~*~*~
There! I said it, but it might surprise you to learn just how much anxiety has taken over basic functional parts of my life.
The new ink? There are two stories behind the ink, one of letting go (to be told on Band Back Together) and one of overwhelming anxiety - anxiety that, if it hadn't been for the insight of Aunt Becky, would have kept me from getting to letting go.
The trip with Aunt Becky to The Tattoo Factory had been planned for a while. I was her support, but I had ulterior motives. I knew I was ready to have some ink done. I picked out the Tolkien quote quite some time ago. I decided that I didn't want a flagrant ink memorial to Alan, but rather something subtle - something that wouldn't SCREAM, "Ask me about this important person in my life who died!" yet would still have significant meaning to me.
I don't want to tell Alan's story to strangers - I ... I just don't.
We got to The Tattoo Factory and I started to lose it the minute we walked through the door. I had my printed out Tolkien quote with me - there was clearly an artist who had the time to do it - and I could NOT walk to the counter to speak with him. My ass was firmly cemented to the wooden bench by the window.
My heart was pounding.
My hands were shaking.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes just thinking about walking up to that counter.
It wasn't the ink I was anxious about. I wanted the ink. I was ready for the ink. I could not get past walking up to that counter and talking to a ... a stranger ... and I cannot give you a single logical reason for that very overwhelming physical reaction to such a non-threatening situation.
I can tell you that I deal with anxiety multiple times, every day. Sometimes it's a phone call. Sometimes it's placing an order at McDonald's. 9 times out of 10, I am able to get past the moment where the anxiety becomes debilitating. This day I was not.
Aunt Becky's artist called her back. As it turned out, Aunt Becky hadn't prepared well for this visit (imagine that - *giggle*). Although her "Shut Your Whore Mouth" t-shirt was appreciated by the staff at the shop, it made inking her impossible. I offered to run to Target and pick her up a more "ink appropriate" garment.
It gave me an excuse to flee the anxiety.
A chance to breathe.
An opportunity to slow my heart rate.
When I got back to the shop, Aunt Becky had taken it upon herself to talk to Phil about my ink - giving him the printed out Tolkien quote so that he could work up a drawing for me.
She knew.
She's been there.
Getting inked is cathartic for me. The discomfort of the pain takes me to a place where all outside stimuli is muted. I crawl into the very dark crevices of my emotional self and I feel - I really feel - something I don't allow myself to do very often.
That day? I felt the joy of having a friend who not only likes me, but has many shared life experiences and has developed a keen sense of empathy, and I felt the relief of being able to trust a friend enough to tell her the truth, even though I knew how irrational my truth was at that moment.
It was a good day ...
There! I said it, but it might surprise you to learn just how much anxiety has taken over basic functional parts of my life.
The new ink? There are two stories behind the ink, one of letting go (to be told on Band Back Together) and one of overwhelming anxiety - anxiety that, if it hadn't been for the insight of Aunt Becky, would have kept me from getting to letting go.
The trip with Aunt Becky to The Tattoo Factory had been planned for a while. I was her support, but I had ulterior motives. I knew I was ready to have some ink done. I picked out the Tolkien quote quite some time ago. I decided that I didn't want a flagrant ink memorial to Alan, but rather something subtle - something that wouldn't SCREAM, "Ask me about this important person in my life who died!" yet would still have significant meaning to me.
I don't want to tell Alan's story to strangers - I ... I just don't.
We got to The Tattoo Factory and I started to lose it the minute we walked through the door. I had my printed out Tolkien quote with me - there was clearly an artist who had the time to do it - and I could NOT walk to the counter to speak with him. My ass was firmly cemented to the wooden bench by the window.
My heart was pounding.
My hands were shaking.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes just thinking about walking up to that counter.
It wasn't the ink I was anxious about. I wanted the ink. I was ready for the ink. I could not get past walking up to that counter and talking to a ... a stranger ... and I cannot give you a single logical reason for that very overwhelming physical reaction to such a non-threatening situation.
I can tell you that I deal with anxiety multiple times, every day. Sometimes it's a phone call. Sometimes it's placing an order at McDonald's. 9 times out of 10, I am able to get past the moment where the anxiety becomes debilitating. This day I was not.
Aunt Becky's artist called her back. As it turned out, Aunt Becky hadn't prepared well for this visit (imagine that - *giggle*). Although her "Shut Your Whore Mouth" t-shirt was appreciated by the staff at the shop, it made inking her impossible. I offered to run to Target and pick her up a more "ink appropriate" garment.
It gave me an excuse to flee the anxiety.
A chance to breathe.
An opportunity to slow my heart rate.
When I got back to the shop, Aunt Becky had taken it upon herself to talk to Phil about my ink - giving him the printed out Tolkien quote so that he could work up a drawing for me.
She knew.
She's been there.
Getting inked is cathartic for me. The discomfort of the pain takes me to a place where all outside stimuli is muted. I crawl into the very dark crevices of my emotional self and I feel - I really feel - something I don't allow myself to do very often.
That day? I felt the joy of having a friend who not only likes me, but has many shared life experiences and has developed a keen sense of empathy, and I felt the relief of being able to trust a friend enough to tell her the truth, even though I knew how irrational my truth was at that moment.
It was a good day ...
~*~*~
11 comments:
Thank you for letting see inside you... Again... Sharing yourself with the world shows great courage. I couldn't do it.
And the ink looks great, besides.
You're an ASSHOLE for making me tearful this morning.
And anxiety is a motherfucker. I know how it goes and I'm glad you did it. It's more than beautiful. Seriously, Phil is incredible.
This was an excellent post. Yet again, you amaze me with who you are and who you are becoming...
kudos to you chica!
Oh I have been in life castrating anxiety land many a time before. I miss my ex because he used to share his medication with me when I really needed it. You know, those petrified shallow breathing, head spinning, why is this happening to me kind of moment. I don't have health insurance or I would seriously consider trying out a prescription. Have you thought about trying to talk to a doctor? I know, even that is terrifying. I've been there. I feel you lady. I'm also crazy jealous over your sexy ink.
Anxiety is miserable! I know it well. I know my triggers and I am able to deal most of the time, but I related well to your story. And I love Aunt Becky.
I am glad you got through this challenge.
Cool story of your day. Thanks for sharing and congrats on getting the ink
I can live without a lot of things in my life. Really, really good girlfriends who truly get me aren't one of them. Sounds like you have one of those. Hang on with both hands.
First, I love the ink - but I think I've told you that, ad nauseum.
Also, I love aunt Becky, but if that's not common knowledge, then, well, nothing is.
Somewhere along the way, I lost my fear of talking to people. Seriously - I'll just go up & strike up a conversation with anyone. It's helped me, immensely, at my job, but there was a time that I had some real anxiety around anyone "new."
If I were more curious of more thorough in my thoughts, I'd try to figure out just what made me change, because that would be interesting - but, alas, that would make me ....
what? I got distracted by something shiny.
The Trent Reznor song (though I prefer Johnny Cash's cover) Hurt really does describe something real. Embrace the pain and the pain is all there is . . . it's real, it's there, it becomes you, and you become alive. That's the point Palahniuk was trying to make with the chemical burn in Fight Club.
We won't talk about where a good spanking could fit into all of this ;-)
I love this recollection.
jesus christ, i relate to this more than i can even express in words right now.
awesome. fucking awesome.
I have 6 tats. I like them all. I want another, of course :) I like your new ink very much; very much.
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