My Tattoo Meaning

I was alone, sitting outside on a hot desert night, gazing up at the stars, wondering if he would ever come back. He never did.

I called my ex, and as expected, he screamed. It made me question everything. Why would I return to someone who tore me down, who grabbed my body and demanded I be thinner? That was the moment I decided I would never go back to a vanilla lifestyle. It simply wasn’t for me. The year was 2019.

I had a brief fling with a Harvard Law Professor — I’ve always been drawn to charismatic people with a way with words. Both of my long-term partners were published authors, and Johnathon, who wrote law textbooks, was right up my alley.

And he would call me every night, he had the most soothing voice, asking me to imagine a life I’d never share with him. He was sensitive and kind. He had the right pauses between his words, to allow my thoughts to digest. My feelings to aspire.

Once, he asked if I wanted real love. That question felt subjective to me. It brought me to tears because I sensed he meant something like, “If you get sick, I’ll be there for you.”

Johnathon’s calls made me realize I still longed for that kind of love, he knew I was never going back to being vanilla, but the idealized notions and romantic fantasies from novels like Bridges of Madison County I still longed for.

But I had already been sick, and my lover had left me because of it. There was never going to be a Bridges of Madison County in my life, so I’m unsure what Johnathon meant. To me, love isn’t about caring for someone who is ill — that’s a job for a nurse. My lover is not my nurse.

I remember being so sick that I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. I thought there was something inherently wrong with me and that I was meant to die young.

I grew up watching my parents fight. My father left when I was eight. I was his favorite child, and I don’t think he really loved my mother. He got her pregnant and married her. I witnessed two unhappy people grow old and squander their lives.

By around age 50 or after near-death experiences, we start to realize life isn’t infinite and come to terms with the time perhaps lost and not lived. People don’t change. So, you either embrace your talents and get better at your craft or move the fuck on and die already.

When I was sick, I asked my ex to brush my hair, which was falling out in clumps. He declined. I needed intimacy, deep intimacy, and that’s why I have a tattoo of the Mother Mary on my right forearm. In times of need, I sought a celestial being capable of expansive, accepting love. My own mother was unable to care for me or give me the support I needed. I had nothing but my faith.

We don’t really get to experience deep intimacy in this lifetime. Some of you have. Maybe you watched the birth of your children. Or felt those types of emotive states with someone. Can you imagine what it’s like to have deep intimacy?

Doc