Post by James Ceno on Sept 20, 2020 17:35:08 GMT -5
~May 1st, 2020: the scene opens in a psychiatric ward in Hamilton, Ontario, inside one of the many sparse cells: just a dressed mattress and a chair. The camera moves into the room through an open door, with an anonymous therapist in the chair, facing the bed, with James Ceno in black track pants and a red hooded sweater sitting on the bed. His feet are planted on the floor, and his head is in his hands. When he reveals his eyes, they’re bloodshot, as he was just awoken; it’s almost 3 AM.~
JC: I don’t even remember what I was thinking, to be honest.
~His voice is smaller than usual, very little, if any, confidence in his words.~
JC: I just wanted it to end, you know. It felt futile, trying to make things better for myself. Everyone around me can say what they like, but, in my heart, I felt... I feel like all I’m going to do is hurt someone.
~The therapist’s voice is quiet and soothing, but inaudible in the camera’s microphone. All the audience can go by are Ceno’s mannerisms and expression, as they become more and more lost and frantic.~
JC: I don’t know what came over me. I was talking to my girlfriend, and she was telling me that she saw all these horrible things being written about me. She started to believe them.
~He tucks his face into his hands, breathing heavily.~
JC: I looked her in the eye as I stormed off. I told her... I can’t believe I said this... I...
~James’ expression becomes distracted, as if caught between trying to forget and wanting to remember.~
JC: I told her that I wanted her in a pool of blood when I came back, because I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to die, that way she can live without this, without me. I’m not well.
~The therapist’s voice can be heard muffled, as he talks to Ceno some more, the Firestorm’s expression becoming more pained.~
JC: No, they were all in school at the time; they wouldn’t have known.
~Again, the therapist asks a question.~
JC: They’re all hers, but they are... special.
~Ceno takes a deep, shaky breath; his eyes burn with exhaustion and tears.~
JC: I don’t know how they would feel; I just want them to be better without me around to spoil their lives.
~The therapist speaks up, his voice soft in an attempt to soothe James.~
JC: No, I’ve been clean, and I was clean today, well yesterday, as well. No drugs, no alcohol.
~The therapist jots down some notes as Ceno continues talking.~
JC: I just totally forgot my purpose for being up there.
~The therapist nods, mentioning the location where Ceno had been standing earlier the day before.~
JC: Yeah. I wanted to hurt myself when I got there, so I couldn’t go back. I looked at rocks to smash my hands; I looked at large, heavy pieces of wood to kick until my knees bent the wrong way. I wanted to hurt myself.
~The therapist takes a deep breath and starts talking after a few more notes, his eyes on Ceno, the Firestorm’s distraught expression wracked with guilt and shame.~
JC: I can still see it: the picture she sent me. I know it was blood on that countertop. I can recognize it anywhere with the bleeding I’ve done in the past, in the ring. I can smell it as if I was there.
~The therapist continues to take notes and talks through his thoughts, as if to get a clearer picture. James does not meet the therapist’s eyes, his body language and posture one of defense and an attempt to hide.~
JC: Anyway, I got up there. I got to the top of the escarpment. Right there was the cross, and that was where I was going to do it. But then I saw a less safe route. I went under this barred fence and sat on the edge, just looking. I listened to the wind, I watched the birds; I even saw a chipmunk rush to the edge of the grass, but it ran away. I tried to let go, but, in that span of time, I forgot the purpose.
~The therapist, sounding perplexed, can be heard.~
JC: I literally forgot what I was doing. Every step I took to get up there, every kilometre walked, every breath heavily taken in: I forgot my purpose for being up there. All I knew was what would be waiting for me.
~The therapist nods, still listening.~
JC: What did I do? I walked back. I lingered, trying to soothe myself by accepting what I did, but I couldn’t. I still can’t; I still want to die, but I’ll forget the purpose, and I will not die without reason. That’s probably why men often do it quickly: they can’t regret what they can’t feel. All I’m left with is myself now.
~The therapist leans in and looks at James.~
JC: She left me, doc. She dumped me and left me in the hands of the police, which is only fair. I was arrested under the Mental Health Act, and that was that...
~Ceno takes a deep breath and sighs, the pain still apparent in his body language.~
JC: I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel so worthless and beaten. I’m failing myself, I fail others; how am I supposed to feel? I’m left with nothing because, after all is said and done, I’ll forget. I’ll forget your face, I’ll forget what I said, and I’ll forget the purpose of this right here. By the time I open my eyes the next morning, with the sunrise, my mind might as well be a clean slate.
~The therapist goes to speak, but James cuts him off.~
JC: My long-term memory is sharp still; I know my name, I know who my family is, I know what I’m doing when I’m at work. Past that, unless I’ve written it down or studied, I forget. I’m afraid of what I will forget.
~The therapist takes a deep breath, mentioning borderline personality disorder and how James’ emotional states may be cutting a divide into his mind, literally creating borders in his mind. It could be affecting his memory. He grumbles and covers his face.~
JC: It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think it’ll ever matter. I look in the mirror and I see scum. I see someone who cannot get better. I see someone whose choice will always be to stay this way; as soon as I feel the need to change, that’s when I fight myself, in order to resist the change.
~The Firestorm sighs, feeling defeated, looking defeated. As of this point, before CWF signing him, before OPW signing him, before UP Wrestling signs him, James Ceno is merely a broken human.~
JC: Maybe I should have jumped, because I don’t know what it’s going to take to get out of my head and actually be able to be better. Where am I going to be other than six feet under by the end of it all?
JC: I don’t even remember what I was thinking, to be honest.
~His voice is smaller than usual, very little, if any, confidence in his words.~
JC: I just wanted it to end, you know. It felt futile, trying to make things better for myself. Everyone around me can say what they like, but, in my heart, I felt... I feel like all I’m going to do is hurt someone.
~The therapist’s voice is quiet and soothing, but inaudible in the camera’s microphone. All the audience can go by are Ceno’s mannerisms and expression, as they become more and more lost and frantic.~
JC: I don’t know what came over me. I was talking to my girlfriend, and she was telling me that she saw all these horrible things being written about me. She started to believe them.
~He tucks his face into his hands, breathing heavily.~
JC: I looked her in the eye as I stormed off. I told her... I can’t believe I said this... I...
~James’ expression becomes distracted, as if caught between trying to forget and wanting to remember.~
JC: I told her that I wanted her in a pool of blood when I came back, because I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to die, that way she can live without this, without me. I’m not well.
~The therapist’s voice can be heard muffled, as he talks to Ceno some more, the Firestorm’s expression becoming more pained.~
JC: No, they were all in school at the time; they wouldn’t have known.
~Again, the therapist asks a question.~
JC: They’re all hers, but they are... special.
~Ceno takes a deep, shaky breath; his eyes burn with exhaustion and tears.~
JC: I don’t know how they would feel; I just want them to be better without me around to spoil their lives.
~The therapist speaks up, his voice soft in an attempt to soothe James.~
JC: No, I’ve been clean, and I was clean today, well yesterday, as well. No drugs, no alcohol.
~The therapist jots down some notes as Ceno continues talking.~
JC: I just totally forgot my purpose for being up there.
~The therapist nods, mentioning the location where Ceno had been standing earlier the day before.~
JC: Yeah. I wanted to hurt myself when I got there, so I couldn’t go back. I looked at rocks to smash my hands; I looked at large, heavy pieces of wood to kick until my knees bent the wrong way. I wanted to hurt myself.
~The therapist takes a deep breath and starts talking after a few more notes, his eyes on Ceno, the Firestorm’s distraught expression wracked with guilt and shame.~
JC: I can still see it: the picture she sent me. I know it was blood on that countertop. I can recognize it anywhere with the bleeding I’ve done in the past, in the ring. I can smell it as if I was there.
~The therapist continues to take notes and talks through his thoughts, as if to get a clearer picture. James does not meet the therapist’s eyes, his body language and posture one of defense and an attempt to hide.~
JC: Anyway, I got up there. I got to the top of the escarpment. Right there was the cross, and that was where I was going to do it. But then I saw a less safe route. I went under this barred fence and sat on the edge, just looking. I listened to the wind, I watched the birds; I even saw a chipmunk rush to the edge of the grass, but it ran away. I tried to let go, but, in that span of time, I forgot the purpose.
~The therapist, sounding perplexed, can be heard.~
JC: I literally forgot what I was doing. Every step I took to get up there, every kilometre walked, every breath heavily taken in: I forgot my purpose for being up there. All I knew was what would be waiting for me.
~The therapist nods, still listening.~
JC: What did I do? I walked back. I lingered, trying to soothe myself by accepting what I did, but I couldn’t. I still can’t; I still want to die, but I’ll forget the purpose, and I will not die without reason. That’s probably why men often do it quickly: they can’t regret what they can’t feel. All I’m left with is myself now.
~The therapist leans in and looks at James.~
JC: She left me, doc. She dumped me and left me in the hands of the police, which is only fair. I was arrested under the Mental Health Act, and that was that...
~Ceno takes a deep breath and sighs, the pain still apparent in his body language.~
JC: I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel so worthless and beaten. I’m failing myself, I fail others; how am I supposed to feel? I’m left with nothing because, after all is said and done, I’ll forget. I’ll forget your face, I’ll forget what I said, and I’ll forget the purpose of this right here. By the time I open my eyes the next morning, with the sunrise, my mind might as well be a clean slate.
~The therapist goes to speak, but James cuts him off.~
JC: My long-term memory is sharp still; I know my name, I know who my family is, I know what I’m doing when I’m at work. Past that, unless I’ve written it down or studied, I forget. I’m afraid of what I will forget.
~The therapist takes a deep breath, mentioning borderline personality disorder and how James’ emotional states may be cutting a divide into his mind, literally creating borders in his mind. It could be affecting his memory. He grumbles and covers his face.~
JC: It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think it’ll ever matter. I look in the mirror and I see scum. I see someone who cannot get better. I see someone whose choice will always be to stay this way; as soon as I feel the need to change, that’s when I fight myself, in order to resist the change.
~The Firestorm sighs, feeling defeated, looking defeated. As of this point, before CWF signing him, before OPW signing him, before UP Wrestling signs him, James Ceno is merely a broken human.~
JC: Maybe I should have jumped, because I don’t know what it’s going to take to get out of my head and actually be able to be better. Where am I going to be other than six feet under by the end of it all?