Two things here:
(1) I think I figured out one of the reasons I'm so obsessed with getting tattoos. Yes, it's the adrenaline and the endorphins. Yes, it's the pain is pleasure phenomenon. Yes, they're pretty and meaningful and an investment in your body and personality and kinda hot.
But for me, it's also one of the only times my brain shuts off. It's fucking peaceful.
My brain is constantly on overdrive at work, teaching one and two year olds. It's always "watch that," "look out for this," "make sure you do that," "you have x, y, z to do later," "don't forget about so and so." I rarely get a moment of quiet from the children let alone myself.
My mind thinks about what I have to do when I'm driving or falling asleep, what I need to get done, what I want to get done, what I want to read or watch or eat. It's thinking about what book I just read, what book I want to read next, my favorite fanfiction pairings, the movie/tv show I just watched. It's overthinking the things that embarrassed me years/decades ago, the shitty things I said/did that day. My depression side makes me feel both numb and all of the emotions in overdrive. My anxiety side makes me itchy and twitchy and restless.
My thoughts don't even give me a break when I'm fucking sleeping. For whatever fucking reason, I either dream really bizarre things or anxious things, my day's nightmares and my night's daydreams. Sometimes, my brain even does this thing where it like reads/narrates something that I've never even read/seen before; like it's doing the creative writing for me even when I need a break from it all.
But when I'm getting tattooed, when those needles are piercing my skin and I'm bleeding and the ink is making a new home on my body, everything stops. My brain, my mind, my thoughts. They all stop. Everything is finally fucking quiet. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline/endorphins pain/pleasure thing or not. I'm not sure if it's because I'm focusing on not feeling the pain of the needles and the pleasure of the newness bleeding and inking in or not. But it's a glorious, glorious feeling.
Hence, the obsession and the addiction (because if you've ever had tattoos, it's a real thing, not gonna lie).
(2) The summer after my first year of college was...really fucking difficult.
I stayed on campus to work, trying to save up some money to help my parents pay for school and to have some spending money. I had two jobs. One was fucking boring, as my coworker thought she was being helpful by doing everything for me before I even got there; so I had nothing to do but stare at old Google art for 5 hours a day. The other was almost like my job now, constantly being interactive with other people and no time for idle brain-time.
My grandma had a stroke, and I was unable to really be away from campus for too long, except for the occasional weekend to be there for her, to support my mom, who was stressed out about that as well as her own job being shitty.
None of my friends stayed on campus or even in the immediate area. All of my exchange-student friends had gone back to their home countries to finish out their degrees. All of my out-of-state and in-state friends when home to save money on housing and to recuperate from the year. The in-state friends also had their own job(s) that kept them busy most weekdays and weekends. I was so fucking lonely.
I had realized that year too how much of a country girl and family girl and introvert I am. Granted, I loved the easy access and public transportation of the city; I loved the museums and libraries and people-watching; I loved the variety and abundance of food options. But it was too loud and too paved and too hot. I missed the breeze and grass and wildflowers and wildlife. I missed bonfires every weekend and country music blasting through the speakers. I missed doing nothing with my family, I missed my dog, I missed the ability to turn off and be vulnerable.
I tried to keep my dark thoughts at bay with bingeing Disney movies and Supernatural and drawing. I was unable to remember why I loved some of the things I used to be obsessed with. It was hard to get out of bed most days and motivate myself. It was fucking difficult to keep some of the promises I'd kept myself after having some friends with similarly treacherous feelings collapse momentarily under the weight of it all.
One day though, I got a text from my dad. My suck-it-up, stop-being-so-emotional, why-do-you-always-cry dad. Don't get me wrong, he's a fantastic father who has always loved and supported me with everything in him; he has never made me feel unwanted or uncared for, and he's wonderful and lovely in almost every way; he's supportive and a great husband and a wonderful dog-dad; he's been the inspiration for what I want in a future partner, what I know to look for and know not to settle for. But, he doesn't like to talk about feelings and sometimes that toxic masculinity rears its ugly head.
That text: "you are loved." It made me ball, sob, almost have an anxiety-attack. It meant (and still means) so much to me. He, up until that point, never really understood my depression or my anxiety. I still forgot how much my parents communicate(d) about anything and everything. And more importantly, I thought I was (mostly) hiding how much I was struggling. To know that they knew and that he understood and that he was willing to put himself out there to reassure me was so meaningful. I screenshotted that text and kept it close to me for so long.
I told myself that one day I'd make it into an art piece (I was doodling a lot that summer, remember), but I didn't know I'd get it tattooed on my wrist where I can always see it.
As a family, we've always made it known how much we love each other. We say it before we go to bed and when we hang up the phone, when we go to work and even when we can't stand each other. I make sure I tell the children at school multiple times a day every day that I love them; it's soooo important to me that they feel safe and wanted with me, to know they're loved.
Another very important reason I wanted those works from almost a decade ago made permanent on my body: to remind myself when I'm low to love myself, to always tell people I care about that I love them, to be able to pass on the "you are loved" message whenever I can.
#youareloved #iloveyou #depression #anxiety #tattoos #ilovetattoos #tattooobsessed #books #bookstagram #bookphotography #ilovebooks
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