When I had my tattoo done today I thought of my grandpa on several
occasions. He’d smile at me from behind his crosswords, or say in his Chicago
dialect, “’Ey, toots.” This got me through my first tat no problem. I also
listened to This Will Destroy You,
which may have helped. (For those of you who know my connections to music, it
can cause an upwelling of emotion for me, good or bad.) This was good. I was
smiling. Tattoos fucking hurt, but I was smiling.
I laughed in the shower today. I cleaned the weird goop from my tattoo,
and laughed. I don’t know why a tattoo makes me feel validated. I think I’m
coming into my own, solidifying. And, not to sound dramatic, but I am casting
away those that drag me down. I’m not afraid to be a little selfish. I can only
help others so much, and beyond that I become exhausted. There’s something to
be said of taking care of someone when they are in need, and doing it out of
your own need to ignore yourself. I LOVE almost everyone I meet, but I’ve got
to learn to keep my heart to myself.
I feel like I’ve been some weird sacrificial punching bag, but not by
my conscious choosing. I’ve spent so much time trying to find a life that I think I want instead of creating my own.
I’m tired of pretending to be anything.
As a friend once chalked on the underside of Friendship Bridge: TRANSCEND DA
BULLSHIT. Four (?) years later I’ve finally realized what the fuck that means.
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