Getting Inked

Getting a tattoo is something I have gone going back and forth on for quite some time- first if I actually wanted one, and if so, what? I finally decided on this simple phrase- my phrase. It started as a simple Home Free song, but quickly evolved into my life mantra. When I was depressed, I wrote it on sticky notes and posted them all over my dorm room, in all my folders, on my mirror, everywhere. I said it to myself at least 50 times a day- I said it to myself until I believed it. This phrase has kept me going and has saved my life over and over again. So it seemed fitting that it would be the one thing I would permanently put on my body. However, working up the courage to actually do so was another story.  The plan was to get it for my 20th birthday as a reward for making it two whole decades, but that came and went a month ago and still no tattoo. But then life happened. After some of the worst couple of weeks I’ve ever lived through, the time finally felt right. I had been right on the edge of cliff and beyond ready to jump, partially due to some medication that was seriously messing with my head and driving me crazy. It seemed as though things just kept piling up- my laptop going to hell, my car hitting a ditch, my dog possibly having to get put down- I had reached my limit. I was done. But I survived. I made it. I came out on the other side, and I was okay. After that, I decided it was time. My tattoo is a permanent reminder that things will eventually get better and you can only fall so far into a hole- eventually you hit the bottom and you have two choices- give up and stay there or claw yourself out. I’m not completely in the clear yet, my tattoo helps me remember to keep clawing my way out of that hole and to never stop fighting for my life, no matter how bad that life may seem. No matter what life throws at me, I now have a permanent reminder on my inner hip that everything will be ok.

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