I need INK

I did not start getting tattoos until i was in my 30’s. They mark moments in my life of grand importance. The last one was a cover up of a tattoo i had to mark my 20 something year anniversary to my 1st husband. The cover up was not to remove it from my life but to mark my skin for myself instead of for someone else. It had been a vain attempt to elicit some type of emotion or reaction from him. It was a pointless gesture.

Ink for me at this point is almost cathartic. To put something beautiful on my skin. To have a few hours of physical pain to distract me from the mental pain. My only child is still not speaking to me and i have been denied the reason behind her actions. It eats at my core every day. But i have come to a few conclusions on my own. I am happy in my life. And she currently is not. I will not be miserable to make her more comfortable in her sadness. If she is angry at me over choices i made during my divorce from her father then so be it. I was in a bad mental and emotional place and i fucked up. I know this, but i can not take those things back.

I need some peace, I need some pain, I need some ink. Some will not understand the pain thing. I don’t always get it myself. But there is some thing about a small amount of pain that brings things into focus. It reminds you that you are fully alive and want to be. It is not about dying or sadness. At least not for me. It is about clarity. For now my budget will not allow me the luxury. So i will try to find that peace by writing.  Words and music have always been healing for me. So I am breathing deep, cranking up the tunes and having a good cry until i can afford to let my skin take some of this from my broken mommy heart.

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