Discovering the religion of ink and the importance of 2 wings.

I was 18 when I got my first tattoo, I wanted a phoenix, so I got one. It was the beginning of a healing that will probably be a lifelong work in progress. The asshole I was with at the time hated the idea, it was against his religion. As was sex, drugs and rock and roll, more or less, I was against his religion. The tongue ring I got earlier in that relationship, while he made fun of my slurred speech the first few weeks, he thoroughly approved of, but the tattoo was sure to cause a fight. By this time in the relationship I knew it would be ending soon and maybe this was my way to celebrate the best decision of my life, maybe I was just looking to start the end with a clear message. I guess it really doesn't matter but to this day it is one of my favorites. I picked it out of a book of flash and asked the artist to make a few changes, a good friend was with me and I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd seen friends get tattoos and watched my father get work done. I remember sitting in the chair hearing the buzz as it was about to begin and focusing on the Alice Cooper poster. I sat as still as I possibly could and focused on the poster, a few times I know I thought about how pissed the asshole was going to be and cracked a smile. I remember thinking I'm gonna be ok and breathing more calmly and freely than I had in months before that piece in time and at one point I remember the artist asking me if I was breathing. I just laughed and said yes. I had never felt as free and sure of myself and relaxed as I did that day, in that chair, knowing I was going my own way. Among the many things the asshole had told me I would never do a tattoo had been one of my earliest concessions. My tattoos since then each have stories of their own, I've got alot of eyes watching over me and plenty of thoughts for the empty spaces but that one is the closest to my heart.

I am learning to expect less of people I love who haven't lived my life. I am learning slowly that everyone believes they understand and while some people do, most don't. You cannot fully explain to anyone who hasn't lived it what it is like to wake up with someone licking your face, holding you down with his dick inside you. I mean clearly, I've just described it but that doesn't mean you know or understand what its like to crawl back inside yourself and watch this happen to you from some outside level of existance. You may have an idea what its like to pretend your asleep but I have my doubts that the majority of people know the thoughts that go through someones head while they allow someone to do this while they simply lie there and play dead so to minimize the other persons enjoyment and keep from having to open their eyes to the reality of that nightly nightmare. While there are plenty of people who can relate and plenty of people who do actually understand, they are not concentrated to only eachother, they don't flock solely to eachother and even when they do they rarely break out the skeletons that feed their sadness.

The worst things that have happened to us make us the strongest and teach us the most and what that time in my life continues to teach me is that I am stronger than the worst things to come my way. I will always come back stronger from the things that hurt the most and it's that knowledge that means the difference between laying down and getting back up. I've had a broken wing and maybe thats part of why I don't fly straight but every break must heal. The people in my life who need justifications and continual explanations of my feelings and actions this long after the fact. These are the same people who look in the mirror too long and still can't see themselves. These are the same people who say I understand, but..., and these are the people I can't keep fighting to keep in my life simply because I love them. When I open my closet and count my skeletons I am the one who has the memories flood back and anyone who wants to step inside my head and dig around my closet had better be ready to see the grass burning. No two people honestly have the same vision of what hell is, for me, it was a long time ago and I'm not goin back. I will never respect any group, religion person or idea that could send another person home to tell the person they "love" that they are going to hell for having sex and then rape them 6 hours later on a regular basis. I can respect myself enough not to keep company with people I don't respect and I can love myself enough to not continue to give people power they don't deserve. I may not respect those people who I feel had a chance to help but I don't hate them, I more or less feel sad that they believe they were helping while they were actually fueling the actions of a sociopath.

There has been a shift over the last few years in my outlook on my past and I really have no desire to continue dredging the waters just to bring up more pain. There is a place where you realize now is far more pertinent than then. Some asshole told me once I'd never go to college, drive trucks, go to broadcasting school, drink, be with a girl, get a tattoo, see my Goddaughter and a few other things. I have no idea what that piece of shit is doing right now, but I do know in ten years I've done all the things he said I wouldn't except one and I'm pretty sure the naked lady on my leg and I get to be proud of that. No apologies, no regrets.