I also gave up vaping less than 24 hours ago, since I can no longer afford the habit, and it is sending me through emotion spirals all the way to The Pit. One song keeps blasting on repeat in the ol’ brain noodle as I try and pull out all the stops and tools to manage “intrusive thoughts”.

Staring down the barrel of a 45

2 Seconds.

This is the average watch time on any tattoo media I post, as I witness those around me mindlessly scrolling through an unending stream of “content”. 7 years of undying devotion, blood, sweat, and tears, through failure we work our way upward, becoming more solid in technique and foundations, hopefully holding ourselves to an unachievable vision of perfection. Yet, through all of this I was able to hold fast and keep the dream I have had since my pre-teen days.

It’s easy to look around and start pointing the finger at what’s going wrong in the culture, in the once tight-knit community of craftsmen and in the greater country/world culture abroad, and I’ve spent too much of my time doing so with no gains to be found. Instead of pushing all of energy in to trying to fight to flow (or lack thereof) of business, choosing instead to focus on crippling mental health issues and a body locked in to dis-ease.

It worked.

At least it DID until yesterday.

I actually really like myself, and think I have the world to offer anyone who crosses my path. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone more devoted to pleasing those near to me, and yes, I realise that is not healthy. This is why I chose to undo that programming, and the divorce of capitalism and financial security to that of self worth. Easy, right?! HA!

The sad thing is, no one else can see this. Okay, maybe no NO one, but like…. 1 to 4 people at a time tops, and I am utterly exhausted from falling through the cracks at every turn. No family, friends, or loose acquaintances bother to give a thumbs up or crumb of accolade, and the inner-child screams for recognitions and a simple attaboy.

Hell, my father didn’t even invite me to his birthday party this year (oh, and every other year) and he lives less than an hour away.

A Total Slut for a Kind Word

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she says over the vibrant dinn of a punk rock patio bar, in regards to a piece that I finished long ago but only recently posted. An established tattooer themselves, the words cascade through my eardrums, an ecstatic waterfall of recognition of years of struggle. They were promptly snuffed out be an assurance that it is not a compliment. Don’t take these kind words as a means for having an ounce of Self Worth. Cool.

I have long acted a fool for kind words and visibility, pouring my heart and soul in to empty vessels incapable of reciprocity. I understand this to be a trauma response, and is something I’ve devoted literally all of my time to integrating this year.

The Road Goes Ever On

It is only because of my devotion to my emerging spiritual practice that I have have been given the gift of blind hope and even a spark of joy, and perhaps it is just the nicotine withdrawals, but today it falters. Perhaps I am to “go with the flow” some fucking MORE and stay open to the guidance present in the crumbling of all things, but I made no promise to like it.

Over the course of the last few months I have found fortitude and connection that I had always thought to be unachievable, as I set out on Bambi legs to rewrite 3 decades of terror, and perhaps this is just one of many “tests” I am to face, but man… I’m so fucking tired of tests.

The Higher Forces have said that I am now to undertake a more devoted Spiritual Path, that it is now the time to step into leadership, and I’ve felt very gung-ho at this notion, but staring over the edge of this cliff my stomach is in knots.

There is no resolution to be found in this piece, at this time. Only frantic words breathed out of intense fear, shame, guilt, a gaping abandonment wound that demands my immediate attention.

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