for a wingman to do. On either end ; )
But yeah, I’m gonna go. Wish me luck with the rest of this social interaction crap. I’m gonna need it.
Oh. And uh… Thanks, Harry. Thanks for being here to talk to when I’m going fucking insane. Which is often. So… thanks. we’ll talk soon.
Signed,
AH.
P.S. Sorry about not signing off with you last time around. That’s what happens when you get blackout drunk. You uh… blackout. I’ve discovered I don’t have the dream when I drink until I can’t feel feelings anymore. So there’s a fuckin loophole for ya! But I’m not as blitzed this time around so just for you, to say sorry to my only true friend right now (how fucking sad that is… my one real friend is a fucking book) I’ll give you two! See ya, Harry!
Signed,
AH.
What’s up, Double F? How you holding up after your huge embarrassing failure last week? I’d imagine you’re doing pretty well, considering now you get that “time off” you wanted. I bet that must’ve been soooo rough for you, competing once a fuckin month, defending that strap once every six months, so fuckin’ stressful.
Amelia flops down onto a light grey couch and kicks her feet up onto the ottoman in front of her.
But before you can take your long awaited break, you gotta get in that squared circle with me. And you best bet I’m going to make your life fuckin hell for that entire time.
Looking at someone like you, the kid with the youthful ignorance of someone who hasn’t been destroyed yet, I can imagine you holding on to that 161 days as International champion. Sure, nothing to sneeze at. But Jason Pierre-Paul can count on one hand the number of successful title defenses you had before the higher-ups finally forced you to defend against an actual opponent. That’s when you showed the world what you really had in you. And you know what that was?
Fucking nothing.
Hearts stretches her arm behind her head as she settles into her seat.
Sara Cross whipped that ass and took that title like it was nothing. Just a walk in the park for her. She exposed you for the inexperienced little bitch you are. And now I’m gonna do the exact same thing.
But just like last week with Pasha, I want you to know that I don’t hate you, kid. In fact, I envy you. I wish I had that youthful twinkle in my eyes as you do. I wish I could experience the joys of being a stupid kid well into adulthood. I wish the biggest concern in my life was trying to cut a promo while my friends joked about around me.
But I didn’t get that luxury, Miles. I had to grow the fuck up at a very early age. Not just to protect me, but to protect the last person I ever truly loved. But… just like you with your title, we can’t always protect the things we love.
This is why I’m so excited to face you, Miles. Not because it’s a matchup of two hot young talents, but because I get the chance to open your eyes to reality. I get to show you that, sometimes things don’t go your way. Sometimes you’re going to fall flat on your fucking face and fail. Sometimes you need to grow the fuck up and deal with the failures.
You’re a fucking child, Miles. You’re irresponsible, you’re immature, you’re just not fucking ready. I don’t think you’ve even noticed this yet but your immaturity is holding you back. Take a look at the marquee at the front of the fuckin business. There’s the world champ, Danny Dream. The NEW International champ, the one who beat your sorry ass, Sara Cross. And next to the two of them…
Amelia's smile fades. She's stone cold serious now.
Me.
In my mere two fuckin weeks in the company I’ve already leapfrogged you and left you in the dust. While you’re running around with your equally childish friends, misplacing your title belts and doing whatever a little kid does to try and get out of doing something he doesn’t wanna do, I’ve been outworking you and outperforming you at every step of the way. You’re not being quirky and cute, you’re being fuckin stupid.
I mean, seriously. What kind of pussy tries to punk out of a match just because he “wants some time off”? If you’re gonna do the touring circuit, you gotta be ready to go every fuckin week. If you can’t do that then you need to get the fuck out. Nut up or shut the fuck up.
Turning down title shots because you’re afraid to get dirty. Afraid to pick up a weapon and start swinging. Afraid to fucking bleed. That’s the thing between me and you, Miles. I’m not afraid to bleed. I’ve bled more than enough for both of us before I even stepped foot in the ring.
She stops for a moment. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply.
You’re a weak minded coward through and through. You’re not going to survive in this world if you don’t figure out how to handle this shit like a fuckin man.
I’m going to show you and everyone else in this company what it’s like to be a champion. I may be broken, I may be damaged beyond repair, I may be the least stable person this company has ever seen, and that’s saying something considering who’s the big champ right now. But I know for a fucking fact I am a better person to be at the forefront than some ignorant child. And at Christmas Chaos, while you’re getting that ass kicked by Danny Dream and getting literally buried, I’ll be ripping three people apart to win my Horrorcore championship. Then I’ll show you how the fuck is done.
Just remember one thing as I’m stomping your head into the mat and leaving a foot shaped bruise on your chest. Remember that it wasn’t my idea to face you. I didn’t choose to be the one to kick you in the chest while you’re down. I was chosen to kick your ass by your opponent. So when I show you up like the big ball of pure luck just like Cross did last week, you’ll have no one to thank but Dream. Pick your poison, Miles. You can either step into the ring with me and get your ass kicked, or you could turn and walk away, save yourself the embarrassment of taking an L twice in as many weeks. But whichever way you choose to go doesn’t bother me any. Either way it’ll end with me getting my hand raised, just like the last two weeks have ended.
I’m not afraid to fly, Miles. I’m not afraid to die either. And I’m most certainly not afraid to step into the ring with an overrated punk like you. But I’m not so sure you can say the same thing. You may put on a brave face and pretend like nothing’s wrong. But the real world isn’t about pretending and pushing your problems away. So bring it the fuck on, kid. ‘Cause I’m gonna show you what it’s like to be a fucking adult.
Amelia stares hard into the camera, a tear rolling down her cheek.
Because it’s time to grow the fuck up, Miles.