"Music, sweet music
I wish I could caress, caress, caress
Manic depression is a frustrating mess"
In my opinion, Jimi Hendrix is the one that gets it.
For most of my life, I have always been obsessed with words. The visual memories of my parents putting words on sticky notes around the house for me to learn and spell while reading the dictionary for fun...
YA. I was one of those fuckers.
Even though it was second nature to me I've become rather passionate about the spelling and meaning of words. Then I began to focus on words and how creative you can make them sound in a sentence. It wasn't long until I discovered poetry, inspirational quotes, short stories, and freewriting on my own. Throughout the years it began to be a coping mechanism for the toxicity looming around me.
I might not go into many details because WHY wouldn't I save that for the time I'm in a long silky fur robe with a glass of "FUCKING CRYS-TAL" (in the words of Quentin Tarantino) inside my personal villa holding the book I wrote about my crazy ass depressing yet inspirational AS FUCK life???
EXACTLY.
But what I will say is the things I have gone through vs reading traumatic shit by Shakespeare? We miiiiiiiiiiiiight have a little competition there and that's saying A LOT. Dealing with death and abandonment starting from an early age felt like something was missing.
The need to always prove something.
I wasn't the loner in school but rather appreciated by my peers and known as the one who could make everyone laugh. I also come from a performance background with dance so the need to be a leader and perfect was always the option for me. Dreams of being on Broadway were a thing since my parents didn't want me to follow in the footsteps of my brother competing in Martial Arts.
I've always wanted that.
BUT, from the age of 14, that is when everything changed.
The death of my Mother took a toll on me. My Dad abandoning me and his family twice wasn't a good thing either. Or the fact that my Stepdad was a pathetic physically abusive man that took all the dreams I had during that crippling age into an adult.
Or the fact that I was sexually molested numerous times. Junction roads and decision-making to either go to college or musical theater school didn't always go as planned.
But I've always had writing... ya dig?
Getting thoughts out of a spastic thinking brain is more satisfying than you think. But what happens when you can even get those words out?
It took a long time to understand how frozen yet stale my body and mind would be at times thinking about everything going on in my life but unable to put things down on paper. I had a voice, but for some odd reason, it wasn't enough.
I FELT TRAPPED.
I didn't pinpoint that I was diagnosed with severe depression until I was in my 20s. As acute drugs and party life began to ensue, nothing really mattered at that point TO BE HONESTTTTTT.
I had the freedom to do literally whatever I wanted in the city of San Francisco.
I began training kung fu and kickboxing on my own accord looking for a way out meanwhile, I always felt it was the wrong place at the wrong time. Showing up to practice drunk numerous times always put other people in danger, but clearly, I didn't know that at the time.
I was so good on days they always wanted me to stick around. I would also just come and go. There was never a moment of contentedness.
I passed up options to perform kung fu in China as well as starting an amateur career to who knows how far for kickboxing. I always sidelined my talents out of fear because I just didn't know how to move forward mentally.
WOW. SURPRISING.
Drunken injuries happened that kept me out from training for a few years until I started to pick up Muay Thai. Things weren't getting any better, but I had to grasp onto something since the act of writing filled with blocked walls always showed face.
The sadness you feel just sitting there on your bed staring at the wall for hours thinking of all the things you could have done starts to get to you.
SHOULDA.
COULDA.
WOULDA.
WELP.
As the years pass so did Muay Thai. My drinking was becoming out of control. I hit a melting point where I just didn't want to live in my life where my injuries were too intense and my money was lacking. Having to drop out of school was probably the worse day of my life during the whole mix of things.
While everything seemed to fall on me at once I needed a reality check.
*stares at yet another wall*
I've always lived vicariously through fighters. Mostly because generally they always had something to fight for in the times I just couldn't. I felt so weak, shitty, and sad sometimes that the only way to pull myself out is seeing someone do it for themselves.
Growing up and understanding IT IS HARD TO KEEP GOING after so many negative faults, something in me started to fuel.
Within the last 2 years, I have been traveling more since I started my own personal blog on mixed martial arts. When I started focusing on the fighters it gave me a purpose to keep it going.
Hearing their stories and knowing what they go through it makes me want to continue with my story.
DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY FUCKING SUCK.
I REPEAT.
Knowing that you have this glorious mindset to help and love others but can't even get shit out because you're just literally sad all day is THE WORRRRRRRST and it's a lot more common than people put on.
I see it in this industry all the time and it's a real fucking thing.
SOMETIMES I CRY.
SOMETIMES I FORGET.
SOMETIMES I JUST DON'T FUCKING WANT TO.
SOMETIMES I GET FUCKING SAD YO...
But at the end of the day, you have to pick yourself up. There is a hunger to have people look up to you. After I did just that the flood of inspiration-like messages from friends and close ones really get you fucking through dammit.
Having some of your favorite people in life battle depression and anxiety is nothing but relatable or even if you don't feel the sadness we do sometimes SUPPORT THEM ANYWAYS!!!!
Mental health is NO FUCKING JOKE.
Cat Zingano.
Rose Namajunas.
Dominick Cruz.
Ronda Rousey.
Felice Herrig.
Mark Hunt.
Jojo Calderwood.
Mark Munoz.
I MEAAAAAAN and that is just off the top of my head really quick, there are others FOR A FACT. The reasoning they can go out and FIGHT?? PUT EVERYTHING ON THE LINE???
Now for me, I wouldn't change my progress for the world. I still have manic depression and sometimes it's just that fucking hard. BUT, I will ALWAYS have writing and even on the crippling days...
There will always be fighters to write about...
There will always be a live event to go to...
There will always be somewhere new to travel...
THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A VIDEO GAME TO PLAY (out of context) but I'm a weird bitch..
ANYWAYS...
The moral of the story be fucking kind to other people including your damn self. You are just as important as the next and if you are battling the same just like me or know someone that is let's fucking support them to a solution rather than breaking them down to feel like a piece of shit.
ON THAT NOTE...