May 23, 2012 by dian/nna
Regrets, I’ve had a few…
Wolfie here is one of them.
I was 19, and trying to find my identity at a time when I was hugely influenced by what others did and thought. I was on my own, and trying to prove that I could do whatever I wanted. Boyfriend had been shopping for a new tattoo and we drove out to a shop where he had gotten his first, and in a strange coincidence ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in years that had become a tattoo artist. My innocent and still childlike brain read that as fate telling me to get some ink.
Though I was raring to go and ready to make a statement, I sincerely thought I was being careful. I described the cutest fluffiest wolf cub/husky puppy I could imagine. I watched him sketch and show me drawings and I felt that I had given it enough thought (2 weeks), after all he was a friend, a celebrated artist and most importantly…everyone else was doing it!
I think I showed it off for maybe 2 weeks and then began the long road of shame, hatred, regret and embarrassment that brought me to this point. I would go through long chunks of time, completely forgetting it was back there, and then something would remind me and a sadness spiral would start. This poor pup, is the farthest thing from fluffy I can imagine. Depending on the angle, the poor thing appears to have a serious case of mange, along with missing appendages, and a sad little face crying out in pain for help. I suspect he’s in pain because his 3rd leg is horribly broken and hanging behind him, as if it were his tail. I am reminded of the Hyenas from the Lion King….
But that’s just the ink. The larger issue is the reminder of the person I was. The person who made that decision. The girl who chose the college where her friends went, rather than make a choice based on education and what she really wanted. The girl who was trying too hard to grow up too fast, and forgot to attend classes. The girl who chose to drop out of college. The girl who decided to make a permanent statement about something she had a passing fancy for. That girl is gone, she reappears only in memories and in rare weak moments that I know everyone has. But the tattoo remains…
Until now… No more attempts at convincing doctors that it’s a gang tattoo and I need it removed for my safety. No more tearfully begging boyfriend to carve it out with a scalpel. No more intentional sunburns to that area. I have made my 1st appointment to have it removed professionally and I expected to be on top of the world with excitement. Yet, here I sit wondering if I’ve done the right thing and if I will miss that little bugger. 16 years is a long time to have something, even if you hate it. It’s a long time to feel bad about something. It’s a long time to try to make peace with something, and then for it to one day be gone. They say it will be painful, and people have told me it could scar. I’m kind of hoping for a little of both. I don’t think it should disappear without feeling it. I don’t think it should disappear without a trace.