She was promised she would never see this place again.   No matter how bad things got, she was told, she would never return here.   She was told there would always be another option, that her condition didn’t require incarceration.   That, in fact, being here was doing her more harm than good.   She was told that, no matter what happened, her doctor would always be there to take care of her, to do whatever it was possible to make sure she would never have to see this place again.   And in that very moment, as she found herself, walking down that long hallway, Daffney Unger realized that everything Dr. Stevie had once told her was a lie.   As she made her way down the hall, led by staff and security, she looked at the cold, unfeeling walls, and a deep sorrow enveloped her.   Belleview Hospital was a place that has been salvation to many with mental illness, but for Daffney Unger, all Belleview ever was, and ever could be, was the physical manifestation of Hell on Earth.

It began, only days ago, with an announcement.   Her beloved doctor, Steven Richards, had been made Head of Talent Relations by Eric Bischoff, but in order to accept the position, Stevie first had to cut ties with Daffney.   That part, she understood.   Hulk Hogan and Eric Bischoff weren’t exactly people you said ‘no’ to, and while the idea of losing her doctor was, at best, distressing to her, she could at least understand why Stevie would take the position.   He had friends, friends whose jobs he wanted to protect, and what better way to protect those jobs than to become the guy who does the hiring and the firing.   Sure, she was upset, furious, even.   Stevie had always told her that he cared about her, that he would always be there for her.   But she wasn’t Raven.   She wasn’t Blue Meanie.   She wasn’t Gabe Sapolsky, who Stevie had been trying to convince to come to TNA since she can even remember.   She wasn’t even this Lloyd Van Buren guy who kept answering Stevie’s phone when he wasn’t available.   So, yeah, she was angry, but, if all Stevie had done was fire her, she would have at least understood why.   She may have even come to accept it, in time.   But what she didn’t understand, and what she couldn’t accept, was this.   She had done nothing, in recent years, to even give anyone the hint that she was a danger to herself or others.   Sure, she was a bit strange, maybe even a little crazy, but she wasn’t a threat to anyone.   Her condition was manageable.   She was taking all her meds, going to therapy regularly, making real progress.   Yes, there had been some setbacks, but nothing that required involuntary commitment.   She simply could not understand or accept the fact that, despite everything Stevie had ever promised her, that she would ever be forced back inside these unfeeling walls.  

The flight from Orlando had been perhaps the most uncomfortable and humiliating experience of Daffney’s life.   Strapped inside a straitjacket, tied to a gurney… she felt like Hannibal Lector, and was likely treated as such.   Children would ask their mothers what she had done to deserve such treatment, and the mothers, completely unsympathetic to Daffney’s condition, would tell them that she was the end result of bad behavior.   The children would then take one last look at her before sitting down and keeping quiet, the way their parents preferred.   She wanted to tell them otherwise, that she was a victim of corporate bullying and manipulation, but who would listen?   She was a damned maniac in a straitjacket!   The most she could hope for was that people felt so uncomfortable around her that they simply ignored her, but they didn’t.   They all pointed, and stared, and conjectured, and judged.   If there was ever a moment in her life where she honestly wished she was invisible, this was it.   What better way to be dragged to hell than to be publicly humiliated along the way.

She and the entourage that led her stopped by an opened door.   As she looked inside her empty, padded room, she felt a sense of dread she had not felt since the last time she had been led down this hallway, into a room just like it.   She stopped cold.   An overwhelming sense of fear rising.   This couldn’t be happening.   Not again.  

“End of the line, honey,” one of the large men surrounding her said.

“No,” Daffney said, as fear and panic flooded her senses.   “I can’t…   I WON’T!!!”

It was as if her body had been overtaken by another force, acting out of its own sense of self-preservation.   She hit the two men on either side of her below the belt, felling them like timber.   She then made a mad dash back down the hall, towards the elevator.   The men chased her down the hall, but she was far too fast for them.   She was confident, too confident, as soon, she tripped, and fell to the ground.   As she looked back, seeing her captors gaining ground, she tried furiously in vain to scurry to her feet.   She was just within reach of the elevator, and the door was opening up.   It was as if God was on her side, rooting for her to escape.   She couldn’t have been more wrong.   Looking up as the door opened, she saw a man wearing a white leather jacket, with long, brown hair.   Daffney had seen this man before.   He was the Hogan Regime’s latest acquisition, Brian Kendrick.

“They told me you’d try to run,” he said to her, smiling devilishly.   He then ran towards her and plowed her in the face with a brutal Yakuza kick, knocking her unconscious.   It would be the last thing she would see and the last thing she would remember for the next several hours.

When Daffney awoke, she was inside her padded room, alone.   Her face was swollen, throbbing.   She got up, walked to the door, and looked out the small window.   Outside, she saw Brian Kendrick, sitting in a chair, listening to his iPod, reading the New York Times.   When he looked up and saw that Daffney was looking at him through her little window, he pointed his finger and thumb at her like a gun, and mimed a shot, smiling and taunting his fallen prey.   He then returned to his reading.

Daffney walked away from the door, and sat down in the far corner of her padded room.   Never in her life had she felt this alone.   At least, the last time she was here, she had the voices in her head to keep her company.   Now, after years of therapy and medication, the voices have all but stopped.   Without them, Daffney had no one to talk to, no one to confide in, and no one to trust.

As she sat, alone, in that empty room, she began to hear what at first sounded like mumbling.   She couldn’t make it out at first, but soon, the sound became clearer…

Suicide’s Journal… Not sure what day it is.   Must be at least February by now, so call it Groundhog’s Day.   Days here all feel the same anyway.   Might as well go with the premise.

As these jackasses have felt the need to deprive me of even the luxury of pen and paper, for fear that I may just MacGyver my way out of this hellhole, I have taken to reciting my thoughts out loud.   It serves two purposes.   One, it allows me the privilege of hearing something other than the sounds of wailing and the occasional scream.   Two, I’m so used to keeping a journal that not doing so is driving me legitimately insane.   Therefore…

“Hello?”

A new voice.   Female.   In close proximity.

“Is someone there, or is it just me?”

Talking… to me?   I should confirm.

“No, it’s not you,” Suicide said, responding to the voice.   “My name’s…” Suicide pauses for a moment, debating on whether or not he can fully trust this strange new voice, “…Frankie.   What’s yours?”

“Daffney,” she replied.   “Daffney Unger.”

“Daffney,” Suicide pondered, having recognized the name.   “Where are you from?”

“Well, until recently, I was in Orlando,” Daffney explained.   “But…”

“Orlando?” Suicide shouted.   “Where did you work?”

“TNA,” she answered.  

“God damn it!” Suicide screamed, kicking the wall.  

“Hey!” a voice said from outside Suicide’s room.   “Keep it down in there!   Some of us are trying to read, you know!”

Suicide walked over to his little window, looked out, and saw a man with long brown hair, wearing a white leather jacket, listening to his iPod and reading the New York Times.

“What’s wrong?” Daffney asked, concerned.

“Who’s that guy reading the newspaper outside?   Is he new?” Suicide asked Daffney.

“That’s Brian Kendrick,” Daffney answered, “and he doesn’t work here.   At least, I don’t think he does.   He’s one of Hulk Hogan’s goons.   Probably just here to make sure I don’t get out.”

“Hogan,” Suicide growled.   “I should have known.”

“What’s going on, Frankie?” Daffney asked.   “How do you know about Hogan?”

“Daffney,” Suicide said, “Frankie’s just my given name.   You know me better as Suicide.”

“Suicide?!” Daffney shouted.

“Keep it down, Daffney!” Suicide said to her as he kept watching Kendrick.   “I don’t know if Kendrick knows I’m here yet.   If he doesn’t, I’d rather keep it that way.”

“Sorry,” Daffney said, lowering her voice.

“It’s all right,” Suicide said to her.   “I don’t think he can hear us with his iPod on.   We just need to keep it down, for now.”

“Okay,” Daffney replied.   “So, is it true you tried to off Hogan?”

“Yeah,” Suicide said.   “Sh*t load of good that’s done me, lately.”

“Hey, at least someone stood up to that jerk!” Daffney said.   “God knows TNA needs more people like you right now.”

“So, tell me what happened since I got here,” Suicide asked.

“Well, for one, Dr. Stevie’s the new Head of Talent Relations,” Daffney said.   “Hogan’s hired on Ken Anderson and Brian Kendrick.   Matt Hardy got beat down by the Nasty Boys while they were trying to give Traci Brooks her release…”

“Traci?” Suicide gasped.

“She’s okay… I think.   Matt got the worst of it.   But no one has seen or heard from Traci since,” Daffney said.

“Where is she now?” Suicide asked.

“I don’t know,” Daffney answered.   “Taylor Wilde was the last person to see her.”

“Did she tell Taylor where she was going?” Suicide asked.

“No,” Daffney answered.   “All Traci told her was that she needed to disappear for a while.”

“Good girl,” Suicide said, smiling.   “Stay off the radar…”

“You seem awfully concerned about Traci.   You got a thing for her or something?   ‘Cause, I hate to break it to you, but she’s married,” Daffney said.

“I know,” Suicide said.   “Can you tell me anything else that’s happened lately?”

“Sure,” Daffney said, slowly unfurling the tale of the past several weeks to her newfound ally.

Meanwhile, three thousand miles away, in California’s Death Valley, Samoa Joe stood outside of his car, looking into the night sky, amazed and enthralled by the universe above.   It was a beautiful sight to behold, really.   Here, you can see the stars clearly, as if you were looking at a map of the universe in the sky.   Samoa Joe leaned against his car, looking into the night sky, embracing the quiet calm that surrounded him.   For the first time in months, he felt at peace.

Joe took his cell phone and typed a quick text message to his wife.   It read –

Don’t worry.   Plane landed safely.   I am okay.   Need some time alone to think.   Don’t wait up.

Once he finished his text, he grabbed a backpack from inside his car and large jug of water, then locked his car up and began walking into the desert night.   As he looked forward into the night sky, he began to reminisce about his life, his career, and the events that brought him here…

It is December of 1999.   My very first match.   I can remember feeling nervous, but excited, finally seeing my months of training pay off.   I had begun my journey into wrestling on a fluke.   In search of a good workout, I come across a group of professional wresters who invited me to train with them.   After a few days, I decide to make this more than a mere ‘weekend warrior’ pursuit.   My journey into the world of professional wrestling begins.

It is the summer of 2000.   Ultimate Pro Wrestling.   I am fighting a man known to me at the time only as ‘The Prototype’.   This man, I will come to know as a friend, and he would eventually become a multiple time World Champion in WWE.   He is John Cena, and now, I see even he is floundering, as he has lost his title to a young up-and-comer named Sheamus.   Soon, he too will be phased out, fed to Triple H, shipped to SmackDown, and forgotten.   It doesn’t really matter how many t-shirts he sells.   We all fall.   We all fail.

It is March 22, 2003.   I have just defeated Xavier for the Ring of Honor Championship.   I am proud.   Ring of Honor was a company I respected, populated by passionate fans I came to cherish.   I would soon be known as the first ROH World Champion, as the title was upgraded in May of that year to a World Title.   I held that belt for what felt like forever.   Event after event, victory after victory, I was proving to the world that I was one of, if not the best wrestler on the planet.   I became known as the Samoan Submission Machine.   I was seen to be unstoppable.

It is October 16, 2004.   I am for the second time defending the Ring of Honor World Championship against CM Punk.   Some have said that this match was the defining moment of either of our careers.   As each of the sixty minutes would pass, the fight intensified.   Punk proved to be an ever-tenacious opponent.   Sixty minutes passed, there was no winner.   Dave Meltzer awarded us a five-star rating.   The world, for one hour, seemed to stop and when it was over, our lives were changed forever.

It is June 19, 2005.   I am making my debut for Total Non-Stop Action Wrestling, defeating Sonjay Dutt in short order.   For the next 18 months, I would remain undefeated, crushing the ranks of the X-Division to become the most dominant X Champion in TNA’s history.   The fans loved me, but TNA saw it fit to treat me as a villain.   It did not matter.   I still crushed every man TNA set in my way.   Sabin.   Williams. Daniels.   Even AJ Styles.   No one could stop me.   No one could defeat me.   I was destined to become NWA World’s Champion, but TNA saw to it that I never come anywhere near the belt, so, one day, I just took it.

It is October of 2006.   I am face to face with Kurt Angle for the first time.   After having refused to surrender the NWA Title, TNA had sent their new golden boy to take it from me by force.   As Kurt and I fought the first of what would be many battles, Jeff Jarrett stole back the NWA Title, and would lose it to Sting shortly after.   Jarrett would then go home to his dying wife, leaving Dixie Carter in charge.   At first, she was willing, if not practically begging for the chance to see Kurt and I fight it out for the top spot in TNA.   But each time, either by hook or crook, Kurt would come out victorious.   No matter what I did, either fair or foul, Kurt Angle would always end up on top, and Samoa Joe would be treated like the droppings of a dog.

It is Lockdown, 2008.   Kurt and I, once again, this time, inside the Six Sides of Steel.   For the first time, I became TNA World Champion.   Although I had won, the victory was bittersweet.   Two years ago, I was the hottest property in TNA.   More popular than AJ.   More credible than Jarrett.   More dominant than Abyss.   In 2008, I might as well have been David Arquette winning the World Title.   It meant nothing, as did my reign.   Eventually, Sting, Angle, and Kevin Nash would conspire to dethrone me, forming the Main Event Mafia.   And, the ever-present hand of Dixie Carter’s interference, as she continued to value the past accomplishments of egomaniacs over the sweat and blood of her workhorses.   Eventually, Jeff Jarrett is forced to return to confront Kurt.   Unfortunately, Jarrett’s own affair with Kurt’s ex-wife put the final nail in his coffin.

It is the Fall of 2009.   With the Main Event Mafia dominant in TNA, Jarrett removed from power, Dixie Carter had pulled off what was to be called the coup of coups.   She had signed the immortal Hulk Hogan to a contract in TNA.   From that moment, the writing was on the wall, but glimmers of hope still seemed to shine in TNA.   AJ Styles had become TNA World Champion, having beat back challenges from Matt Morgan, Sting, and Kurt Angle.   Vince Russo was given more control, and the younger, hungry talent, was being given more opportunities.   Vince Russo is an idiot, don’t get me wrong.   But, at least with Russo at the helm, I had a chance.   A chance to matter in TNA.   A chance to become TNA World Champion.

It is Turning Point, 2009, and I am seeing my last chance at glory slipping from my fingers.   AJ Styles had just hit a 450 on Daniels, pinning him to retain the TNA World Title in our Triple Threat Match.   As AJ and Daniels’ friendship crumbled, I walked away unnoticed.   It had seemed that, even now, under the pen of Russo, I was being ignored.   I had just given one of the performances of my life, and no one seemed to notice me at all.   It was as if I wasn’t even there.   And that’s when it began.   My disconnection.   I would simply drift, day to day, in TNA.   Nothing mattered.   No matter what I do, good, bad, or otherwise, no one notices.   No one cares.   And if no one is going to care, I do not see any reason to remain among them.  

I am tired.   Tired of these games.   Tired of the politics, the egos.  

Joe stopped there, in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, there in California’s Death Valley.   He looked one last time into the night sky before setting up camp, thinking to himself…

I prefer the quiet here.