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8 Years Ago Crashed My Motorbike, 3 Years Ago Tried To Kill Myself, Welcome to "Gorilla My Dreams"

Tim Stiles writes.

Knockaround-Guy may be Struggle-Town's masked defender, but there are others who help keep the streets safe. Welcome to Gorilla My Dreams: Gorilla Tails.

Gorilla My Dreams can best be described as: "Batman: The Animated Series mashed into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles if Saturday morning cartoons came on after 10pm."

[TRIGGER WARNING! Attempted suicide, depression]

On the surface, Struggle-Town is just like any other comic book city; People from different walks of life hustle back and forward to make a living. The rich are chauffeured while the poor catch busses. They rush around like ants through the daylight hours and withdraw to their homes by the time the sun goes down.

And the next day they do it all again.

It's not until you look a little closer that you realise some of these people aren't people at all. Amongst the cops and garbage collectors, the strippers and businessmen, you might occasionally see a cowboy riding a velociraptor or a talking plant. Sometimes there's a drunk duck being served drinks by a sasquatch.

This is Struggle-Town.

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Although Struggle-Town is frequented by the world's premiere superheroes, The Vigilance, one hero patrols the streets and protects the civilians from crime and trouble: Knockaround-Guy!

Knockaround-Guy is a superhero in a bold blue and white super suit. He doesn't have any powers. Did I mention he's a talking gorilla? And he's not that smart? Kind of fails his way into solving a case? Thing is, even though he's not the best or the brightest he puts his whole heart into what he does. And have you seen the size of a gorilla heart?

That's him in a nutshell.

So, where did Struggle-Town and Knockaround-Guy come from?

That's the real story…

Eight years ago, I crashed my motorbike. Three years ago, I tried to kill myself. I'm a comic book creator and I struggle with chronic pain, depression, and PTSD.

I've been a comic book nerd since I was thirteen years old.

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I remember the summer of 1989. My family was holidaying at my grandma's place up the coast. My younger brother and I were given our weekly pocket money and we walked three blocks to the corner store. We had planned to buy chocolate and Coke and ride a sugar rush for the day.

But the comic book rack caught our eye instead.

I walked out with Captain America #365 and Silver Surfer #34 (I still have both those comics. Torn, creased, and dog-eared from reading them hundreds of times, bagged and boarded despite them not being worth anything). I think my brother scored a Peter David Hulk and maybe a Punisher or Wolverine. Maybe Spider-Man. I can't remember.

My life changed that day. I've been a comic book nerd ever since.

Life goes on and Captain America is there every step of the way.

Eight years ago I was riding my motorbike on a Sunday afternoon. The sump-plug came out of my bike and I slid on my own bike's oil. I remember trying to correct the slide and then rolling on the road.

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I leapt to my feet and got off the road as fast as possible. I knew there were cars around. That's when I realised I was missing a shoe.

I was confused and couldn't think straight. I tried to take my helmet off but it was too hard with only my left hand. Only my left hand? Why was I trying to unstrap my helmet with only my left hand?

A man came running over to me. He'd seen the accident. I asked him to unstrap my helmet. He said something I can't remember and I yelled "TAKE OFF MY HELMET!" He did. I looked down to my right arm, wondering why it wouldn't do what my brain was telling it. It didn't make sense. Maybe while I was rolling on the road my jacket slipped a bit? Maybe I was looking at an empty sleeve? But the gloved fingers were wriggling at the end of the "empty" sleeve. How was the glove moving… if the sleeve… was empty? And if it wasn't… empty, why… wasn't my… right… arm… doi–

I woke up on the side of the road. I had passed out. There was a woman looking down on me. She said she was a nurse and asked if she could ring someone. I told her my phone was in my pocket and to ring Kelda, the director of the play I'd been working on. It's supposed to open in three weeks and I don't want to let her down.

I woke up again and now a man was standing over me. He was dressed in blue and I could see an ambulance nearby. He says he wants to cut off my t-shirt to get my jacket off. I tell him no. It's my favourite t-shirt.

I woke up again in the ambulance. This is the first time I remember the pain. The same man says he's going to give me something I can't pronounce or remember.

I woke up again going through an X-Ray machine.

I kept passing out over the next few days. Apparently I'd hit my head pretty hard. My right humerus was shattered (and yes, I've had six thousand people tell me "That's not very humorous". It doesn't get old). After surgery (and a kilogram of stainless steel and screws in my bones) the surgeon told me I'd be in pain for the rest of my life.

Hello chronic pain, my old friend. Every minute of every day.

That's also when the depression crept in. But I pretty much didn't notice it under the constant static that is the chronic pain.

Life goes on and Captain America was there every step of the way.

Five years later, on the darkest day of my life, I tried to kill myself.

But that's a story for another time.

My point is: this is why I write comic books. I always had Captain America and Hellboy and Ninja Turtles to distract me from the woes of life, to help me recover from the traumas, and just to give me joy.

I write comics in the hopes that they help people out there doing it tough. I hope when someone has nowhere else to turn they can immerse themselves in another universe, to help ease the pain, even if only for a few minutes. I'm not pretentious enough to say that my comics are going to save lives, but I really hope that they help someone.

This gorilla superhero, this Knockaround-Guy: he makes mistakes, he's insecure about what he does, he gets depressed. He fails a lot.

But he keeps getting out of bed every day, no matter how hard it is. And damned if he doesn't do his best every day.

And what more can we ask from our superheroes? From our family and friends? From ourselves?

Doing your best is good enough. And if your best means you can't get out of bed today? That you can't face the world today? That's fine. We don't ask any more of you than that.

Gorilla my Dreams was only ever supposed to be a one-shot, a done-in-one story. But Knockaround-Guy is me. I am Knockaround-Guy. And Knockaround-Guy is you. And he has more adventures to have. Even if he struggles to get out of bed in the morning.

The second issue of Gorilla my Dreams (Gorilla Tails) has just funded on Kickstarter, but I've set up a couple of the more popular pledge levels as Late Pledges on my webstore for the readers of Bleeding Cool.

I'd love to get Gorilla My Dreams into your hands.

GORILLA MY DREAMS: GORILLA TAILS – In Struggle-Town the streets are protected by Knockaround-Guy, a talking gorilla who fancies himself a superhero.

Written by Big Tim Stiles, Art by Ahmed Raafat and Nathan Kelly, Edited by Shawn M. Greenleaf, Stretch Goal art by Carlos Pedro, Darren Close, and Paul Gori Available Sept 2019 (Late Pledges close 31 August 2019)

 


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Rich JohnstonAbout Rich Johnston

Founder of Bleeding Cool. The longest-serving digital news reporter in the world, since 1992. Author of The Flying Friar, Holed Up, The Avengefuls, Doctor Who: Room With A Deja Vu, The Many Murders Of Miss Cranbourne, Chase Variant. Lives in South-West London, works from Blacks on Dean Street, shops at Piranha Comics. Father of two. Political cartoonist.
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