Everything Passes by Time

I’ve thought about death a lot over the past few years.

About Dying. And what it might be like if I wasn’t around.

I’ve struggled a ton since I left hockey being a Tamil Nadu State Level Hockey Player under age 16 category in 2010, and I’ve faced a bunch of different personal demons. But recently I’ve been unable to shake thoughts of….

Adam Sinclair

V. Raja

Mukesh Kumar

Suraj Karkera

I knew those guys. They were real people to me.

They played the same game I did, and when it was all said and done … they were really just suffering, man. They struggled with depression and anxiety and substance abuse and just … pain. All of the things I’ve been dealing with. They went through some of the exact same stuff.

And now … I talk about them in the past tense. How they were my friends. And how they used to be my brothers.

Whenever things get really bad, and I find myself thinking about death, it’s always in the context of release. Escaping the pain. And no longer being around to make the lives of those I love miserable. The idea of dying as a way out. And even though I definitely wouldn’t say death has been something that I’ve wanted — that I actually wanted to die — at the same time, when I’d hit those low points, it was like … I didn’t exactly not want it, either. In a lot of ways, as things got worse for me, death started to seem not so bad.

But the whole time, as thoughts of dying have ricocheted around in my head, there has always been another thought that I just couldn’t seem to shake. I’m not sure where it came from, or why it became so prominent for me, but it would keep breaking into my mind and kind of overtake all the really dark stuff. It goes something like this:

If you die now, without speaking up or saying anything … what good will that do?

I couldn’t get that out of my head — the idea that dying in silence would just be … I don’t know … such a waste. And when I couldn’t get beyond thoughts about how sad it would be to die in silence, I started thinking about trying to write something — trying to tell my story … the full story, warts and all — in the hopes that maybe what I say will help someone down the line.

Up to this point, I’ve shied away from doing that. I’m not one who really likes to talk. And I’m a person who has always tried to kind of do things on his own. But I’ve actually come to realize that’s all sort of just … bullshit.

And I’ve gotten so tired of telling people that everything’s passes by time.

I’ve lied for too long. I can’t lie anymore. Everything’s not pass by time. Things have actually been pretty awful for me in a lot of ways. And I’m tired of the act.

So, you know … here we are.

That’s why I’ve finally decided to put pen to paper.

Like I said, I don’t want to die. But, you know, nothing is for certain. And I’m tired of keeping quiet. So for whatever it’s worth … here goes.

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The story of my professional hockey career isn’t a pretty one. It’s not overflowing with highlight-reel goals or big-game hat tricks.

For the 5 years I played in Tamil Nadu, between 2006 and 2011, I was mainly known as a tough guy. I was a fighter, a thug — someone you wouldn’t want to mess with unless you were looking to get punched in the face.

But let me be more specific. You want to know how I played the game?

I tried to hurt people.

That’s what I was there for. A lot of people don’t want to hear that, but it’s the honest truth. So, yes, for instance, I would try to injure you if that was the difference between winning and losing a hockey game. I’d do whatever was asked of me. And I can tell you that, yes, coaches do actually sometimes tap you on the back and tell you to get out there on the ice and fight. Whether you want to believe it or not, it happens.

And I was always game — right there at a moment’s notice, ready to oblige.

I’d do it for my team, and, as weird as it sounds, for … the game. Because as best I could tell, being tough, and one guy knocking the snot out of another guy, and showing no mercy, well … those things had always been part of our sport.

I had it in my head that there was a specific way that hockey needed to be played. And there was a level honor to it, a certain pride that came along with kicking some ass.

I didn’t enjoy it, though. That’s for sure.

It’s what I did, and it paid the bills and allowed me to support my family. But I never loved it.

In truth, I absolutely hated to fight. I was scared to death of fighting. But what are you supposed to do when that’s your meal ticket, you know?

When you get paid to rough people up on the ice, and you’ve never really done anything for a living but play hockey … you don’t have all that much choice but to go out there and you do your job — no matter how afraid you are. But it definitely wasn’t easy for me.

On the nights before we played, I wouldn’t be able to get any rest. I’d be lying on a bed in a hotel room, just kind of nervous and on edge … worried about what was going to happen to me out on the ice the next day.

Sleep? For me? That’s what sleeping pills were for.

And by the time the game rolled around, I’d usually be a total mess on the inside. My approach was always to pick fights with guys who were bigger than me, because I felt like in those cases I’d have nothing to lose. My thinking was, If I get lucky and win one … I look good. And if I get my ass kicked, I still look good because I’m the smaller guy — the underdog punching up.

Looking back on it now, that plan probably wasn’t the best approach because….

I got my ass kicked a lot. For years and years. I did some ass-kicking for sure, don’t get me wrong, but I also took my lumps. Sometimes it’s just not your night. Even the toughest guys in the team get pummeled on occasion. And I can tell you for a fact that all those punches definitely took their toll on me.

But there was so much more to it than that when it came to all the head trauma I experienced during my hockey career.

I can honestly say that it was the everyday hits during the course of the game — little blind-side shots and other things you wouldn’t even notice if you were watching on TV — that did the most damage over time.

The thing about hockey is that it’s a fast game. Things happen in the blink of an eye. People are flying around. And when you get your bell rung, it’s not like everything stops. You know what I mean? You just keep playing. That’s how it works.

And it wasn’t really my coaches who pushed me to be that way. I expected it from myself. It was the only way I knew — me basically doing what I thought I was supposed to do, and what I saw everyone else doing. Push through, ignore the pain, finish out the shift, all that shit. It was all second nature to me.

So I’m definitely not looking to blame my coaches or anyone else for all those head hits I took over the years and never really said anything about.

I did it to myself. No doubt.

But I just fucking toughed it out every time and kept things moving.

Later in my career, it got to a point where I started blacking out after I took a big hit to the Leg. I’d kind of just wake up in the trainer’s chair with no recollection of what had gone down in the game for the most part, or even things leading into the game. Then I’d go back and watch the tape and see myself doing all sorts of stuff out on the ice that wasn’t familiar. It was like watching someone else play in my body.

And it was scary.

But by that point, I honestly didn’t even care anymore. I was gone, man. Straight up. I didn’t feel anything. I was a dead man striking. My last few games, I was out there basically just flat-out killing myself for the team.

During my 10th Standard Schooling, I got hit three times in the same leg, with three punches, and got knocked out all three times.

It was absolutely insane.

Yes, ours is a physical, violent sport. And it may be the case that we cannot rid hockey of that violence and danger altogether. But at the very least let’s deal with the issues that arise as a result of that. Deal with the head trauma. Deal with the concussions. And deal with all of the ramifications that those things bring about.

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Enough is fucking enough already.

I’ve been a company man for too long at this point. I’ve sat back and deteriorated, day after day, month after month, year after year … and I’ve never said a word. Never badmouthed the team. Even on my darkest days, when things were as bleak as they could get.

But I realize now that I can’t go on that way anymore. I need to speak up about what’s been happening to me and lend support to others who are struggling.

Simply put: Something has to change sooner rather than later.

For me individually, nothing is guaranteed at this point. I’ve still got lots of issues to try and fight through, and every day presents new challenges. But one thing I know for certain is that I’m done lying and pretending that everything’s passes by time, because bottling things up like I had been for all those years … that’s like walking around as a ticking time bomb.

And it’s no way to live.

Those days are over for me now. And I feel good knowing that I have spoken out and that I’m on the right side of this issue.

I have a mission now. A purpose.

And that feels really good.

Sharing my story with the world is just the beginning.

My life, I’m telling you right now, will not end up being a waste.

by Gokul Shrinivas