Tattoo’s

I have a tattoo on my rib cage that I have regretted since the minute it was engraved into my skin. The tattoo is an arrow pointing upward. I have always hated it for a multitude of reasons, one of which is that I undoubtedly got it as a way of telling my ex boyfriend “I’m super cool and edgy and doing fine without you” when I was a wee 18-year-old with bad judgment, both in boys and decision making. I had seen a picture of an arrow earlier that day,  thought “yeah that looks cool” and then BAM four hours later had it tattooed on me. That was it. So now I’m stuck with this stupid reminder of how many mistakes I made at that point of my life. At the time, I had just been broken up with by this loser douchebag, failed out of my first semester of college, my dad and I had a bad relationship, my older sister wasn’t talking to anyone in my family, I had stopped leaving bed or eating, and suicidal thoughts were not strangers to me. Looking back, it’s hard to believe the person writing this had let herself stoop so low. So, who the heck wants to have a permanent reminder of their worst days on their body?? Nobody! Definitely not me.

Today, however, I had a new thought on it. It’s kind of neat, how I got a tattoo of an upward-shooting arrow at my lowest point in life.  It wasn’t planned, of course, but my life has only improved since those days. I’m being published, graduated with honors, and could not find a more respectful boy to date. My family is getting along better than ever. Although I still have my bad days, I am all-around doing infinitely better than ever before.

Maybe instead of having it removed, I can look at it and think “hey, that’s a reminder that my life never has to be low ever again, and I can always be moving upward.”

Basically, I have a pretty top-shelf life. And I should be nice to my tattoo.

 

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