These are dark days in America. Dark days indeed. I vented some of my rage yesterday, but I have so much more bottled up inside. It’s not like I haven’t known since I was in my early twenties (so, thirty years) that my country did not want me. Not only does it not want me–it is actively trying to destroy me and others like me.
I know that I am ‘lucky’ to be living in a very progressive suburb with two blue cities nearby. I know that I am lucky (without the quotes) to not have to worry about making ends meet in a country that hates me. I know that I am ‘lucky’ that I can hide several of the parts of my personality that the right would target me for (gender as agender, which probably isn’t as egregious to them as trans or nonbinary, but probably just as befuddling and enraging. I clearly have lady bits! Big, honking lady bits! Really, you could not miss my tits if you tried. In fact, one of the reasons I got a tattoo on my left breast was the mentality of, “Right. If you are going to look at my tits, then I’ll give you something to look at.”
At first it was a small yin-yang in a sun. That was my first tattoo, and it was horrible. It was done by the nephew apprentice of the first tattooist in Minneapolis, close to midnight, and what he didn’t know (and I didn’t know) was that I got keloids (funnily, I’ve been saying I’m keloid for decades, but it’s the way a scar forms, not the person) whenever I had an injury on my body. In other words, I scarred twice as badly as other people. So when I got this tattoo, it scarred really badly. And it was just an ugly tattoo in general, I was deeply unhappy about it, and I knew I had to get it covered up.
It took me years to do it, but when I finally did, it was a thing of beauty. It was a lotus blossom with blue and purple petals, engulfed in flames. It took several hours, and it still looks great. If you look closely, you can see where the yin-yang is, but you have to know it’s there.
I’m thinking of getting another tattoo. It’s been decades since I’ve gotten a new one. I was planning on getting one a year-ish after getting out of the hospital. It was going to be the Firelink Shrine bonfire from Dark Souls III with my character resting at it. You see, that was my safe place in that game. That was where I went at the end of every session beacuse it was so comforting. Plus, of course, it has fire in it (which all my tattoos have–an element of fire, I mean).
That year turned into two. Then about six months later, my personal tragedy happened, and my soul shattered. I think I can say it now–no, wait. I can’t. I’m still not ready to talk about it.