So what's up with the tattoos Kir?

If you've seen my show, or know me in real life, you know I have several tattoos. I currently have four (five if you count the one that's covered up).

I have two on my chest that make up one chest piece of four roses.

One large double cat portrait on my leg.

One life sized red spotted purple butterfly on my right inner forearm.

Next week I am getting another butterfly, a common buckeye, on my right outer forearm.

So why do I have the tattoos?

Firstly, because I think tattoo art is beautiful. I love body modification in general but a good tattoo is a living piece of art. Permanently part of the temporary flesh. Constant, and transient. Not to mention the connection between the person who has the art on their skin, the artist who put it there. It is a trusting and intimate act to allow someone to put their mark on you like that.

Unfortunately it took me a long time to be that clear in my view of tattooing. I have a fairly large piece of flash tribal art under the roses on the right side of my chest. I went with my younger sister to her tattoo appointment, and decided I needed one, but I didn't have any money, so I had to find something that would cost what she could afford to give me.

Not a good way to pick out a tattoo by the way. I hated it almost immediately. But it took nine years to find the right artist to cover it up with roses. Then I had her do the other side to make it a chest piece. I've now had my roses for almost 7 years. Roses are my birth flower by the way. And I absolutely love them. I am however allergic to virtually everything rose scented.

The cats on my leg are Luna Moth and Penelope Jane. Luna Moth was the first kitten (not cat) that the Hubby and I adopted after we became engaged. Penelope was the first cat I adopted from the veterinary hospital at which I worked for three years. Luna had a congenital heart condition and wasn't expected to live a full life. So it was important to me to get the tattoo while she was still alive. Seven and a half hours in one sitting for that tattoo. Hurt like hell, but I'm so glad I got it. And the artist was absolutely fantastic. This was way back in 2009 and her shop was tiny then. Glad to see she's getting so successful.

The butterfly is actually the start of what will eventually be a sleeve (wonder if I should have told the artist that). It is placed where my daughter would rest her head when she was cuddled or breastfeeding as an infant. Also it is blue, which she keeps saying is her favorite colour. Eventually I will have ten butterflies. When she was born, the Wildflower Child was a bit fussy. I wouldn't call it colic, but she did have reflux and would not be soothed easily sometimes. I had symptoms of PPD (although was not treated or evaluated and couldn't talk about it at the time) and would be so scared she would never stop crying. My mother was visiting once and started singing "Ten Little Indians" to her which seemed to help. But seriously, I can't sing that. So I changed the words to "Ten Little Butterflies." 

I've sung that little ditty thousands of times. Even painted a canvas for her second xmas with ten butterflies and the words. 

1 little, 2 little, 3 little butterflies

4 little, 5 little, 6 little butterflies

7 little, 8 little, 9 little butterflies

10 little butterflies

Watch them fly...

So that's what each of them mean. And gives you an idea that I am willing to travel for good artists. But why now? Why am I getting tattooed now, and so quickly getting piece after piece? 

Because I feel like I'm running out of time. I just found Matty, the artist doing my butterflies, and I honestly don't know how long I'm going to be in the region and able to have him work on me. And not only is his work outstanding, I'm comfortable with him, which is rare and beautiful. And I don't want to lose the chance for him to work on me if we have to move. 

Also, the tattooing keeps me from doing something worse. 

I'm a cutter. Have been for as long as I can remember. Long before adolescence and being a typical damaged teenager. As a middle school child I would stick straight pins in my fingers and arms. Pick at scratches until they ripped open, poke at bruises. 

I know the general image of a cutter is a high school or college aged, underweight overachiever or recluse who is just vying for attention or will grow out of it. 

Well here I am, 37-year-old, mother, wife, cam model, telemarketer, sometimes pet sitter or artist. And my fingers tremble almost every time I change the razor blade in my shaving razor (which happens to be a double sided safety razor by the way). My scars are old and mostly white and some are fading, but I can tell you about all of them. They were all hidden and lied about. Never used to get attention. I bled to ease the pressure and pain that I live with and have lived with most of my life. Like some archaic kinship with the surgeons of ages past that would open a vein or apply leeches to treat the vapors, I would rend my flesh because I couldn't cry, or when crying wasn't enough. I would draw a blade across my wrist or ankle or arm, to live. 

Oh the irony of using wrist cutting as a way to avoid suicide. 

That's what I did. The sharp, hot/cold sliver of pain. The liquid smear of scarlet and then burgundy on my skin. Focused me. Brought me back from the fog of disbelief in a future. The simple acts of cleaning and bandaging reminded me that I have to take care of myself. 

It was a coping mechanism. One I do not allow myself, ever, anymore. 

I haven't cut in over 7 years. But damn the urge is there. And with everything going on right now, the house, the DUI, life in general, I feel like I'm sinking sometimes into a hole of despair. Not all the time, but enough. But I do not reach for the blade. Ever. 

Now when I look at my wrist, I also see the butterfly on my arm. And I am reminded in bright colour, what not to do. That I have to stay strong and whole and intact for my daughter. I need to model better coping skills (anyone have an idea of what?) for her. 

So turn to art and creation. And make something beautiful out of an ugly urge. 

Also tattooing feels very similar to how cutting did. So that helps.