I officially have four tattoos now. I love each one because they represent a different part of who I am. One represents my freedom, two represent my playful and geeky self, and the fourth is a reminder of a painful time and the redeeming promises I felt that were made to me.
I went about two (?) weeks ago to watch a friend get a tattoo and then decided I would join in too! I can't help it! I love tattoos! I went with "Isaiah 54" written on the inside of my wrist.
About five years ago I read that chapter and I just felt like God was speaking to every broken part of me. My story would remain hidden until the love of my life came along and a very special lady who sat in front of me and walked with me in places I'd never let anyone in before.
I felt with each word I had read that there were promises for me...hope...and a God I'd never seen, heard, or experienced before.
It's been a shitty year. And for the past two months I finally feel like I'm back...I'm breathing again. It's not been easy to stay here, but I'm fighting like hell.
I stood at the front desk filling out the paper work (and really do I need to sign a paper that confirms that i know tattoos are permanent haha) and I'm wondering what I should do. I finally decided on my promise chapter. It felt right. It felt like a constant reminder of where I've been, where I am, and where I'm going. I love just looking at it. I love how all my tattoos are special to me. They are me.
But.... I'm finding myself becoming very contemptful (is that even a word??) of something that keeps happening more and more. It hasn't happened with everyone, but there have been a good handful of people who see my tattoos and automatically ask "Have your parents seen them?" "What did your parents say?"
Every time I hear these questions now, I bite back what may be a potentially rude comment to the person asking and I smile, shrug my shoulders, and say "I don't know. They haven't said anything."
You see a year ago I got my first tattoo. I found out that day how my father felt. I'm not going into any details here. My mother has chosen to remain silent. Whether or not she cares I have no idea. I haven't asked. I do wonder what they think, but I don't need their approval. If they choose to at least be curious about this then great...I'd love to sit down with them and share my heart. If not...then I can honestly be fine and sit with that.
It irks me now, when someone asks that. I am my own person. I make my own decisions. I'm Mal Arnold. I'm funky, quirky, playful, and imaginative. My tattoos are about me. Ask about me. I guess I'd just like for people to see my tattoos and ask me what it means...ask me about what I think... not about what other people think. People who aren't me. I'm not really sure how to express this...or how it's sounding right now. Apart of me just really wants to delete this and stay quiet. I've always just wanted people to know me. Know my heart...know the real me. I can make that hard for a lot of people, but that doesn't mean I don't desire it. I just want people to see me...experience me...play with me... It feels hard to say that it hurts, but it does hurt when I hear questions like that. I feel like once again I'm fifteen with no voice...invisible and unknown.
I'm proud of me. There is a lot of work to be done...but I see me...finally! And I may not always like me, but I love who I'm becoming. I don't need people's approval of me. That's not what I want here. I just want to be seen. To be heard.
Ask me about me. The road to getting to know me may not always be easy...but I promise it'll be worth it. That sounds rather narcissistic to say...but I do know those words to be true.
