Depression is a motherfucka. It’s one of those things were you’re like “Yo, I got shit to do today.” And depression responds with “If you don’t sit you bitch ass down, somewhere! We gotta wallow in our own self-pity for 3 and a half hours!”

Well I was knee deep in depression. I sat in my crib for days. Shit felt like I was caught in quicksand and no matter how much I struggled to get out I kept sinking further and further into it. I didn’t want to do anything, I didn’t want to go anywhere, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. So I just sat there feeling sorry for myself.

Plainfield, New Jersey
Monday, May 21, 2018
1:45pm Eastern Standard Time

Pest sat in his living room surrounded by various empty food containers. He looked a mess; his formally white tank top was stained various colors from the food he had dropped on it, his normally shaved face was now filled with thick stubble, and it looked like he had barely slept. We hear knocking in the background, however Pest doesn’t respond to the knocking. After a few moment we hear a door open and close and Beasley walks into the shot.

Nigga! What the fuck?

Pest doesn’t respond.

Yo, Pest. Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting in this living room this whole time. I’ve been callin you all weekend; no answer. I’ve been texting you; no response. You wasn’t at the club this weekend; the fucking DJ was so coked out that he didn’t even show up on Saturday night. I had to call another DJ to rock the spot. So once again…Nigga! What the fuck?

Pest looks over at Beasley.

Did you fire DJ Snow-Nose? (The name of the DJ is defiantly not DJ Snow-Nose)

Beasley tilts his head to the side and throws his hands up.

Oh shit! It speaks!

Man, what do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?

Busy…

Beasley looks around at Pest’s filthy living room.

Looks to me like you’re being a filthy lazy piece of shit. I mean…Jesus Christ dog, this place is fucked up. What the hell’s goin on with you?

Pest shifts around on the couch.

Nothing man…I’m straight.

Bullshit…you are way past straight at this point. Sitting around here feelin sorry for yourself when you should be getting your mind right for the battle royal.

Man…fuck that battle royal. I’m not wastin my time with that bullshit. I’m sick of lettin dez muthafuckas play me.

Beasley shakes his head.

You don’t get it do you?

Get what?

These niggas got you right where they want you. Got you in here broken, sniveling like a little bitch. Just gonna sit here and be XWF’s little whippin boy.

Well, what choice do I have? I’m stuck in this contract and I can’t do shit about it. I’m double fucked here. So what’s the point? I’m gonna just sit here and and ride this shit out.

Or…and hear me out on this one…You can be a fucking man and go take what’s yours. You can show dez muthafuckas who you are and that they fucked up by trying to play you. You can get up off your ass and go toss muthafuckas out the ring and hope one of them lands on their heads.

That’s gonna be a no for me dog.

I’m just sayin man it’s better than rolling around in your own filth. Think about it. I gotta go; just wanted to make sure you’re alive. Do yourself a favor…take a shower and shave. This hobo fashion statement isn’t a good look for ya dog. I’ll holla

Yeah…so the depression stage wasn’t very pretty. I sat there for another day or so until I snapped out of it. During that time all of the things that I had heard over the course of those couple of weeks bounced around in my head. What was I gonna do? How was I going to deal with this situation? And then it came to me…the final stage.

Acceptance.

Sydney, Australia
Saturday, May 26, 2018
9:25pm New South Wales Time

We open to a shot of Pest sitting on a stool in an empty room. The camera zooms in creating a tight shot on his face.

And so here I am; accepting my situation. And as much as the situation sucks, it is what it is. I’ll deal with it. But I came to a realization. You see, when I came to this company I had the goal of money, bitches, and championships. That’s what I aspired to obtain…that’s all I wanted.

But now…now all I care about if fuckin shit up.

Cause if it’s fuck me, XWF…it’s fuck you too!

I don’t care about winning another match around here. I don’t give a fuck about winning a championship. And this company giving me money doesn’t matter. None of that is important to me anymore. The only thing that’s important from this point forward is being this company’s worst nightmare.

So I’ll be in that battle royal...I’ll be there to cause havoc. I’ll be there to fuck people up, it doesn’t matter who it is. And If I win the match in the process, then so what. I won’t really care. I hear that other cats have been cutting promos regarding this match and a few people have had some shit to say about me.

My response?

Take your opinions about me and shove them up your asses. All of you are irrelevant to me now. I don’t give a fuck about what you have to say, and I don’t give a fuck about what your plans are regarding this match. If you are near me, get away or get fucked up; plain and simple. I’m sure that none of you are gonna take heed to this advice.

Fine by me, I’ll just beat the shit out of you and keep it moving.

XWF, I want you to remember something…I didn’t cause this problem. You did this to yourself. And at this point there’s nothing you can offer me to change things. I’m gonna fuck this place up, so it’s in your best interest to keep fucking me over like you have be. Anything short of that will be your undoing.

Holla at cha later bitch.