Heartbreak

Dear Wrestling,

Preface: I worked on this for a couple weeks, knew it was a work in progress and it was bumming me out pretty hard so I put it aside for a minute. Until No Mercy, tonight. The first bit is from before. After tonight, I just wanted to get it out/away. I’ll put an asterisk break for tonight’s…ranting, most likely.


I don't think it's intrinsic to the nature of a heart to be broken--but, once you place a heart in the world, it is subject to the same harm and danger and impermanence as everything else.

In other words, the only place a heart is unbreakable is in a thought experiment.

There are so many different kinds of heartbreak. I've felt quick sharp ones like a finger popping. Aching, festering ones like a gangrenous wound. I have one quiet, constant one that's been ongoing since I was 16 years old. It will probably be with me when I die, an old and familiar friend. I'm even happy about that one, and I hope it never ends.

So now I love this new thing, and it's like loving a new society or civilization: there are a LOT of component parts to love or loathe or be disappointed by. New, exciting ways/people to break one's heart. It's the same human zoo as anywhere else.

Facebook recently reminded me of a status: "Between Bray Wyatt and the New Day, I might have to start paying attention to WWE..."  That was on August 7, 2016. That day I made reference to 'the trombonist in the New Day"--because I didn't know his name yet. I've come a long way since then, although the road ahead seems (happily!) unending. Part of my education in wrestling has been falling in love with the wrong people. As a queer person, it's meant hearing slurs about me from people I adore. It hurts.

At first I thought, “Maybe I’ll hold back. Maybe I’ll try to keep me safe, keep some piece of my heart in reserve, so that it doesn’t hurt so bad when the inevitable happens.” Which just goes to show that I am frequently dumb, and that I really am not very good at remembering what I know about myself. In this case, the fact that when I love, I love hard. I am picky as hell, and once someone or something clears all my bars, they’re in—period. Forever. They can change it: they can be hateful, turn out to want to deny someone basic rights, be a racist—but they have to do it. I can’t.

Which is why I pray to my dear thewful Thor that I never find out something worse about my beloved than that they used the word faggot in the past. That’s plenty, and to be perfectly honest it’s way more than I thought I’d ever be able to forgive an adult for. I don’t know if wrestling has changed me or just shown more of me than I knew existed.

I have found some things that are dealbreakers: calling women whores. Beating or berating them. Supporting people who stand against recognizing the humanity of others—or who are plainly too stupid to live. Being a racist.

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So Enzo is the cruiserweight champion. This guy who treats people like garbage, who makes a living from making fun of other people’s looks…who has definitely cheated on women and almost certainly behaved abominably toward sex workers…this guy beat Neville.

Neville, who is one of the top five wrestlers in the world. Probably top three. Who has come so, so far in terms of his confidence and mic work and character…who has worked so hard for so long to get where he is.

I tweeted that I’d have to cancel my WWE network subscription. I might. I don’t know.

I know that the story isn’t over. The thing I’m struggling with is, where are the lines for a heel? Some of them are obvious: racism. Sexual assault. Child abuse.

But this guy has a lifestyle of disrespecting women like it’s going out of style—which, god do I wish it was. So his character never crosses any terrible lines…but he sure does.

This company has made it clear that you pretty much can’t be too bad to get fired. It takes a LOT.


I don’t have any answers. It’s the same stupid moral decay and frustration as anywhere else.

So, maybe it’s time wrestling stops selling itself as an escape from that?


Autumn