My body is a journal in a way. It’s like what sailors used to do, where every tattoo meant something, a specific time in your life when you make a mark on yourself, whether you do it yourself with a knife or with a professional tattoo artist. ~Johnny Depp
Here’s an interesting fact some people know about me: I adore tattoos. I have five at the present moment, and plan to get more in the near future. There is something so peaceful and therapeutic about the process for me, not to mention what the ink itself represents.
For example, my very first tattoo means the absolute most to me. It’s a blue sparrow, soaring, holding a bit of rosemary in it’s beak. Across it’s back is the name “Eric.” So often, people mistake me for a silly girl who inked her boyfriend’s name on her arm for all the world to see. But the truth is, Eric was my childhood best friend that passed away two months before my 15th birthday. It was one of the most difficult times of my life, and I still ache all these years later – I believe it’ll be seven years this summer. I wasn’t sure I could ever really learn to cope.
So, I thought about it a while, drew up some rough ideas, and then headed to the tattoo shop. It was days before the four year mark since he had died, and I was just two months from turning nineteen, so it wasn’t just some “Oh my God I’m old enough for tattoos I’m getting one” sorta thing. I was scared, because I knew my mom would be PISSED (and she was), and because the exact place I had chosen for my first tattoo was EXTREMELY visable (just above my wrist on my right forearm), so there was no turning back. It turned out beautiful, and I adored it. I’ve never stopped loving this tattoo, and there hasn’t been a single time in which I’ve felt regret for my decision. And do you know why? Because it meant something very, very important to me. Something no one else had to or likely could completely understand.
Being able to see this sparrow, so beautiful and free, with his name on the back, acts as my guide in all that I do. When I feel weak, it reminds me of his strength; when I am lost, it guides me back onto my path. It holds a very important part of my life right there for all to see, and I don’t mind a bit. There is a story there, and we all know I’m quite fond of stories.
So, then I became addicted to ink. I’ve yet to get something I consider meaningless – each one is very special to me and holds it’s own story, whether or not anyone else “gets” it. I’ll have to post pics and tales sometime.
Anyway, moving along…
I have ink on my mind, obviously. Mostly because I’m craving fresh tattoos, and that’s probably a result of all the stress lately: car keeps falling apart, attending a college full time that I loathe and despise, working all the time and all the petty drama that can (and usually does, as with any job) go on, and a million other things. I feel a little lost, and I think most of it is because I’m getting close to that point where I wander into the world on my own. I’m a bird, aching to spread her wings. But it’s difficult with all the weight holding me down, and my cage is much too small. “Some day,” I tell myself. “Some day, I shall spread these wings and fly away.”
One day, I will wake up early in the morning, not because I have an 8am class or have to be at work by 7:30am, but because I have to write all day to meet my deadlines, or I have some paintings to finish, or a shoot to prepare for. Some day, I will have a home of my own, a place to feel safe and happy and free.
If only “one day” or “some day” could be here now. But, alas, they are not. For now, I must work my ass off to get somewhere, and try my hardest to prove I can do this. And I can. I will.
Some day.
~Angel
Misadventures of a Misfit 