Born again

I was born in a rush of blood and pain.

Not my own, but for some reason, that has never left me.

I am filled with reminders of that feeling. The feeling of being reminded that I wasn’t numb, no matter how numb I felt. The feeling of sadness subsiding to make way for pain. Many of those reminders have faded into oblivion with care and time, but some still linger.

However, some are more permanent. I did not limit myself to only feeling that rush in the darkness of the night in a locked bedroom. I found a way to feel the rush without it being my own doing. A way to make it bring happiness and meaning to myself.

I got my first piercing at 15, a navel ring my mom took me to get a week before school started. And I was born in a rush of blood and pain, this time, my own.

At 17, as a Christmas present, they took me to get a  tattoo. A dragonfly, my good luck charm, my guardian. A reminder of days long past in the heat of Hawaii, sitting on the pool side while my brother, Chris, explained I shouldn’t be scared of them, they’ll protect me.

From 18 to 20, my tongue, eyebrow (which promptly got taken out because I didn’t like the way it looked), cartilage were all representative of a healthy, happy me. A me that still cut, but rarely. A shooting star on my hip for a lost friend, a bat with artistic differences on my wrist from a favorite childhood movie. Every time, a rush of blood, a rush of tears, a rush of relief washing over me.

My final one was at 20, on vacation with Chris, we decided we to do one together. Matching bear paws on our backs, mine on my lower, his on his shoulders. They had no dinosaurs.

Then, a few months before our wedding, I took out the tongue and never put it back. I chipped two teeth while eating skittles, and it gave me a lisp. Then I got pregnant and took out the navel ring while my belly stretched. I started changing against my will.

I asked Chris if he would mind if I got a tattoo, he said yes. I asked Chris if he would mind if I got a piercing, he said yes. And this went on since then, I asked often, although I always knew the response. Until I asked about my hair and he said okay. I was shocked, but happy. And with the end result I became a little more “me” again. I mentioned a tattoo and he said no, but when I mentioned a piercing he said “I won’t like it, but okay.”

And so we went.And I was so happy, and Chris was with me begrudgingly. And in a rush of blood and pain…I was born again. And I think he sees it makes me happy.


6 Responses

  1. This post makes me want to get a tattoo. Or have a baby. I’m not sure which.

  2. I think it’s sad someone would have such a strong opinion on your body. Looks and bodies fade anyway. Marriage is for emotions. I understand you asking out of politeness (I’m married) but I don’t understand his vote.

    • To be honest, I don’t get it either, but I think he is finally remembering who he married. I think part of him is worried that bad habits, the cutting in particular, will return with this.

  3. Congrats on getting back to you.

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