Day 3: March 18, 2019

Monday, March 18, 2019

This post will be a response to the article, published by CNN, entitled "Tattoo therapy: How ink helps sexual assault survivors heal" by Nina Avramova. Read it here.




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On my body, you will find 5 tattoos, of varying sizes...

1. A dream catcher with a blue rose on my calf.
2. A teal bow on my upper back.
3. A dainty chipped tea cup on my right arm.
4. A framed image of Hogwarts castle on my right leg.
5. A series of succulents and stems on my upper left arm.

As I was laying face down on the black leather chair inside a Myrtle Beach tattoo parlor, Hank (the artist)
chuckled and told me that after the first one, you get addicted to getting tattoos. I smiled through the searing burns of needle on flesh and thought, yeah right...not after how this feels! Then I passed out.

My first tattoo, at age 18, was before I had ever experienced trauma. However, I had already begun my struggle with depression. It would hit me in waves, leaving me feeling hopeless and exhausted from menial tasks or socializing. I wanted to disappear. I spent a lot of my free time reading and drawing. More specifically, drawing dream catchers. I loved this idea of something physical being able to draw out, trap, and rid me of the nightmares and demons inside my head. Then I realized I could make this a part of me, as a tattoo.

There was the unexplainable feeling of beauty and self-love that came with my first tattoo (and each one after, really). I suddenly had this part of my body that I loved when the rest was ridiculed by others or, worse, myself. However, I hadn't actually connected all of these thoughts together quite yet.

Then at the age of 18, I found myself the victim of an abusive relationship and sexual assault/rape. I lost a lot of who I was. I was sinking into this pit of anxiety and self-hatred. I blamed myself. My body felt like a stranger. Something I was only renting part-time. When I'd have panic attacks, it felt like I was trying to claw my way out of my own skin. Eventually, though, it ended. I started getting better.

I planned my next tattoo - a teal bow to signify the strength of all the people who had been pained by sexual assault, abuse, and/or rape. It was my way of starting this process of taking back parts of myself while also saying "I will not be ashamed anymore."

With each tattoo since, I have felt more and more at home in my body. It feels like it truly belongs to me. It's a home, not an Airbnb. Sure, there are still parts I want to change. I have a long way to go on that front. But when I see the art along my skin, I can't help but smile at the places I have been in life and what I have accomplished.








Day 2: March 15, 2019

Friday, March 15, 2019

Friday.

Thank God it's Friday. Because Friday, after 2:38pm, means no more screaming-children-induced headaches, no more running around trying to figure out where someone is because they left the classroom without permission, again, no more shouting to be heard, no more waiting to be allowed to teach, no more fights to break up.

Friday means I have two days to relax and restart. I can take long showers and lather myself in lavender lotion. I can curl into the couch cushions and watch Netflix until the sun goes down. I can turn off my alarms. I can socialize. Or not.

I know everyone looks forward to their weekends but I never looked forward to them like this. Not in a desperate, i-need-them-to-survive-my-job way, like I do with being a Title I Middle School Teacher. I give 110% of my being every week and get home spent and having received only about 20% of it back. The rest is failing grades due to not doing the work, cutting class, or being suspended. Parent phone calls that don't help. Begging students to just give me 30 seconds of calm in the chaos.

I never thought I would be a teacher - let alone a Middle School teacher. It all happened by chance. I thought I loved it. I thought it would get easier. Instead, I constantly realize I am losing pieces of myself as I fight to do even the simplest parts of my job. I realize now, almost 2 years in, that this isn't the permanent path for me. It has taught me 1,000,000 life lessons but after June 7, I will close the book on my career as a teacher in pursuit of something that brings joy - versus takes it away.

I have a few ideas. I'd love to write as a major part of my job. Or work with passionate people. Maybe I'll be a writer or an editor or a social media manager or a communications officer. Though, honestly, I'm really just ready to see wherever the world takes me.

Until then, Spring Break is only one week away.




Day 1: March 2, 2019

Saturday, March 2, 2019



A lot is going on in life right now, while simultaneously feeling like nothing is going on. I've been missing countless hours of sleep, thought about walking out of my job and never turning back, spent evenings with wonderful friends, fallen asleep curled up next to my best friend, cried in the car, and wondered what comes next.

Life is bringing big changes this year and I want to write myself through them.

Today though, just a poem:


crackling flames lick
my lips 
and make me 
think of you -
of pain
& beauty
which always leave 
scar


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