January 16th, 2017

Been a while since I wrote to you, journal. Sorry about that. It's been a crazy year.

It's been a pretty busy month for me, actually. I meant to start up writing again as a New Year's resolution, but like many of them, I failed. Got some time tonight. Raw was weird. I had a match with Reigns and Sami Zayn.

I know, right? What year is it? But I'm allowed to be honest in my own journal. I liked it. Sami's always been a cool guy, never lost his positive attitude whether he was a champion or on the bottom of the ladder. But Roman was a good partner, the way he's been before. We fought K.O., Jericho and Braun Strowman. Braun's got some beef with Roman now, apparently. Yikes. Wouldn't wanna be in his shoes.

But things are quiet now. Checked into a hotel, by myself, nice and quiet. And when you live my life, you can enjoy the quiet sometimes. Other times, it sucks.

I promise I'll make more time to write in this thing. I owe it to myself. Besides, it's fun to look back and see how much I've changed.

Especially if I used to be a total bastard.

I wonder if I still am. If certain people think of me that way.

Falling asleep. More tomorrow.

January 17th, 2017

Whoa! Two entries in two days. That must be a new record for me.

But really I'm only writing because I've got something on my mind.

Can I tell you a secret, journal?

I watched Smackdown tonight because Ambrose was booked.

Yeah. Ambrose. It's been a while since that name has left my pen and hit the page. I guess he's got shit going on with Randy Orton right now, who has his own crap going on with the Wyatts. But Ambrose won. 'Course he did. He's always been strong.

But things are different now. We ride separate trains on separate roads to separate shows. We're apart. And I don't see us reuniting anytime soon.

Roman and I have been hanging out in the meantime, sort of. We got dinner tonight after the show. Of course, it was a drive-thru and he dropped me off at my hotel immediately after.

Still, it's nice to know he doesn't completely hate me…anymore.

Smackdown's over and I don't have anything more to say.

January 21st, 2017

Had a live show tonight. Fewer people, no cameras (except for the thousands of iPhones and Androids the venue staff inform fans NOT to use, a rule that's disregarded as soon as the staff turns away.) I was scheduled in a match against Scarf Boy but K.O. came running out looking for a battle, and the boss threw Roman into the brawl as my partner and we took them on together.

And it was awesome.

I MISSED working with Roman. Yeah, yeah, people give him a lot of shit for no good reason. They'd be amazed if they just took a peep back in time and realized, heads out of their asses, how good he is. He was good with me, but he rocks it on his own. He's come so far in a few years and I'm damn proud of him.

Nothing I can say to his face yet. It's just too soon, I think? Too soon to be throwing out compliments to a guy I once stabbed deeply in the back.

But I dunno. Things could change. Things are always changing around here. Except for how much I hate myself.

Ambrose worked a WWE Live show, too. I caught the results on Twitter. Defeated AJ Styles to retain his Intercontinental Title.

He deserves it.

January 24th, 2017

Saw it

Nail it

Drill and cut the bone

All's better

My mistakes here

Than to end up alone

I scream and I try

To make everything right

My soul is dying

And you are the reason

I'm still trying

Just a song I'm trying out. Dunno what the meaning is. Pretty emo, which is how a lot of people label me. So I just roll with it.

Raw was last night and damn, Roman is a powerhouse. He will do whatever it takes to earn a title. He talks shit and kicks ass to back up his speech. He's ready for K.O. at the Royal Rumble, and Jericho gets to watch the entire ordeal from a shark cage. (?) Yeah, I'm a wrestler and I don't even understand wrestling sometimes. But it should be a sick match.

As for me, well. Triple H is pissing me off.

I've been upset with him for several, several months now. As soon as I got hurt and lost my title, he turned on me. Moved onto the next superstar who could make his company look good (and it was Roman, who wouldn't sell out for anything. I could learn a thing or two from him…..) Anyway. Zayn and I ended up competing against each other tonight. He's a good fighter. Hell of an opponent. Triple H wasn't there even though I was ready for him. I'll hunt him down. He can't hide out forever.

I want a match with him.

The guy who raised me into his evil Game and convinced me turning on my brothers was "best for business." Fuck that noise. It got me to value fame over friendship and prizes over people. Which is a crappy mindset. I love people, my people especially. A title belt or two was not worth getting razed by my own self-pity.

And now that I don't have the belt anymore—or anyone to really call my friend—I have nothing to lose by calling the boss out on his shit and taking revenge on him.

Now I know how it feels when someone you respect betrays you.

Ambrose, Reigns, I'm so fucking sorry. Now if only I could say it to your face.

Speaking of Ambrose. He participated in a lumberjack match against the Miz for the IC. Fun match to watch, and Dean ended up winning like I knew he would. I remember when we had a lumberjack match at one SummerSlam, 2014. The year I'd like to cut out of my memory. He rocked it then and he rocked it tonight.

I wish I could tell him how much he rocks.

Maybe the damage is just too much this time. Maybe I just need to stop writing his name.

January 27th, 2017

Fought Braun Strowman tonight. Fucking hell, that guy is huge. I won but by DQ. Shit, man. Everything still hurts on me. Poor Roman, I feel for the guy every time they face off.

Roman had a non-title singles match against Kevin Owens. Then invited me out for a drink.

I almost said no. Strange city, had to be up early, regretting every encounter I've ever had with the guy.

But I said hell, why not? And we hit up this restaurant called the Holidaze Lounge. I thought it'd be uncomfortable but he was talking before I could finish my first drink. Something about ring chemistry. I nodded along, wondering what on earth he was talking about. Us, ring chemistry? Sure, we're both good in the ring—they don't pay us to stand there and look pretty, although we'd make a killing there, too. But he moved onto talk about the Royal Rumble on Sunday, two days away. He told me he was ready to push himself past the limit to win.

"Think you'll be in the Rumble?" I asked him.

"Maybe. But that's not my main focus that night." Then he made me a weird promise. "If we're in there together, I won't take you out."

I shouldn't have said it but I did. "What about Ambrose?"

He shrugged one shoulder and finished his beer with a slurp. "I don't have any business with him right now."

That was a damn hard truth to digest. Those two were the best of friends, in the Shield and out of it, now they were no longer speaking? Yeah, yeah, I know, says the guy who broke the Shield up in the first place. Still. I didn't expect them to end it like this.

But I left it there. We talked wrestling and NXT and guys in Japan, then went our separate ways. I limited myself to that one drink because I didn't wanna get hammered and run my mouth to him the way I run my heart to this journal.

I'm not excited about Sunday, to be honest. I don't have much to look forward to except how the hell I'm gonna deal with seeing Ambrose again for the first time in a while.

Staring with "I'm sorry" might help.

But I can't yet. He won't accept it.

Fuck. I've gotta go to sleep.

January 29th, 2017

Currently listening to: blink182. "I Miss You."

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. I'm chanting that in my head right now because my friend Roman Reigns eliminated the damn Undertaker in the Royal Rumble. I should have warned him ahead of time not to do something like that, but yeah, it happened and I bet 'Taker's PISSED. Roman must not have a bone of fear in his body to accomplish such a feat. Holy shit, indeed.

We'll see what happens, I guess, because he didn't wanna talk about it after the huge match. I gave him his space. Maybe we're not friends again just yet. I gotta stop trying to rush everything.

Except my match with Triple H. I want it at Wrestlemania. Wouldn't that be something? Punishing the boss for his mistakes on the grandest stage of them all? I can dream.

January 30th, 2017

Currently listening to: A Day To Remember, "All I Want."

I'm hurt. I'm fucking hurt again.

Samoa Joe decided to make the surprise of his life and kicked the shit out of me.

I'll back up a little bit. I called out Mr. and Mrs. Triple H, proposing my plan for a fight. Stephanie got all pissy and told me Hunter was coming for me. Good, I thought. Bout freaking time.

But yada, yada, yada, he went on this rant about how I need to apologize to him, something about plucking me from obscurity, all this weird emo shit that probably belongs in a Rolling Stones song. That's when I got attacked by Samoa Joe. He hit me with a metric shit ton of sentons and then fucking choked me with a Coquina Clutch.

And somewhere in that cheap onslaught disaster-fest, my knee started to burn. Badly.

And I'm fucking aggravated.

Doc appointment tomorrow to find out what the deal is. If I have to miss WrestleMania again, something is getting broken. Preferably Hunter.

Wish I could say it was a bad dream.

January 31st, 2017

Dean lost tonight.

February 5th, 2017

Currently listening to: Killswitch Engage, "The End of Heartache."

Irony, really, considering this is the start of mine.

I tore my goddamn MCL.

I might have to miss WrestleMania.

Good fucking gracious. What the hell do I have to do to get a match around here? I don't commit to Crossfit everyday to hurt my knee every fucking day.

Sorry, journal. Got a nasty mouth—err, pen—on me tonight. I'm just pissed. I'm hurt and I feel like shards of glass are digging into my side. I owe Triple H a good ass-whooping, because this is all his fault. And Samoa Joe, too, but Hunter was the one who orchestrated the whole thing.

Bedtime. Pills and ice for the night. Goddammit.

February 6th, 2017

You won't believe who texted me last night, journal.

A lot of people, Roman included, checking up on me after my injury story got posted on social media. But there was a text from one number I didn't recognize, not until I stared at the message for a good long time.

Just two words: "YOU OKAY?"

Ten unknown digits not connected to any contact in my phone.

I figured it out after about five minutes.

Ambrose.

Dean Ambrose was asking me if I was okay.

I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say, yes? A lie. No? That's revealing weakness and I don't do that shit. I'm hurt but I'm not down for the count. I'm injured but I'm getting in that ring as soon as I possibly can, I'm kicking the shit out of Hunter and Joe at the same time, and I'm going back on the road to the WWE championship (they changed the name of it since I've been away.)

Journal, I caved. I just wrote him back.

I just said: "I'm getting there."

Phone says he read it, but in seventeen minutes he hasn't answered me.

Oh, well. Just I'm just one big walking weakling now.

But I won't be down forever. Believe that.

Oh, God, did I really just write that? What the hell's my problem?