THE TEAM TRAUMA

RED ICE

The crease is painted bright red. You know it’s not supposed to be red, it’s supposed to be blue. A recent development, perplexing.A voice shouts obscenities. It’s one of the defensemen. They’re always shouting. He throws his gloves off and presses his hands over your neck, firm. He’s apologizing over and over again, until it doesn’t sound like real words anymore.I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.The team is wearing the alternate jerseys tonight. Black and bronze, reminiscent of dim city lights in the evening, dark stains like storm clouds ripping the sky apart.A whistle blows, the linesman yells for a medic and a stretcher. The play is dead. The arena is incredibly quiet. You realize that you’re bleeding out. It’s not painful. You just feel a little cold.You are going to die.Just hang on, okay? Stay with me, please, hold on. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He’s panicking, his voice hoarse, as if words could stop the bleeding. But sharp steel is unforgiving. He keeps begging for it to stop, his hands shaking. Your blood is pulsing through his fingers. His words don’t sound like words. I’m sorry. Please.His hands are warm on your skin. He’s trying to say your name, but he’s choking up.It’s okay, you tell him. [It’s fine. I’m fine.You collapse in his arms.

the haze breaks through itself,
filling my chest,
weighing my shoulders.
the fog wants to roll in
to tuck in the bay.
but my bridge lays naked,
steel and concrete weeping;
the clarity unwelcome

Found this really weird hockey card from the 2003-04 season. It's holo, which is cool. It’s of Dougie Campbell. The back says something strange, though, instead of the usual fun fact.“I’m sorry. I don’t deserve to be here. I really am sorry. Please don’t ask me anything else. Hans would hate this.”It’s his closing statement from his post-game interview after his first NHA start, only two days after Roxie’s career ending injury. Campbell let in 3 goals out of only 20 shots. The Blades lost. But no one really cared about that one loss, anyways.Everyone was scared Rox would die, and the GM refused to talk about why he’d paid out their contract and let them go from the Blades, insisting it’s a private matter, that their family—which they are estranged from—would make a statement soon. They never did. Goldstrom got traded to Montreal soon after. It was his fault. We know now that Roxie didn’t die, but it really seemed like it. Them suddenly becoming a recluse after their injury didn’t help the rumor that they’ve died. Maybe it was easier for them to be dead for a while, considering the state of the Blades and the NHA back then.Sixby was devastated and played even worse than Campbell. Cam didn’t have a choice. He put up some great numbers for the latter half of the 2002-03 season. Sixby demoted herself to secondary goalie due to some stress injuries, then retired the next season. Campbell’s been starting goalie since, but he’ll probably retire soon, when his contract is up. Must be weird that Roxas is head coach and GM now. I wonder if they’re close.It’s still a weird thing to put on a hockey card, though. Maybe it’s a knockoff card. But who the hell made it?[I still don't know who made this card. It freaks me out][That's a lie, sorry, I made this up. But wouldn't that be fucked up]

Eulogy

your blood
staining the ice
repainting the creaseyour blood
tracing the footsteps
coloring inside the lines[been 10 years today. I miss you. I'm sorry]

I broke myself again and again and again and again until I could reach what you were reaching for and grabbed it, held it in the air for all to see. I said it was for you. Everyone else says I’ve reached the peak. But you can’t tell me that. You can’t tell me if it was all worth it, you can’t tell me I did a good job, you can’t do anything. Your blood stains the ice and the river and the bay and my hands and my mind. But I’m colorblind. I don’t actually know what red blood looks like. It just looks dark to me. That’s how I remember it.I told you that when we first met. I said I couldn’t tell the difference between red and green, I have to rely on the shades of brown it all flattens into. And then you laughed and told me that your tinnitus sounds like cheering, if you squint hard enough.“I don’t see everything and you don’t hear everything.” I mused.Then you said, “Well, does anyone?”I thought it was funny.

i’ve known you longer
than i have known
my real nameyou’ve known me longer
and i’ve forgotten your sins
no matter.it’s all the same[I still don't understand why they love me despite how I hurt them. Even if it was accidental, it was still my fault. I'm trying my best to understand.][I mean, I suppose they've hurt me too. But I don't have scars like that. Except for stupid shit I did to myself.][Sorry, not self-harm or anything, outside of like, playing hockey, I guess. I meant I dropped a sword on my face while trying to hang it up in my apartment. It was really stupid. When the media asked me about it I just said 'I dropped a claymore sword on my face' and they all kind of chuckled thinking I was doing a bit, then moved on. It's kind of a relief no one believes me about it, to be honest]

What the hell is wrong with me?

circles. all i've been fucking drawing and thinking about is circles. i don't know why. i only felt happy when i completed a perfect circle, using my hand as a compass. maybe it was the sense of completion, i was getting frustrated when the ends didn't meet where they needed to.but sometimes i wasn't frustrated. i drew wobbly circles, inside other circles. i don't know if that has any deeper meaning.i thought a lot about leaving this town. i really like the idea of moving away and starting over, and find myself, maybe. but that also scares me. i don't even know what i am right now, who i am. i just don't want to exist, but dying gives me anxiety. at least that part of me is normal.(i'm not really afraid of dying, per se, just what people would do after i did--strangers lying about how much they loved me and friends devastated that they didn't see it.)i hate talking. i hate talking a lot. but somehow i can do this dumb diary thing.at practice today i feel like i played like i usually do. bit slow but good stamina. okay positioning. but it wasn't fun at all. i wasn't having fun.there's only two other times that happened.1. when i was first starting out and i was dragged to a power skating camp. i couldn’t do any of the fucking drills. i felt so stupid. i could barely do a crossover forwards, and they were trying to have me go down the damn ice backwards, crossovers only. i was crying. some kid told me, hey, there’s 80 year old wands fans who have never seen a cup, and there’s 6 year old colts fans who’ve seen two already. (it helped me through that, i guess, and i guess he was saying that people develop at different rates, but i still was not having fun and went home wanting to just stop playing hockey.)2. when i was hanging out behind the rink after a tournament and tried weed for the first time. i was fucking stupid and took three massive hits after the older guys offered it to me. it was terrible i was coughing my eyes out and within ten minutes my heart was beating like a jackhammer and i threw up behind the dumpster. i thought I was dying. i had to lie flat on the cold asphalt behind the arena for an hour feeling like my brain was floating two feet above my head. i swore I’d never touch that shit again.today was different. i don't really see a reason why i had no fun. even when we're losing i have fun, and we had the game tied for most of itbefore that i went to the psychiatrist, we talked about fuck shit and i'm still chronically tired and foggy. i told him i was dissociating a lot. he said that's not good. i thought, yeah, it's not. he told me that i need to see my therapist again. i said, yeah, okay, cool. he asked me if talking about gender makes me uncomfortable. i said, yeah, it does, i wish i could just wake up and be what i want to be. he said, okay, maybe you're tired because you keep carrying all of this, like a weight on your back, keeping you from skating your full speed.i said, yeah. i guess that makes sense, wait, no, i don't know.then he asked if i want to talk to my dad. i thought, fuck no. i said, i don't like talking to him. but maybe i can talk to mom about it.my progress is like a circle, i guess you can say. i'm going places, yeah, but i always end back up in the same fucking place: not knowing what to do, not setting priorities straight, not speaking when i should be.i kept on drawing circles which ends don't meet.i don't know if that means anything.[Found this in an old backup drive from high school, right before my dad killed himself. The psychiatrist was wrong, by the way. The weight on my back wasn't metaphorical.][Also, I have no memory of talking about gender with a psychiatrist. Or even meeting a psychiatrist ever. Maybe that was my first and last time I've been to the shrink][I'm working on getting a referral, okay?][guess whos lying on the ground againnnnnnnn]

I wake up cold, covered in sweat. I sit up, stomach tight, my throat threatening to jump out. I rub my neck.You’re still asleep on the other side of the bed, curled up. Your brows are furrowed, mouth set in a deep frown, short black hair tied back in a stubby ponytail.I lay back down, scoot closer to wrap an arm around you. Your expression softens slightly, the tension melting.The scar is obvious, even after all these years. It hasn’t faded. It’s been baked to your skin instead. I still feel awful whenever I see it, though you’ve never blamed me.You stir, then yawn loudly. You woke me up, you growl.Sorry. I apologize and let go of you. My hands hesitate, words unable to form.I’m sorry that I let go of you.What? You need something? You ask, before draping your arms over my body.Your brown eyes are sleepy, blinking at me in the dim city light that’s bleeding through the curtains. You poke at my fingers and at my own scars, waiting for a response.Stay with me, I end up saying. Please stay with me.You laugh softly, close your eyes, and press your head to my chest.[this one's too much. delete before submitting]

Notice: You have been indefinitely blocked from editing Wikipedia for persistent violations of Neutral Point of View (WP:NPOV), Conflict of Interest (WP:COI), and No Original Research (WP:NOR) on the article Hans Roxas.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

i know i will grow old and weak
eventually, eventually
i will die of mediocrity
eventually, eventuallyi'll get over my grandeur
eventually, eventually
then i'll stop wanting more
eventually, eventuallymy art will just die with me
eventually, eventually
dissolved into the salty sea
eventually, eventually[Was 34 when I wrote this. It kind of reads like I wrote it as some angsty teen though. Terrifying implications here]

ticker

SF — A. SHEPPARD (D) — DAY-TO-DAY. Comment: Head coach Hans Roxas stated that Sheppard (lower body) will begin the 2017-18 regular season on the injured non-roster list, per SF Sports Chronicle.

SF — H. ROXAS (G) — ...

MTL — D. KARR (D) INJURED RESERVE. Comment: Karr (undisclosed) was placed on the injured non-roster list on Friday.

MTL — J. GOLDSTROM (D) INJURED RESERVE. Comment: Goldstrom (back) is out indefinitely, the team announced yesterday.

i am the third car of an eight car train
on the blue line towards daly citymany people stumble in and out of my doors every day
clumsy and fragile
they sometimes kill themselves upon my pathi have seen children grow up,
i have seen humanity cry,
i have seen the cruelty of it allbut there's something else too
beneath it all.
what is that?

i see only the scleras
all white and bloodshot
i can't bear to look at blue eyes anymore
they give me hypothermia, frostbite,
and back stabbing painsback and forth back and forth
he comes to the table, offering nothing but himself
and his laugh
blue eyes,
white guys,
time flies[Trying to imagine myself in his shoes. I don't know. How can he still care? Why is he defending a monster? I don't get it. I really don't.][Nevermind, I'm just as awful, aren't I.][Well, no. I didn't hurt him. I just protected him. That's what she asked me to do, to look after him.][SHE WOULD HATE THIS. SHE WOULD HATE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH]

when i peel my skin back,
am i more attractive?
when i peel my skin back,
am i still ugly?

FROM: D-KKK
TO: JSG
This is your fault. Congrats on another one.

it's an AM in the morning
i'm feeling kinda sad
my rhymes are always boring
stupid dumb and badi want to take a break from life
do nothing for a year
rake the leaves and rake my strife
feel like i belong herethere's a gap that's really far
in my consciousness
not sure if my hands are cleaning
or if they're making messit's an AM in the morning
but please don't worry much
hidden under flooring
body bags and suchit's an AM in the morning
i'm feeling kinda mad
the boys i am adoring
are crying like they're fags

i'm clueless because i think
i'm worthless.
i'm worthless because i think
i'm ugly.
i'm ugly becuase i think
i'm clueless[Delete this. Like, alright man, pack it up, we know you suck.][Well, actually, I kinda like it ties back to the circle thing. Maybe change the words though?]

i only feel happy
under the influence
i'm closer to dying
but hey, it feels better
than i usually do.physical pain is the pain i prefer
the flavor isn't bitter, isn't sour
it's the type of pain that i know how to handle
with some ice, some pressure, some time.i miss you a lot
under the influence
you're so far away
but hey, it feels better
than i usually do.

what if i just dropped dead
everything has been made before
what if i just dropped dead?
the world would keep running—
my presence is only an inconvenience
to myself.[probably a normal thing to think]

I'm doing fine.
Been dealing with this for a long time,
I'll be alright

[it's strange to look back on my memories,
my feelings,
my old headchecks.
i wonder if Theseus considered himself
the same man
throughout his own lifetime]

across the bar, across the table,
across the 580 and 680 and
a cross hanging from a necki ask you for a drink, and you
cup your hands and
let me lap it upi gaze at you and
think about
what we could write together[BOOOOOOOOO!!! BOO!!!! GET OFF THE STAGE]

SHE WOULD HATE THIS. SHE WOULD HATE THIS. SHE WOULD HATE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH.