Recovery // Seth Rollins

6

You you know when you've been hiding a secret for so long, living a lie, almost living a different life, that you become immune to the truth of why you hide what you hide?

That's exactly how I am now. I've been hiding the truth about myself from everyone for so long. My family, my friends, partly my lectures, and my colleagues. For a while, I had even begun to believe my own lies.

"I'm fine"

"I'm okay, really"

"It's just stressed"

"I'm just really tired"

On and off, I believe myself. But at the end of the day, I know the truth. That truth is what haunts me at night. I could make others believe my lies, but I couldn't make myself believe it. No matter how hard I tried.

I knew that I was selected for this once in a life time practical experience because I had the professional skills and capabilities to do so. The only capability I didn't have was the psychological one. I wasn't mentally stable enough to do this. I knew it from the start.

Depression was something I had suffered with in silence for the past few years of my young adult life. My sadness as such was first noticed by my maths and science teacher in grade 10 when I was just sixteen. Everyone though I was the most happiest person in the world. Little did they know. These kind of observations continued through to college as I completed years 11 and 12.

It has gradually worsened through the start of my university career. I struggled with the stress and demands of higher education, and multiple times thought of dropping out. I had found somewhat peace in working at a strip club as a lingerie bar maid. It gave me the opportunity to be someone else for the night. Someone who didn't suffer from depression. No one knew who I was, and no one knew what I suffered from. It was a comfort to me.

Chelsea wasn't anything like Caitey. I was strong, confident and comfortable. I was the beautiful blonde who sometimes dressed up as barbie and was popular with all the customers.

My family weren't as welcoming with mental health issues as my lecturers. My lectures welcomed me with open arms and gave me extra extensions when needed. My family on the other hand, when the simple mention of depression, turned heel and huffed about how there was no such thing. So instead of being honest with everyone in my life, I chose to live a lie. But my life did not become that lie.

Coming here on the road with numerous superstars, I had planned to just keep my head down and not be noticed by anyone. That all went out the back door when Colby freakin' Lopez walked in. He changed everything, ripped my plan for the next six weeks in half.
I couldn't help but feel as if sleeping with him last night was a mistake. I was only going to get hurt in the end. I couldn't handle another heartbreak, my mental sanity depended on not getting hurt again. I had learnt to not let people in for the past four years. I let my guard down once two and a half years ago, and I declared that I would never do it again. Colby comes in and rips that guard down without even trying.

Part of me desperately wanted to shut Colby out for the next six weeks for good, and never speak to him again. I knew I couldn't do it. Colby had gotten so far without even knowing or trying. It honestly scared me. What if he found out the truth and left me? What if he pretended it was okay and abused me just like he did?

My body was littered in scars. Some from me, and some from him. I had been victim to numerous attacks by him. Cigarette burns, broken bones, and scars from the blade of his favourite knife. These were stories I kept to myself. I didn't tell anyone, I didn't show anyone. The only person to see them was Colby last night. He didn't see them all. Many were hidden, or I had managed to cover them well or reduce the appearance of them.