Ink Part 2...

Almost two weeks ago, my sponsor asked if I was going to get a tattoo to mark my time in recovery any time soon. I wanted to wait until my year anniversary of no binging (Jan 1, 09) to do it. Once it was brought up though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted a swirly vine going down the length of my right side with a few flowers and six ladybugs flying around it. I chose the spot because it’s the most painful, as this recovery program has been, and it’s not out in the open like my arms.
A few days later my artist, Sten came into the salon to see his girlfriend, and my co-worker, Rae. I took that as a sign and asked if he was working that Sunday.
“I am! Lemme guess, you want more ladybugs?” he laughed.
“Yes I do!” I squealed. “On my side.”
“Ok, we’ll set something up.”
It was decided later on that week that I would see him at 12pm on Sunday, at his new place of employment, Memorial Tattoo on Moreland Ave.
“You know that’s the most painful spot right?” Rae told me at work on Saturday.
“Yup.”
“Are you going to take anything?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. Nothing will hurt worse than what’s in my head right now.
Sunday arrived. I was up early and racing to Inman Perk to suck down coffee before heading to Piedmont Park. I wanted to get an hour of roller blading in before the park got crazy.
I’m disappointed to say I didn’t enjoy myself. Nasty, negative thoughts flooded my mind. I let them come and decided that once I was done with the park, I’d be done with my negative thinking and snap out of it. That mixed with dodging people and their dogs, rolling over one too many rocks and twigs had me heated even more.
“What is the problem?!” I asked myself as I took the skates off at my car once I was finished. It’s my day off and beautiful outside. I can’t wait to get this tattoo I’ve waited all week for. What is the matter? Why can’t I look people in the face? Why am I afraid they’ll see all my guts out there in the open when there’s nothing to see. It’s all contained.
Food. That’s it. Well…part of it. I’ve been without my usual sugar fix for 72 hours now. Three days is the longest I’m ever able to go before I cave and eat something. My sponsor wrote me yesterday explaining that anger is part of the process of getting over losing something, regardless of what it is. I don’t understand why this happens and I want to skirt around it. No such luck. I want to eat something right this minute but I already emailed my sponsor what the food plan was going to be today. I feel so retarded sometimes. It’s damn food. It’s there to keep us alive yet I use it for way more than that.
So I stay angry until it’s time to see Sten.
“Hey! Come on back!” he says when I walk through the door. He’s got his own room in the back of the little house that’s been transformed into a business.
“This is what I drew for you.” I tell him while pulling out the image I want permanently placed on my body.
“Ok.” he says while investigating it then sits at his drawing table and begins to sharpen up the image. I walk around to look at his paintings on the wall. I like how sharp his lines are and the way he uses color. “How you been?” he asks.
“Um.” I’m not sure how to answer this. I don’t know how I am or how I’ve been. “I’m crazy.”
“Crazy good or bad?”
“A little of both. I mean, everything is fine, I just have a lot in my head.” I reply and sit in a chair behind him. We’re quiet for a little bit.
“What’s got you all crazy?” he asks after a while.
Let’s start with Rob dying and the spiral that that’s spun out of control from there.
The floodgates open and I vomited all the crap that’s been taking up residence in my head for the past month or so, ending with telling him about my eating disorder, OA and what this tattoo means to me.
“You have been through a lot!” he turned to look at me. “I thought my life was crazy…” he trails off. “I guess this tattoo will be therapeutic for you.”
I nod. It will be but I don’t understand why. It’s gonna hurt. We’re quiet again until he finishes drawing.
“Ok, I need to make a stencil of this. I’ll be right back.”
“Ok.” I sit still for a while, thinking nothing, feeling nothing until he returns.
He continues setting up. I watch the needles go in the machine, the colors pour out of the large containers and into the smaller ones, the paper towels being torn…
“Come on over.” he motions for me when he‘s done. “Where do you want this exactly?”
I show him and he places the stencil on my prepped skin and peels it off.
“Ok, go look at that and see if it’s ok.” he tells me.
I walk to the mirror and look at it. “It’s perfect!” I smile. I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.
“Really look at it. We can move it anywhere.”
“You’ve always placed my tattoos perfectly. I love it. Really.” I replied, walking back to him.
“Ok. Lay down on the table with your back to me.”
I do as I’m told. For the first time since I’ve been getting tattooed, I’m not nervous. Usually as soon as I walk through the door of the shop I get nervous and giddy. I’ve felt nothing until I hear the needle fire up and explode into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Sten starts laughing.
“I don’t know!” I know he won’t be able to work unless I stop and I can’t. “I laugh when I’m nervous, which I am all the sudden, and I’m really ticklish.” I assume the anticipation of this experience is making me silly all the sudden.
“Oh boy.” he replies.
“Yeah, I’m gonna try and sit still.” I’m still giggling.
“Ok, I’m going to do a small little line and let you get used to it.”
“Ok.” My left arm is wrapped around the front of my body, holding my shirt in place. My right hand is under my left cheek pulling on a piece of hair and I work hard to stop giggling.
I feel his fingers on my hip then the sharpness of the needle meeting my skin.
“How’s that?” he asks after a few seconds.
“Lovely.” I’m giggling again.
We’re quiet for a long while. The needle moves up my side and my giggling has faded a bit. I close my eyes every time I feel it meet my skin and open them when it stops.
“You’re doing awesome. We’re getting to the hard part now.” he says as his fingers land on the bottom of my ribcage. I close my eyes when I hear the needle but they fly open when it meets my skin.
“Shit!” I snap.
“I know.” he laughs.
The needle moves higher and higher. I feel the vibrations of it all the way through to the other side of my body.
“God. Almighty.” My toes curl. I had forgotten I had been moving them around the whole time.
“Yeah, I like that little shuffle you’re doing with your feet down there.” Sten laughs.
I start laughing and have to chew on the inside of my face to stop. Needle starts again. It hurts so much that I start laughing again simply because there is nothing else to do. I elected to have this done. It literally feels like he’s using a jackhammer trying to strike oil or something on each little bone that makes up my ribcage.
An hour went by. He placed a cold, wet paper towel on my side and wiped the skin. I exhaled. Done. Whew.
“Do you want to take a break or keep going?” he asked.
“What?!” my head turned to face him.
He starts laughing. “I just finished the outline. We have to do the color.”
I am speechless.
“The look on your face right now is really funny.” he laughs.
“Color?” I said when I could form words. “I thought you were done.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh damn. OK. Um, may I see it?”
“Sure.”
I rolled off the table and looked at my inflamed skin around black lines. I still loved it and still wanted it finished. I walked back to the table and laid down.
“Keep going?” he asked.
“Yes sir.” I closed my eyes. I could feel the knots in my stomach start to go away. I don’t know why this happens but it’s awesome. My mind floats around as I try to breathe. I think about all the crazy shit I’ve done with food, all the times I felt sick and the times I ate so much I looked damn pregnant. I think about OA, the people I’ve met, my sponsor, how my life has changed. I never thought I’d be in an addiction recovery program. It wasn’t what I had planned for my little life but here I am and it’s taken me to the most amazing places despite the difficulty of the never ending challenge of trying to beat it. It’ll never ever go away. I’ll always have to work at it and that’s scary but I’m trying.
Once I get used to the back and forth motion of the needle coloring in various parts I feel I can talk without laughing. We talk about the various aspects of addiction and recovery, and why things happen to people.
“You have this gaping hole from this unexpected loss and you’re trying to fill it. It’s a really tough spot to be in.” he says.
“Tell me ‘bout it.”
“I mean, you guys were still in that honeymoon stage. You didn’t get a chance to get into a bad fight or see anything really negative about the other person.”
“Yup.” I’m trying not to cry.
“I have to work on the bugs. I’m going to be all over the place so it’s going to be like playing a game… where’s it gonna hurt next?” Sten laughed and started on a bug at the top of my ribs.
Aggghhh!!! “I’m ‘bout to cuss that damn bug out!” I snapped.
He kicked the door closed. “Cuss as loud as you want.”
I laugh instead.
Minutes ticked by. My toes are still curling and I’m still trying not to move too much.
“This yellow bug looks hot pink right now, but it’ll look normal in a little bit.” he says while the needles continues along the bones. I’m running out of energy to even laugh. Another hour has gone by.
A cold paper towel lands on my skin again. “Alright. We’re done!” he says.
“Yay!”
“Ok, go look at it. Be careful about getting up.”
I slowly roll off the table and over to the mirror. I saw my face before the tattoo. Half of it was red from being laid on. My hair resembled a busted rooster. Lord…I turned to the side and squealed when I saw all the bugs.
“It’s so perfect!”
“Awesome! Lemme bandage it up.”
I walk back over and he tapes me up explaining how to care for it. We walk upstairs, I pay him and leave.
I am completely relaxed and happy on my way back home. It’s like that little needle beat the shit out of my anger. There isn’t a trace of it left and it feels amazing.