Friday night I sat four hours for my new tattoo. I had it placed on my left side over the ribs. They asked me if I was sure I wanted it in such a painful locations. I assured them I would be fine. The first three hours were a piece of cake, and everyone commented on how well I was doing, and how easy I was to tattoo. During the fourth hour, my nerves were so stimulated that the pain part kicked in. With one hour left to complete the color, we decided to call it quits. I was tearful because I felt like I had wimped out. The artist assured me that I had done very well, and said he should put me up on the wall for how well I had done.
I've been trying to decide on a new tattoo for about six years but never came up with an idea that I really liked. Then, one day last week it hit me. I wanted a phoenix. It was perfect because I am a phoenix. I'll allow a few of my skeletons out of my closet to assist in understanding the previous claim.
When I was 16, my family and I traveled to Hawaii to celebrate my great uncles birthday. It would be the first time I had met many of my cousins. While there I met a second cousin, who was about four and a half years older than me. He had traveled in Europe, and I was about to be an exchange student there. We hit it off immediately, and being a teenager in Hawaii I chose to hang out with him instead of being stuck with my parents. BIG mistake. July 4, 1996 he got me drunk on vodka, at least six shots (that's as many as I remember) and took advantage of my black out state. He then traveled to California and pressured me until my will gave way on August 7, 1996, and I slept with him again, many times. I felt such shame because had I called the police in Hawaii maybe I could have proved he raped me. But then I was weak and "consented" when he stayed with my parents and me later. I held it inside for the year I was an exchange student, and for many months after returning home. It finally came out and I was questioned by a male police officer, alone in a room at my house. Because my cousin "refused to speak to the DA without an attorney" they dropped the case. My parents never contacted the DA to question this or anything. I spent many years trying to cope, mostly in self destructive ways. I hung out with social rejects, misfits, other depressed youth. I smoked pot, did ecstasy a lot at raves, dropped acid, and inhaled nitrous oxide. I slept with a lot of guys, usually very quickly, before they had a chance to take it, I gave it up. I cried, wrote teen angst poetry, focused on ways to die, fearing the pain of dying. I finally hit bottom and got myself into therapy. I moved away from San Francisco where drugs were all to easy to get ahold of, and transfered to a small school in Wisconsin. I flourished, enjoyed college, finally started dating women, as I had once intended on doing prior to my long slutty run with guys. I still struggled with depression, and finally found the correct medication to help stabilize my mood. I finished college, went to nursing school, earned my masters, and met my wonderful, supportive wife. I struggled with weight issues due to stress (dropped well below 100 pounds) but finally gained the weight back. Now, I'm dealing with IF, and the depression that comes along with that. No need to go into that here, because this blog is about this "dark" time.
If that's not a phoenix, I don't know what is. And now, it will be forever on my left side.
The Brain has sent a letter to her sister asking her to consider carrying a child for us. I am both nervous and excited. I don't expect her to say yes, but I'm proud of my wife for at least asking. It's a door that can never be opened if we don't at least try. I hope, and pray that she will at least consider it, and ask to discuss it. I will love her if she says yes, and I will love her if she says no.
Patiently waiting, content and a little sore from having needles drug through my skin...