act five: nothing left to fear
For the longest time in my career, I'd learned to not fear anything in the ring. No matter what the obstacle was that stood in my way, I taught myself that there was no need to be concerned with how I was going to get passed it, because no matter what, so long as I believed that I could do it, I would do it. There was no question of "if" or "how", but rather a question of "when"... and that was how I got through so much of the time.
If I was against a person I had never defeated before in my past, I learned their secrets and their strategies and I prepared for them, just as I also prepared for them to adapt to my newfound knowledge. I threw everything I had at that person and, if there were any reserves left in me, I threw those at them too. I gave them everything I had because I wanted to make an impact, I wanted to make my name remembered. For me, that was important, because it would bring me one step closer to the dream I'd had since my childhood being fulfilled.
I had a lot of learning left to do from there, though, and I began to learn how to control myself better out there when I put myself on the line. I refused to back off on my opponents, refused to just stop giving them everything I had, because I always felt like they deserved that out of me. No-one likes to be looked down on, though some do just for the chance to prove those people wrong. I wasn't interested in having people prove me wrong, I just wanted a good fight... I wanted something people could remember, that people could look back on and talk about for all the years to come.
I wanted that outof my opponents, I'd like to think they wanted it out of me, too. After-all, only the shady ones were fine with the excuse of "I wasn't at my best"... the rest of us really would like to be at our best, because when we are we feel like we're unstoppable. Ask anyone in the NLCW, when they're at the height of their strength and feel like they're ready for that grand opportunity, ask them how they feel about themselves, or how they feel going into a match against someone that no-one believes they can conquer. Ask them their opinion and you'll always hear something similar.
"I'm ready for this.", "I can beat them.", "They don't stand a chance!", "Right now, nothing's going to stop me.", you've heard them all by now.
I used to feel unbeatable at my best, too... I used to think that even if I lost a match, I'd come back eventually and make that match up. This carried on with me into the NLCW, even, when Durst defeated me in our first title match and I came back in a few months time to finally take that title from him. I couldn't do it the first time, but when push came to shove, I was able to get back in the ring and take him the second time. It was an amazing feeling, because it marked two major things for me: my compeuppance against a man who had taken everything I'd had in me and still managed to beat me, and the final accomplishment of my dreams after so many years of hard work and effort.
It was hard to believe, at the time, that it had really happened... but, if you look back on the tape of that day, it's easy to see that I didn't have any time to question the reality of it all. Immediately after my victory, I was challenged for that title I held. I showed my determination that day, I showed my lack of fear and I showed my drive to prove myself worthy to hold such rank in our proud company, and in time I was able to prove myself against all the people who tried to come and bring me down. In time, I was able to prove that I could not be limited, and refused to back down against the threats I faced along the way.
Twice was I given the chance to do this, and twice did I excel against the odds.
It's easy to feel immortal and unstoppable when you're on top of your game, I felt that way for ages before I finally realized the truth... and the truth was honestly one of the hardest things for me to take.
I was the man who'd braved the Final Solution match and won, the man who had been hit with everything that two of the NLCW's finest in Bucky Skyler and Shane Perry had in them and yet kept fighting on... I was the man who, to the loyal fans of the NLCW, seemed defiant against any limitations the world tried to place on him. To many, I was a living, breathing representation of this company that claimed to have no limits, and I couldn't be happier.
It took a black rain falling and an angel to be robbed from me for a short period of time to snap me out of this illusion I found myself trapped in. Nothing was perfect in the end, nothing was keeping me from injuring myself to the point of ending my career, and nothing was protecting me from harm when I went out there. My belief in myself would get me incredibly far and would help fuel the fire inside of me, it would help push me on to victory... but it did not make me bulletproof.
Though there were times that I truly felt as if I was some kind-of Superman... the fact of the matter was that no part of me, or anyone else, was going to do that for me. There was no denying my vulnerability anymore, and that was a lesson learned for me that stuck with me long after Suki's recovery and release from the hospital, and my own victory in the battle against my self-doubt.
Finally, after all my growth and forward-progress, I had broken the barrier that had held me back all along... I remebered that I was nothing but another human being, not some kind-of superhero, and I began to learn how to work around my own shortcomings.
I wasn't just focused on the business anymore, I was starting to focus on much more than just that. You see, back in the HWF, I made the wise decision to save as much of my funds as possible and just live modestly, rather than do all the things the other members of the place were doing. I didn't need a private jet, I didn't need a mansion or anything like that... give me an apartment on the road and a car that drove me where I needed to be and I was happy to follow, because it ensured financial stability for my future. I carried those practices over to the NLCW for awhile, until Suki came along... and I guess that was where the first sign that things were changing came for me.
Suddenly, I cared about where I was staying-- not out of some skewed thought that I deserved better, but the belief that if she was going to be staying with me, then she deserved better. I started booking hotels and traveling safer, I started making my personal life more secure to protect the both of us from any of the bad that came with my increasing fame. In my personal life, I'd began to feel more vulnerable long before I ever did in my professional life, and somehow there was a barrier there that kept me from realizing that the two really were tied closely together.
It took ages before it dawned on me, but when it finally did it was one of the most important things I could have possibly figured out. I was getting stronger as a wrestler because I was starting to plan things out more, I was starting to figure in the danger of the things I did out there and how to avoid harming myself while still not holding back against my opponents.
Suddenly, my matches were getting better ratings regardless of my opponent, and I was pacing myself better in the ring. It became commonplace to see Dominic Pericolo bring out the best in his opponent, to show the hidden potential that person had to the world and, in any of the instances that he won the match, not break his opponent's spirit. I was making a point to everyone that, from the top to the bottom of the NLCW, we had talented workers giving their every last bit of effort for a chance at a break in this company, and they deserved the recognition. I let them shine in their matches with me, but I didn't let up on them for a moment, either.
This was all from me taking a more active stand in my own safety in the ring, quite possibly one of the most ironic and amusing things to try and say out loud. I'm a wrestler, I'm in a position where our company finds it profitable to put me in the most dangerous circumstances possible, and I've learned in my career to go at it with everything I have. That part of me still hasn't changed, and yet somehow I've gotten better at fighting in these dangerous scenarios by emphasizing the importance of my safety to myself.
And this whole emphasis on safety originated from wanting to be there for Suki, from not wanting to leave her behind.
So you can imagine what came next the day that my son was born.