Why I Got My Tattoo...

I'm sure those of you who are reading this blog that haven't heard from me since high school never thought that I would ever get a tattoo. I was the girl who never cursed, went to church every week, four or five times a week. I was the one who was always cautious and loved the outcasts. I was a drama geek, in the choir and seldom went to school without my bible. There were christian CDs in my car mixed with pop and country. I was quiet and kept most of my ideas and thoughts to myself. Well I guess I have a secret that I've kept pretty hidden from all of you pretty well until now. I feel like now is the time to talk about something important before all of you think I've gone off the deep end.

When I was ten or eleven I started getting really sad for no reason. I was spoiled rotten. I had a tv in my room, a room to myself, a waterbed, and all the toys I could have ever asked for. I was in a good place physically but mentally I started slipping. One night before dinner I took my bottle of allergy meds and downed a whole month's worth because that was the only thing I could take. I started to feel excessively sleepy and didn't even bother to tell my mother what I had done. I didn't bother telling my mother what I'd done but eventually she found out when she read my diary. Shortly after she started taking me to counseling but I wasn't keen on the idea of talking to a stranger alone in a small room. I was put on antidepressants but they made me feel worse than before. I tried a few different types but none of them worked. I eventually stopped trying.

After a couple years my world got turned upside down. The only father I had known to that point started abusing me. I won't go into detail because I'm sure none of you want to read that. I told my mom and she kicked him out. Before my freshman year of high school things got really bad and I ended up having to stay the night in a hotel a couple times. I ended up going back to a psychologist and he diagnosed me with PTSD, severe depression and a couple other things. I still didn't like talking to a stranger about my problems. My problems were my own. That year my uncle ended up moving to town to be closer to family and it was a comfort having a man nearby that I could count on again while getting to know more of my family. During that year I tried to commit suicide again by taking a bunch of Tylenol. By that time most of my "friends" had moved on or abandoned me because I told them what had happened to me. I was in charter school because I couldn't focus in regular school. My freshman  year was not my finest. Not only was I dealing with abuse trauma and what he was putting us through but I got into a roll over car accident that February and had a stalker for most of the year.

My sophomore year went a little better. I ended up going back to public school and reconnecting with old friends. Though I had a few episodes because of my PTSD things went well.

Junior year things started going a bit crazy again. I started dating this boy that I liked on the last day of sophomore year. He ended up going a bit crazy and getting himself kicked out of school. Our relationship got really strained and we ended up breaking up.

Of course Senior year is a mix of emotions for everyone but not all high schoolers find out that their father lives in Kentucky and they have 3 half siblings. Learning that kind of threw me into a tail spin. I didn't know if I wanted to talk to him or if I just wanted to stay the way they were... me and my mom. I finally made the decision to talk to him and asked him to come to my graduation.

Graduation week my parents got back together and my father moved back to California with a plan to move my siblings here ASAP. Once we moved for me to go to college things took another turn. I was having a hard time finding where I fit into my new world. My father was now in the picture and I was having a hard time finding not only a church but friends.

In one of my theater classes I meat a guy and we started dating. We dated for about 2 months and he never once took me out. All he wanted was my body despite his claims of being a devout catholic. I then met my now ex husband... We ended up dating and that's where I really got lost.

Somehow he convinced me to move in with him and I fell for him despite only knowing him for a short time. One day my mom called me and asked me to clean out my old room. He dropped me off and ended up taking his ex shopping for groceries... not only that but he hung out with her for a few hours after. When I called him to pick me up he refused and I had my parents take me home. He got home late and we got into an epic fight. During the fight he said "But I'm in love with YOU J***". Needless to say I burst into tears. My first name does NOT start with a J. He wrapped his arms around me and proposed then and there....

In my desperation to belong somewhere I accepted.

The next 5 years were full of abuse, neglect, and general nastiness. He led me down a path that I regret more than anything and he left me feeling unlovable. I attempted suicide twice during my marriage to him.

Leaving him was one of the hardest and best things I've ever done. I'm just now getting to a place where I can focus on myself and healing from the madness. Needless to say this is just the awful stuff... My life has had so many joys and moments of content that outweigh all of this negative but sometimes I still feel like that little girl taking the allergy meds just to get the pain to stop. Sometimes I am still the abused tween and wife. I know God has given me my life for a reason. He will not give me anything I cannot stand.  This tattoo is to remind me in the middle of all that darkness and sorrow to be brave and give it one more day, one more week... to make a difficult change for the better.

“Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear; The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all.”

― Meg Cabot, The Princess Diaries