a bad experience with an amazing result
So, rewind. Take a step back. I'm three years old hitting on pots and pans and pretending they're drums and I'm in a parade. I'm the main act, and I'm amazing. Take a step forward, and I want to be a rock star, and I go around singing everything. Now I'm seven, and I pick up my first actual musical instrument- a guitar. Not to say I was good, but I fell in love. Then I'm ten, excelling at playing the recorder. Another step, and I'm twelve, my first year of middle school, and I find the clarinet. Then the trumpet. Then real drums. Then the french horn, and oh, so many more. It was also around this time that I found a razor blade and began to carve my flesh. Those two things were my release from the world. Music became my muse and cutting my bitch. Those were two things that would make my world come to life. I would dissociate whilst cutting, and while playing or listening, I would be amazed by the colors that filled my world. This was also the time I learned that I was synaeth etic. I could see sounds and feelings, and oh my, was this a wonderful symphony of life.
These are the things that I believe make up who I am, and these are things I want on my body forever.
So, back to now. Well, not quite. About a year before now when a guy got a tattoo gun. This guy was one with which I worked with for a period of time. He was much older, or at least looked it. He was married, and had a beautiful little girl. He became my friend, and upon further discovery, he had also been friends with my father, whom I had not seen since my guitar phase. This man became a father-type figure to me. I did not look up to him, but I did admire him in a sense. And then he got his gun. He had quite a bit of ink, and much had been done himself. His wife wanted to play. My boyfriend and I decided that we could be canvas. We got her fake skin. We watched her preform on herself. And we decided that it would be just fine if we were her first actual subjects.
My boy went first. It was a simple design in a difficult spot, and she pulled it off fairly well. During this time, I was drawing out the design that would grace my body forever. It was a tied-eighth note and stars, representing the music and the dissociation away from the world. She drew it out and transfered it to my skin using deodorant. It was on my back, on the right side, nearly to the edge of my back, very near my bum. It was exactly where I wanted it. It was perfect. Then she began with the needle repeatedly penetrating my skin. It tickled. I laughed. It was a wonderful experience, and I was sad when it was over. She put a giant band-aid on me, and I drank a glass of wine, and then it was time for the two hour drive back home. Fast forward two months, the next time I saw Bruno, the husband of the woman. He came down, and of course he wanted to check out his wifes work. My boy's needed some work. And mine was fading. She hadn't gone deep enough, hence why it tickled. Bruno offered to fix them. This time I went first. The sat me up in a chair and took up residence behind me. His wife had laid me down, and I had found this to be far more comfortable a position, but he disagreed. This time it felt bad. Stabbing. Searing. It was bearable, but only barely. I was doing fine until I just wasn't. I started to sweat, and then my vision went black. I landed on the dog. I spit the blood out of my mouth and asked for a break. Bruno laughed and handed me a wine cooler- the only drink with sugar that was available. I drank it and then went to the bathroom, and we again began the rape of my flesh. This time I insisted on laying down, so we rearranged the furniture in the room to accommodate this. It went much smoother this time around, but when he was finished, I was glad. I also had him add a small purple star on the other side of my back as well. I then watched my boyfriend get fixed, and his twitching arm made me giggle.
Healing was rater uneventful. It flaked a bit, but I used lotion with no fragrance, dyes or alcohol, and it became one with my skin. One of the lines of the music note is slightly crooked, and the purple fill inside the stars could be touched up, but I still love them. They mean a lot to me, and the process was truly an experience to remember.
I have gotten quite a few compliments about it, and I just giggle and say thank you, quietly thinking to myself about the previous events.
On my eighteenth birthday, I do plan on getting the tattoo extended up my side and onto my ribs. It will be swirly, and have many more stars and musical symbolism. It will be black, blue and purple, and I am in the process of finding a skilled artist and drawing the initial design. For now, it will be great how it is. It has everything I could have asked for, and reminds me of my past in a much more acceptable manner then the scars I bare.
Thank you, Bruno, although I will not be recommending you to other people.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 13 Aug. 2008