Inked Mag Staff

February 13th, 2018

Why I Won’t Cover the Tattoo For My Ex

It’s a part of my history and now my body By Anonymous Although we share plenty of articles that talk about getting intimate in terms of sex and skin—it’s not…

It’s a part of my history and now my body

By Anonymous

Although we share plenty of articles that talk about getting intimate in terms of sex and skin—it’s not very often that we get real about the ink on our bodies. Our tattoos, both personally and sociologically, tell a story and these stories make up who we are, where we’ve come from, as well as how we navigate through the world. In the essay you’re about to read, we learned about why someone may or may not hold onto a tattoo of an ex lover. Because while many of us wouldn’t dream to wear the name, face, or symbol of a former flame for another day—there are also those who won’t touch that tattoo for one million dollars. Take a look at my story and why I wont cover the tattoo for my ex in the gallery below. Then, if you have your own story for a tattoo dedicated to an ex, feel free to share it in the comments section on Facebook.

I guess we should start with the beginning, even though the tattoo came at the end. Back in 2011, I was sixteen years old and completely inexperienced when it came to relationships. I was still coming to terms with my sexuality and hadn’t a clue whether I wanted to be with a girl or a boy. My head told me that being with a guy was the right way to go—because that’s what society and my family would be comfortable with. But my heart had something else in mind.

Her name was Emily, and at the time, she was my best friend. I’d had best friends before, but not one that compared to her. We had a bond that was inexplicable, it worked in a way that most people didn’t understand. I was the girly one, the cheerleader who wore dresses, skirts, and heels to class. She was the tomboy, who preferred hiking over shopping any day. People couldn’t understand why the two of us would be friends, no less girlfriends, but they didn’t know what we had.

Emily and I had a bond that was bound by our developing sexualities. We were both queer and coming out in different ways. We were able to express our true selves under the comfortable cover of our own little world—which primarily consisted of The L Word, Tegan and Sara, and Curve Magazine. We’d even created a dream board of the beautiful women, inspiring quotes, and hand-drawn paintings that made up our perfect lesbian life. When I was alone with Emily, I had the freedom to be myself for the very first time and I was warmed by the fact that I was loved and accepted for my true self. She made me feel okay with being the awkward, weird, goofy, analytical, and yes, queer, woman that I was becoming.

However, as Greek tragedy would imply, there’s a catch 22 to every great love story. While Emily and I were developing our relationship as well as ourselves—we both struggled with varying degrees of mental illness.

I’d been diagnosed with depression and later re-diagnosed with anxiety at 13-years-old. High school was a rough time for me emotionally, but things were easier and the burden was lifted when I was with Emily. I was able, with the help of treatment and a supportive sports environment, to combat a great deal of the emotion I was facing—leaving high school a much stronger and enlightened person than I’d come in.

However, Emily was experiencing a very different journey with mental illness. She battled with depression on a much deeper level than I had, which eventually transpired into an eating disorder. At the time things started to get really bad, she’d even left school and I wasn’t able to see the disorder get the best of her. Which is why, her hitting rock bottom snuck up on me and our relationship—making her leaving for a rehabilitation center two states away a complete shock to me.

When I found that Emily was in rehab, she’s already been there for several days and wouldn’t be released for a few more weeks. I was completely taken aback by the news, unable to believe that she’d been suffering to this degree the entire time. I felt like the worst girlfriend in the world because I hadn’t been there emotionally for her, but at the same time, she’d never opened up to me about these feelings. It sounds crazy, but when we were together, everything was amazing and we always managed to have fun no matter what we were going through in the outside world. But I couldn’t make this about myself and what I had done wrong, I needed to be there for her more than ever. While in rehab, I sent Emily tons of letters and books—all to make her feel just the tiniest bit better and to know that I would be there for her no matter what.

However, the books were never read and my letters were thrown away. Then when Emily was finally released, she was a completely different person with an entirely new life. She had set schedules for everything, including time spent with friends and times she had to eat. Our time spent to each other began to shrink rapidly, until it came to the point where we’d gone weeks without speaking. I was confused and hurt that she didn’t want to be a part of my life anymore—unable to shake the idea that I’d done something to trigger her. I was hopeful that she would one day want me back in her life and every couple of months, I would do my best to reconnect.

But, she never responded back and I eventually just gave her the space she wanted. Over the next year and a half after losing Emily, I changed a lot and my life turned upside down. First off, I moved to college away from home and was introduced to an exciting/terrifying concept known as independence. I had the freedom for the first time to be myself in the public eye, not just with Emily. I finally dressed how I wanted, fucked how I wanted, and even began collecting tattoos.

Which, finally, brings me to the tattoo for my ex. Although we’re not together and may never speak again, Emily was an important chapter of my life and I value what that relationship taught me. And I don’t believe for a second that I would be the person I am today without meeting her. She allowed me to love and accept myself fully—letting both my freak flag and my pride flag fly. She embraced the weird, artistic, and spontaneous side of me—and I don’t believe that I would have found the tattoo industry without her. I don’t like to think in this way, but I believe that I would be a very unhappy person if I had not been with her. I don’t think I would have the confidence to express who I am and live my life the way I want to. And for that, for everything that she gave me, I will always love her. Which is why, I will never in a million years, regret the tattoo I got for her.

Although new relationships and flings will inevitably come and go—I will always have the memory of my first love. And even when I meet the person I’m meant to spend the rest of eternity with, they’ll need to accept that Emily was once a very important part of my life. Maybe, one day, I will get another tattoo for a special someone, but I can’t predict that for certain. I never knew what would happen when Emily walked in and out of my life—therefore, I cannot anticipate the next person to making the same impact, but in a different way.

At this point, you’re probably wondering, why a love letter? Well, besides being a piece of flash on a Valentine’s Day sheet, I’ve always been a writer both personally and professionally. Throughout our relationship, Emily and I wrote hundreds of letters to each other—by hand, by vintage typewriter, and by keyboard. We’re both better at expressing our thoughts and emotions through the written word, and over time letters were what connected us throughout the ups and downs. Therefore, it seemed only right to represent who we are and who we were through a love letter. This tattoo is a timeless stamp of who we were at our best and our worst together—making it the perfect symbol for my first real love.

Also, I wouldn’t be caught dead with anyone’s name on my body, that’s for damn sure.

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