Love Like a Sunset Part I

1990

1990

I'll never forget that fateful day in August of 1990 when my life took a dark turn.

The intensity and darkness I had been portraying on screen as the Undertaker were starting to seep into my real life in ways I could never have imagined.

I had just signed with the WWF a few months prior, ready to take on the role of the Undertaker that Vince McMahon had assigned to me.

Despite my initial perplexed and pessimistic feelings about the gimmick, I was eager to sink my teeth into this new character - anything was better than the laughable gimmicks they'd been pushing at the time, like that Gobbledy Gooker nonsense.

So I was fully immersed in embodying this dark, menacing Undertaker persona, this sinister derivative of the old West undertakers from classic TV westerns. Little did I know, that darkness would soon come horrifically crashing into my personal life.

One August evening, I got a frantic call from my wife Chiara. I could hear our young daughter Destiny's terrified screams in the background, and my heart immediately started racing. "What's wrong? Chiara!" I yelled into the phone, my anxiety palpable.

Chiara was in a state of sheer panic, and through her sobs, she told me the unthinkable - Todd had been abusing her.

Physically, mentally, even nearly killing her on one occasion when he attacked her with a goddamn fingernail file, stabbing her and landing her in the hospital.

I felt a white-hot rage building inside me, the darkness of the Undertaker character threatening to consume me.

Without a moment's hesitation, I rushed over there, and when I saw the bruises on Chiara's face and the terror in Destiny's eyes, something inside me snapped.

I unleashed a fury on Todd that I hadn't even tapped into for my Undertaker persona. I beat him mercilessly until the police arrived and dragged him away.

In the aftermath, I was a mess - my two worlds had collided most horrifically, and I was struggling to reconcile the monstrous character I portrayed on TV with the loving father and husband I was supposed to be off-screen.

The lines were blurring, and I found myself sinking deeper into that dark, brooding mindset even when the cameras weren't rolling. It was a lot for me to grapple with.

But through it all, I knew I had to keep pushing forward, for Jodi, Chiara, and Destiny's sake.

So I threw myself even more into the Undertaker role, channeling all that pent-up rage and darkness into my performances.

When I made my official WWF debut at Survivor Series 1990, I was a force to be reckoned with. Emerging as the mystery partner of Ted DiBiase's "Million Dollar Team," I quickly eliminated Koko B. Ware with my devastating Tombstone Piledriver. Koko later told me he thought I'd botched the move, but I assured him it was very much intentional - I was tapping into a level of ruthlessness that even surprised me.

Throughout the rest of 1990, I continued to dominate my opponents, picking up squash victories against a parade of hapless jobbers on Superstars of Wrestling and Wrestling Challenge.

The Undertaker persona was taking on a life of its own, and I was fully committed to embodying this dark, menacing character. I relished the opportunity to be a true antithesis to the goofy, cartoonish gimmicks that had become the norm in the WWF at the time.

But even as I was thriving in this new role, the personal turmoil I was experiencing behind the scenes was starting to weigh heavily on me. The darkness I was portraying on screen was seeping into my real life in ways I couldn't control.

I found myself slipping into these brooding, intense mindsets even when the cameras weren't rolling, and it was taking a toll on my relationships and my mental state.

Chiara did her best to be supportive, but I knew the trauma she had endured with Todd was still fresh, and I couldn't help but feel like I was adding to her pain in some way. I was constantly on edge, my emotions volatile and unpredictable.

The line between Mark Calaway and the Undertaker was becoming dangerously blurred, and I was struggling to maintain a sense of who I truly was.

It was a vicious cycle - the more I immersed myself in the Undertaker character, the more that darkness consumed me in my personal life. I was trapped in this downward spiral, and I didn't know how to pull myself out of it. I felt like I was slowly losing touch with reality, my grip on my own identity slipping away.

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to let go of the Undertaker. This character had become a lifeline for me, a way to channel all the rage and pain I was feeling. It was a twisted form of catharsis, but it was the only thing that seemed to offer me any semblance of control or relief.

So I pressed on, diving deeper into the Undertaker's world, letting the darkness consume me more and more. I knew it couldn't be healthy, but I was powerless to stop it. All I could do was hope that somehow, I'd be able to find a way to reconcile the two sides of myself before it was too late.

It was a precarious balancing act, this double life I was leading. But in the end, the Undertaker was the one who prevailed. That menacing, brooding character had taken over, and I was powerless to stop it. All I could do was lean into it, embrace the darkness, and hope that somehow, I'd be able to find a way to come out the other side.

It was a hell of a ride, that's for sure. But as I look back on it now, I can't help but feel a sense of both pride and dread.

The Undertaker had become a cultural phenomenon, a true icon in the world of professional wrestling.

But at what cost? The personal toll it had taken on me was immeasurable, and I'm still grappling with the aftermath to this day.

All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, the darkness you portray on screen has a way of seeping into your real life in ways you never could have imagined.

And when that happens, it can be damn near impossible to find your way back to the light.