June 9th and grappling with self love & being pathetic

I think that it's near impossible to write this piece.

It's near impossible for many reasons, mainly because I stare down at a story I recounted just to be able to write this, a story in which I detailed so much of my pain, so much of my struggles, and every time I look back, I have to take the bitter pill of ing and recognizing that they are real. The fact that I can look back, and I'm forced to suddenly see that these weren't stories, nor metaphors, nor any of Aesop's Fables, but the fact that I lived through these very real moments, the weight sticks with me. My body still holds the tension, and my heart still flinches at the echoes. Some part of me wants to look away, to keep it all in the past, where I can pretend distance means safety. But it doesn’t. The story lives beneath my skin. Even silence doesn’t spare me from the ing.

Every time I get close to writing this, I look back on the ill-fated messages that just narrowly precede every horrible event, everything that got me here. The simple sentence structure of the "YO NAH BRO I GOT CHEATED ON" text I sent to my friend, as if it felt carefree and worriless, still haunts me to this day. I didn’t realize that sentence would become a landmark in my memory, not because it was a simple breakup, but the fact that I was forced to stare at myself, the fact that I saw nothing within myself. The fact that I saw no community, no sense of anything. The fact that I still vividly texting one of my friends, practically crying to them, feeling exhausted, operating off of months of what felt like not being able to get a wink of sleep knowing that I was an angry ball of nothing. I feeling like nothing, just a shape without substance.

I still clinging to life. Furthermore, I don't even know why I continued texting, maybe it was a part of me that wanted to stay alive. Not only that, but I begged them to let me come over so that I could have a place to cry. I got close to killing myself that night, I felt like I had never amounted to anything. I can't tell you why I stayed on that phone, I don't know. God's will, I suppose. But I did, and that's enough. I am alive, and I am Tetra.

Two years later, I continue to stare. I stare at the specific date of June 9th, and I stare at two things. The symbolic date of which I chose to keep on living, the date which symbolizes for me the drive and the effort to keep going. I stare at June 9th and its expensive, bitter taste. I stare at the hollowed out version of myself, as a transgender woman, uncertain of whether there was anything left to return to. The heaviness of the night, which, was actually in December, but June sounds better, still remains fresh in my mind. Yet, I stare at June 9th, 1995, as one of the reasons I opted to stay alive. When I was at my worst, when I was at my weakest, I would tell myself for the slightest bit of motivation to get up in the morning that I needed to live again to see "June 9th, the anniversary of the famous June 9th, 1995 tag team match from All Japan Pro Wrestling."

At the time, I'm sure I could tell you that I was confident that this match was the greatest match ever. I'd seen nothing like it. The cold, Stoic demeanor of Mitsuharu Misawa compared to the bright, dynamic, yet, importantly injured Kenta Kobashi felt, in essence, to just be. Especially when compared to the evil, brooding figure of Akira Taue and the equally deterministic Toshiaki Kawada. I suppose it felt like they went out to make something. Not something beautiful, but something that is.

*Is* happens to be enough, right? I'd hope so.

Especially since I could live without a good portion of this early match, the moments before the big moments of that Kobashi/Misawa teamwork comes in, with Kobashi and Misawa pitching in some of the best of their teamwork, with Kobashi assisting Misawa on certain dives, and still trying to stomp and kick at the Holy Demon Army despite his injuries. After all, Taue and Kawada could afford to land on their legs, so they kick, and they fight against Kobashi's injured leg in a statement of dominance.

I could also live without a bit of the meandering legwork that Taue and Kawada do, as after a good bit, it just feels like I'm watching them just kick at Kobashi's injured leg, with Kobashi refusing to go for help.

Yeah, his will and determination to keep fighting is awesome, but so what? What makes you fight? This isn't a sheer stubbornness, and the match feels awesome when Misawa is trying to piss off the same group that's fought him for quite a bit at this point. That's why the Misawa elbows feel so good in this match, because he's paying the Holy Demon Army back. In essence, Misawa produces so much in his pride and Kobashi so little in his agony. I can get pissed off watching Kawada kick at Misawa's head, but mostly apathetic when I see Kobashi limping.

One of the most important feelings in this life is the feeling of tenacity, that stubborn, relentless grit that forces you to keep moving forward even when everything inside you wants to give up, and Misawa showcases that grit and tenacity all throughout this. In fact, it's the reason why his performance is so good on June 9th, 1995.

That moment where Taue slams Misawa onto Kobashi's injured leg? That's where this becomes awesome. You see Kawada assaulting that leg even harder now, too. That little geek Kenta Kobashi is getting rocked and destroyed, and the Holy Demon Army works faster. They work a more meticulous game, targeting Misawa at any time, whilst aiming to keep Kobashi outside the ring. I love the showcase of dedication, the showcase of heart in this, as Taue systematically destroys Kobashi's leg. That's the type of shit that screams the sentiment of human resilience to me.

Kobashi's big comeback pushes that sentiment, too, but, ultimately, not as big, as Kobashi barely feels as if he's a threat in this match due to the injured leg, and the heels continue to push and beat him down, chopping away at Kobashi as he tries to find his footing, all for Taue to continue throwing him back as if he were nothing. I don't love how Kobashi had to do everything, like, three separate times, just to do anything. Especially with an effort so in vain. I wish I could pinpoint this down to survival and determination, but, there's never a real feeling of tide shift with Kobashi's involvement, and, I suppose it weakens it for me.

Which, I suppose, explains why I love it when Misawa gets slammed on Kobashi's leg. Kobashi gets to suffer, because he is human, and makes human mistakes. That moment where Misawa has to save Kobashi? Hell yeah, man, place that in my soul. Taue and Kawada beating down on Misawa as Kobashi rushes to try to run over and save him, an effort ultimately in vain, as bodies are collapsed and scattered across the ring. The ultimate mistake that Kobashi has made is his humanity, and, that, I suppose, is enough. I'm not the judge, nor am I a member of the jury, and I refuse to be the executioner, but that was the only crime he committed in this match. Especially once Kawada comes in for the lariat and Taue lands the nodowa otoshi. His vulnerability, his injured leg, his pain, refusal to quit, that is his humanity. His humanity is his strength and his downfall, ultimately exploited by the villains. As Kobashi and Misawa are exploited and broken, their humanity is laid bare on the ground as Kawada pulls closer for the coveted power bomb as both Kobashi and Misawa just try to hang on.

Kobashi and Misawa aren’t just losing a contest. They’re being exposed and stripped of their myths, reduced to their beating hearts and breaking bodies, paying for the myth they tell of being immortal heroes. They, too, can be defeated and die. But they fought, they fought valiantly and hard. That wasn't enough.

I sit, and it grows closer to June 9th, and I've finally found the community I've craved for years, and I still wonder if it'll ever be enough. I don't know if healing is a straight, linear path, or if life will always be victorious. In fact, sometimes I just wake up dragging the leg that no longer works. I'm fully blind in one eye, I'm a smoker, and it still feels like I have to carry an entire team on my shoulders because someone has to, even when I know I’m breaking. And sometimes, I feel like I am fighting for someone else’s sake, but quietly unsure whether I'm really fighting for myself at all.

I don't know if I'd still be alive without professional wrestling. I still my friend swearing she'd help me with anything involving this shitty "sport" just to keep me alive. Not only that, but the worst part is that I can't answer you on if I'm alive.

I mean, sure, I'm breathing. I can walk, eat, text people back, show up, and get to breathe as part of a life I used to dream about years prior. But feeling alive, feeling as if you deserve it, that's something I still don’t know if I’ve earned or if I’ll ever feel. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just surviving out of spite. Sometimes I wonder if that’s enough. Knowing that I began to create out of spite, yet created out of love and enjoyment.

What else can you even actually do, though? Life doesn’t stop piling on just because you’re trying, it only gets harder. Especially as I trail onward to June 9th, and I'm forced to look and reflect once more.

I sit. And I write. And I keep watching stuff. And I keep waking up. Because I almost died. Knowing I chose to live and survive is something that still doesn't make sense to me.

I choose to do this, not because I’m sure it gets better. But because it got here. And somehow, I’m still here with it.

I don’t know if that makes me alive.

But maybe it means, that for once in this life, I’m not alone.

I can be somebody. I am alive, and I am Tetra.