With their upcoming match at Progress Chapter 76: Hello Wembley!, we take a look at the feud between Mark Andrews and Eddie Dennis that’s been a year in the making.
Apparently, we’re back with a vengeance, because it’s 1am when I’m starting this piece, and I’m angry. I try not to be angry a lot; it’s not a good look for me, because at 4’11”, being femme, and using a mobility aid, it’s like that chihuahua on the street yapping at the rottweiler – you know who’s coming off worst if that comes to a fight, and you know, too, that the big dog just doesn’t give a fuck.
Review of Riptide Wrestling’s second show, in Brighton. On paper, it looked pretty good, but how did it live up to its promises in reality?
[Content note: rape, ptsd]
Wrestling isn’t saving my life, but it is changing how I view men, and how I feel about trusting them.
[CN: sexual assault, PTSD, panic attacks, alcohol-induced blackouts]
This is a post I’ve been putting off for a while, partially because I’m not sure who’s really interested in reading about my personal bullshit, and partially because I wasn’t sure I was ready to write it without losing my shit. I work pretty hard to appear normal and functional when I’m at wrestling events (disability aside!) and not let slip the fact that, usually, I’m absolutely terrified of being there. Now, these experiences are by no means universal, and I’m not saying that this applies to everyone. For me, this is how I feel when I go to wrestling shows, as a rape survivor, and someone with PTSD.