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| Depiction of a wight by Will O'Brien |
I knew what I was doing. I had been told by several people that I should go for my wight trial, that I was ready. I started telling people I was going to do it, and then I told more people so that it would be less and less likely that I could just silently back out. I smiled and marched into camps the first weekend of Ragnarok and cheerfully asked people to "FITE ME please?" On Monday people kept trying to pump me up - both unit mates and friends from other units. They said that I was ready and a good fighter and of course I'd pass. I'd tear up every time because of the anxiety that bubbled in my chest. I didn't want to fail. I was so afraid of failing. People kept trying to give me advice and encouragement but it wasn't helping. A few people got the hint - they said they were specifically not going to say anything, or they gave me pointers about things to look for.
I got dressed and geared up and sat down, alternating between staring blankly at nothing and putting on a brave face when people would try to talk to me. Finally, I had had enough. With an hour to go, I went to my tent and tried to meditate. I just couldn't. The anxious thoughts came stabbing through repeatedly and clearly so after five minutes, I gave up. I went back to sitting in my camp with my back turned to the gate so I wouldn't see the people arriving. I thought about everything that could go wrong. I could choke. I could shame my unit and my gender by failing. I could get injured and endure the embarrassment of not being able to finish the trial. Maybe not enough people would show. I had only gone to a handful of camps.
My friend gave me an orange. He's really into martial arts and swears by having citrus 15 minutes before sparring for energy. I was just glad to have something to focus on. I rolled the orange on the table between my hands and checked the time, waiting for 7:45 PM when I could have my orange. I ate my orange and tried to focus on breathing. Finally, it was time. I got my gear and... my sword was missing. I have three of them, but the medium-length, stabby-tip I'd been practicing with leading up to the trial was just gone. My friends and I tore apart the camp looking for it as I choked down the panic that this would be the deciding factor in whether I failed or passed. Luckily, my primarch had the exact same weapon and I was able to borrow his.
I didn't notice how many people were there until I had the sword in my hand and the drums started. There were so many people. I learned later that any of my unit mates who wanted to partake in my trial were removed to fit more fighters, and still more had to be turned away. I had been worried not enough people would show up. That seemed ludicrous at that point.
This is where everything gets fuzzy. I don't remember a lot about the actual fighting and I'm not sure why - head injury, adrenaline, sheer exhaustion? Anyway, there were some highlights I can recall. I won my first bout with a long-time fighter that other wights had not been able to touch. I got clocked in the jaw by a shield-breaking weapon. I got hit in the ear to the point that I lost stereo for a bit. I screamed and charged and ran people into the dirt. I only grappled once, and I lost that bout. Between every couple of fights I sat and hydrated, had water poured on my head and back, and ate orange slices. I don't really remember anything people told me during the process. Every time I went back into the ring my corner people cried, "DEATHWISH!" and the drumming started up again.
I was halfway through the first round of fights when I started wondering if I could endure until the very last fights. I didn't know how I could muster up that kind of energy, especially given my lack of exercise and abandonment of my 15k training this year due to scheduling issues. I just kept going, a couple of fights at a time. When I felt wobbly, or gave illegal head shots, or my corner people told me to, I took a break. The whole process took 4 hours.
People who were watching said that I started out well in the first round, faded in the second, and came back hard in the third after getting clocked in the jaw. My primarch made it a point to tell me, "You're doing well" or "You're doing really good" any time he was near me as he kept track of the circle of fighters. "You only got two, tree more... rounds," said my other primarch, who was mostly drumming the whole time.
Finally, I somehow got to the final few fights. There were literally "two, tree more", and that's when my unit mates got a stab at me. Coxxyx, Boggs, my knight Ten Feets, and my primarch Hivemind all piled in toward the end. My most memorable kill was Hivemind. He probably hasn't taken the field with sword and board for years at this game. When he sauntered up I was exhausted, but I went for a quick stab to the chest and it was over before it could even start.
I hugged and thanked as many people as I could. I felt like crying at points, especially when people gave me encouragement, but I held back. It wasn't the time to lose it - not until I was done.
It felt like the decision came immediately after I was done. Primarch Dust-and-Bones called me into the circle and presented me as "Wight Deathwish" and I lost it. I cried and closed my eyes, like I couldn't keep them open any more. I felt people rushing in to crowd me, jumping and chanting. I think they must have kept me up because I felt like I was made completely of noodles at that point.
I somehow made it to a chair, and my unit mates stripped me of all of my gear and as much of my clothing as they could while still keeping me decent for public. I was escorted to my tent and then given space. I sat down on my bed and cried, hard. I couldn't believe I had passed. I didn't know how. I wasn't keeping track, or knowing what people were looking for, or really remembering a majority of the fights, but I did it.
It's been over a week and I've been thinking a lot about how this trial mirrors a lot of things about my fight with depression. I truly believe that it is my support and community that has gotten me through both fights. I've wanted to quit in both instances. I've been afraid of what people would think of me if I lost in both cases. I am victorious in both. Still, the wight test is a one-time thing and this fight with depression is likely a life-long battle but I've survived everything life has thrown at me up to this point, so that's a pretty good track record. I still have no idea how powerful I can be and what power I can tap into when the chips are down, but now I know that I will always fight until the very last - more fights than anyone before me has had to endure.
I did it.
I passed.
I have wight people problems.
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