You find yourself sitting at a desk, staring at a computer. You read emails that really don’t apply to you. You listen to conversations that you want no fucking part of. You count the money in your silly little drawer over and over, making sure it is absolutely right. You have your boss trying to motivate you to be do better, so you can make the big bucks like him, a man who will never amount to anything more than a body in a seat until that body grows old and dies. You want to go ahead and grow old so you can die and rot away.

And why do you want to die? Why does rotting sound so completely appetizing? Because you go to lunch and you sit with snobs who think they are amazing due to the fact that they get to sit in an office, and not some teller line. You have lunch with some virgin pushing 30, who claims to be some sort of stud muffin. Some nerd who hasn’t had pussy since pussy had him. He looks up to you, and tries to match your sense of humor so you two can be best buds.

And you know why he worships you. You used to be the man. You used to have more money than your little cash drawer could ever hold. You are in the videos that he shows you because he claims to be your biggest fan. You want to slam him face first into his goddamn computer screen over and over, causing him pain like you used to do to the best athletes in the world you once ruled. You used to be a pro wrestler. You were once the Heavyweight Champion of the world. You had it all, but you also lost your fucking mind in the process.

You had a lot of baggage that you never dealt with, which resulted in you hearing voices. You carried conversations with them, like they were live people. You went to therapy. You got hypnotized, bringing forth the voices and it got really crowded in that head of yours. One of those voices took over, sliding right into the driver’s seat and driving you around like a brand-new car, fresh off of the show room floor. And that voice pushed you to kill, to take lives, to let the violence that had festered up inside of you…to let all of it out.

And it led you to attacking a woman you could been friends with. You attacked those who cared for her. You attacked a man that you had known for years, a man, that despite what you may have thought or said, considered a friend at one point in your life. You went after his only son, making the child a pawn in your chess game against his father, who you have also considered to be your bitter enemy. He was everything that you weren’t. He was fun. You were dark and violent. Your own daughters love him. Only one really cares for you, while the other is scared shitless of you.

You were diagnosed with dissociative personality disorder. At first, you wanted nothing to do with treatment. You were very keen on listening to the voice and letting that side of you run wild. You attacked co-workers and innocent civilians like you were ordering a fucking a pizza. Of course, it wasn’t you, but all they saw was you. Except for those innocent civilians where you beat the hell out of some guy just because you could. Deep down, you knew that none of this was healthy in the slightest. You knew that you needed some serious therapy and a high dosage of meds, because you were the definition of a fucking looney tune. That voice, the one known as Abel took full control for a little while but you eventually found your way back. You sought help, going to an inpatient mental health facility. You took the meds. You attended the group meetings. You expressed your feelings. You cleansed yourself so to speak. That Dr. Vaughn was a miracle worker. A straight up cross between Sigmund Freud and Jesus.

Oh, and you met a girl there.

You developed a routine once you got out.

You wake up. Take meds with a breakfast consisting of three ham and cheese omelets, three pancakes, three strips of turkey bacon, and three slices of fruit, all with a tall glass of orange juice to wash it all down. You then work out in your home gym for three hours. You mix in heavy lifting, with cardio conditioning. You also blend in meditating, a trick that the good doctor Vaughn taught you. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth ever so slowly. You then get ready for work.

At work, you go in and make coffee. You ignore your number one fan’s constant jabbering. You simply nod and say, “Yeah.” You go to your desk and you count the money in your drawer three times. Your boss asks if you want to help him run checks and tickets through. You tell him that you’ve already done it. He praises you while you fake a smile, because deep down, you don’t want to be here. You want to be back in the ring. You just know that you can’t. You have to stick to your routine. You received a lot of backlash on social media in regards to you coming back. Your ex-girlfriend had your back, but you decided to be the nice guy and apologized. Deep down, you know that it was just the meds talking.

Besides, you met a girl in the mental health facility. You two talked. She was the crazy to yours. Through the chaos going on both of your heads, you managed to click. Now, you two are living together in New York. You bought a house in one of the richest neighborhoods of New York state. It is gated and private. You do not really associate with anyone. You will wave to your neighbors on the way to get the morning paper or when you decide to go for a jog around the block.

Your girlfriend tells you that she loves you. You guys cook dinner together. You watch crime oriented television shows, as well as her drama based shows centering around gay couples. You watch porn when it is just you in the home, because you feel you have a secret life with a secret need to fulfill. Oh, and you take more meds at night before bed. It helps you sleep because if you didn’t have help, you’d never sleep. You would think about all the things you miss. All the things that you could have accomplished in life. In your career.

And you would also think about how bored your lady has become.

But you are able to deal with it due to your meds. You follow your routine to the “T” and all is right in the world. You are comfortably numb. That is why you are able to deal with rude customers who get upset when you don’t process their transaction quick enough, or when you state that you are unable to give an autograph. You politely handle the situation with a grin then go about your day.

Except the day your girlfriend forgot to pack your meds. She always puts them in a plastic container, but on this particular day, she did not. The day started off as usual. You followed your morning routine. You got to work before everyone else, despite working out just a few minutes longer. By working out, you mean sex in the shower. Your girlfriend surprised you with a reach around to start things off. But you still made it to work on time. You went through the motions like everything was normal and then you went to lunch.

That was when the ugly truth looked you right in the face. You opened your lunchbox, removing your food only to find there was no plastic container. You went out to your car, but still no luck. You returned to the break room and sat down, proceeding to eat your lunch like everything was fine. Your number one fan, his name is Zeke. Zeke told you that he remembers when you took Ace Marshall to the top rope then powerbombed him through the outside barricade.

“I totally fucking marked out dude.”

His words are followed by an annoying laugh. A laugh that has annoyed you since day fucking one. While he continues to talk, you constantly state that you are James Evans.

You are James Evans. James Evans is your name. You are James Evans. James Evans is your name.

“And I think it would have been awesome had you been able to do the same to that bitch Syren. Geez, man. If only Ace hadn’t stopped you. I have never liked Syren. Well, I love looking at her, because who doesn’t…I mean, am I right?”

Another dose of the annoying laugh. You were sweating, trying to keep cool, but you knew that you were on edge. That you were just one step away from going over, stepping off of that cliff only to dive head first into that abyss.

You are James Evans. James Evans is your name. You are James Evans. James Evans is your name.

“And what about Amy Chastaine? I can’t believe you tapped out man. I mean, you tapped out like a bitch, bro.”

You take that step. Abyss incoming in five…

“I mean, be honest with me bro-beans. Did you tap out because you wanted to leave or because it actually hurt? I mean, I don’t think I would have tapped out. She doesn’t weigh anything near what you weigh, and you are a hell of a lot stronger than she is. So, level with me. Did you tap out because she finally offered up that old cootchie-coo to you? If that was the case, I would have tapped to tap that.”


You are James Evans. James Evans is your name. You are James Evans. James Evans is your name.

“You did do to that, didn’t you? Hahaha…my boy! You got you some old lady snatch! I will have to give you props man. She looked like she needed some good D. She always seemed so fucking uppity, like she was better than everyone else and her way was the right way. Like it had to be her way otherwise, no dice. I bet that is how she got you…”



“I have no doubt in my mind now. It all makes sense. I guess the bigger question now, big dog, is…was it worth it? I mean, if you were able to get her wet and keep it that way then hell yeah. But was it…you know…dried out and musty like my grandmother’s attic?”


The abyss swallowed you and you became one. Something changed. You were no longer James Evans. You weren’t sure who you were, but someone else was in the driver’s seat. All you could do was sit back and watch the show, as the driver said, “You know…you have got to be the dumbest motherfucker I have ever met and I lived with Ace Marshall. And trust me, buddy boy….you wouldn’t have the slightest fucking clue what to do with a woman like Amy or any woman for that matter, you goddamn virgin!”

Before Zeke could retort, you saw your hand knock his sandwich out of his hand, “And would you like to know why, Zeke? Because you spend all of your time watching wrestling videos on Youtube. You probably jerk off to me and countless others, you sick fuck. You should probably come out of the closet and except the fact that you’d be much happier packing some fudge…”

And then you heard the voice of your boss, Steve, “What in the hell is going on in here? Why are you yelling, James?”

Your view switched from Zeke to the wall then to Steve as you spun around in the chair, before firing off a few rounds his way, “Because I fucking can, Steve. I can’t stand this little prick. I have to listen to his bullshit every single day, just like I have to listen to your bullshit. You are on the wrong side of forty and still playing dungeons and dragons, going on missions in the forest with your buds. There is nothing cool or awesome about you, despite how hard you try.”

Steve’s eyes lowered, but he still mustered up the strength to say, “James…do not talk to me like that…”

The driver let out a cackle that sounded nothing like your own, “Or what? You’ll fire me? Please…pretty fucking please do…I would love that. I am sure that would give your sorry pathetic ass a decent sized chub. So, Steve please fire me. If you need any extra motivation…try this on for size. You are a bald-headed, sausage fingered, piece of shit that will never amount to anything other than what you already are…”

Steve’s eyes loomed large as he said, “James you’re….”

Driver, whoever the hell it was, cut him off, “Oh suck my dick. I quit…” And then, you watched as you bumped shoulders with Steve on your way out. You heard the cackling as you headed towards the exit door, only to be met by your branch manager, Susan. She flashed a fake grin at you, a grin that you have always detested, because you knew she didn’t mean it, especially when she flashed it at you, “Hi James. Is everything alright? You look wild-eyed. Are you sick?”

“I’ve never been better. I have finally…got some things off of my chest.”

She nodded, making it appear like she cared and that she understood, “Oh trust me, I know how you feel. Sometimes it is just good to let it all out. And if there is anything you ever need to talk about you, don’t hesitate to tell me. Okay?”

“Are you sure that’s okay, Susan?”

Her fake grin faded but she nodded while checking her iPhone. Something that you saw your hand snatch away and throw in the parking lot. She looked up at you, dumbfounded and shocked. She then looked at the flight path of her iPhone before it crash landed. She then turned to you, now glaring, “What in the hell is your problem? You know what?! You’re fired!”

“First off, you’ve been one of my problems since coming here! And two, I already quit so shove your fire up your snatch. Third, you said I can tell you anything so here goes…You are not attractive. You dress like you’re a college student, but you have no tit and your ass is flat. You can’t apply enough make up to cover up those wrinkles, bitch. So, no…no one thinks you’re hot. Everyone in there feels sorry for you, while also laughing at how hard you try to get attention. You need to do yourself a favor. Buy a bullet, rent a gun, and use them to end your mid-life crisis…” The words stopped and your view remained of her as your body walked backwards, keeping eyes on her as Susan’s body shook before she dropped to her knees and began to sob.

You, on the other hand, had a huge smile on your face, which was evident as you caught your reflection in your driver’s side mirror.

Who are you?

Well, I am you, Jamesy boy.

You’re not Abel…are you?

Lord, no! That cat waved bye-bye months ago. You can call me, Hank.

I guess this is where I say…pleasure to meet you…Hank.

Trust me, the pleasure is all mine. I had to save you from that bullshit. I know you couldn’t deal with it any longer.

And then a horn blew. You found yourself in your car, at a stop light flashing green. There was an angry teenager behind you. You smirked and flipped him off before speeding down the highway. But the smirking didn’t last. You started to ask who Hank was, but you couldn’t get any answers. You told yourself that you needed to get home and take your meds before going to sleep. You told yourself that tomorrow would be a new day. You would have to find another job, but you had to keep with your routine. You would also have to get onto your woman, letting her know about your blow-up. Maybe not mention Hank, but let her know that you had a blow-up at work and that it was because you didn’t have your medications.

During your drive, you planned your conversation with your lady…her name is Audrey. Once you arrived, you took a few deep breaths before walking into the house. It was quiet. You weren’t sure why, but then again, you hadn’t been home that early in a long time. You called her name a few times, but there was no response. You checked the shower and the bedroom, but no sign of Audrey. You told yourself that you can find out about her daily activities soon since you were unemployed.

You went back downstairs and poured yourself a glass of water, as you were going to down your meds. You began to search for them but you could not find them. You told yourself that Audrey was more than likely getting the prescriptions refilled and that you needed to remain calm.

That was until you saw the note on the counter. You looked over and picked it up, your eyes scanning the page, your mind not believing what you were seeing. It was from her and it read: Dear James, I am sure you had a rough day without your meds. I took it upon myself to get rid of those damned things because I was tired of living with a robot. I hope you understand and that you’re not mad. Anyways, I won’t be home until this evening but we can talk then. I love you.

You stood there for a few moments, feeling and probably looking like Susan from earlier, completely dumbfounded. You dropped the letter and poured out your water, before reaching into the cabinet and grabbing some whiskey, filling your glass to the brim.