TW: loss of child
I have always disliked needles. So the idea of a tattoo was never my first thought upon reaching adulthood.
I’m definitely not going to cover my body in tattoos, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want them.
If I had a spare few hundred (after pandemic ends), I would like to…
Okay I have a ton of other things that get that first few hundred. I’m not doing well financially to just spend money on a tattoo. I haven’t won the lotto (and won’t. That requires playing it).
Like my debt and my teeth and figuring out doctors and my illnesses. Imagine not having to worry about costs when it comes to medical requirements. I would have my epilepsy marked before the year ends… Okay before next year ends (pandemic plus November 29th…). I’d not worry about figuring out the right medication to help fix this. At least it could give me higher limits.
Part of the fact I’m awake at 3am writing is because of seizures.
It’s not the only reason. I woke up with a nightmare. One I don’t remember. One I don’t want to remember. I know the topic and that got me talking tattoos.
If you’ve been reading all of my blog posts, you would’ve heard about Lokin and Michael. (poems: Poem: Lokin & Poem: Michael, My Angel first post that brings up the topic that comes to mind: Thoughts)
I was still a teen when I got pregnant with Lokin. My health has never been good. I wasn’t able to support a pregnancy back then. I was a new college student and foolish. The father would’ve loved and cared for Lokin. Doubtful I made a good choice for partner, but he would’ve been a good father. He is a good father. We’re still friends and I did meet his adorable child. The relationship he has now makes a lot more sense.
I had to abort Lokin.
Pregnancy is supposed to make you gain weight. Not lose it. Every pregnancy had me lose weight. I ended Cyro’s with -25 lbs. Yeah. He was a loss. Lokin’s I started underweight and started losing weight.
Michael was… He would’ve been an Irish twin. Many have increased fertility after giving birth. While I was half out of it and struggling… I got pregnant again. By Cyro’s father. He didn’t think anything of it.
I lost Michael at 20 weeks. I have the fetal death certificate in my drawer. I keep it.
I had a child at 10 weeks, 20 weeks, and 31 weeks (Cyro tried for 30, but we pushed it back a week).
Maybe I’ll get lucky enough for one at 40 weeks (that’s the expected time). If only. (And no that isn’t an opening for a sexual advance.)
Back to topic. I want to get a black butterfly on my left shoulder blade. Perhaps not exactly there, but general placement. I want to put 2008 beneath it. Because Michael was and is the hardest to handle. He hit the deepest. Because he was more than just a want when he died. Lokin was more of a dream and a hope and a wish. He hadn’t settled and become real yet. Michael… I…
I’m fine. I’m okay. The black butterfly would be first. Then I wish to get Lokin’s hourglass on my left hip.
And for Cyro, I wish a simplistic dragon on my right thigh.
And hopefully I can come up with more ideas after that. But these… *sigh* I want these.
I don’t need them.
I need teeth.
I need a diagnose.
I need to pay off these fucking loans. (I need to remind myself college was worth it.)
I need a stable life.
I won’t finish my mourning for Michael or Lokin until I get these though. And I’ll have other days where I wake up at 3am with no ability to return back to sleep.
Why has life been so hard? It feels I’m more Persephone: half in the world of the living and half not.
Several celebrities just came out with pregnancy losses. That’s probably why it’s so close to surface right now.