The Tattoo Dream

I have four tattoos on my body so far. The first was a gift from my old college roommate to celebrate me graduating college. It started on my shin. It hurt like hell and I look like I’m giving birth in all the photos of the day.

The other three have all been done since December when I decided to celebrate the ending of the terrible Mall Santa gig I worked by getting a tattoo that I would have been forbidden to otherwise. I just got my first large one about a week and a half ago at the time I’m writing this.

Eat it, Shrek.

Eat it, Shrek.

Every tattoo has had the same dream that accompanies it during the healing cycle though.

In my dreams, my tattoo is coming off. Not in a horrific way. It’s usually in the way the temporary tattoos you put on as a kid begin to rub off. My Non-Compliant tattoo was especially guilty of this. Recently, I dreamt that my new Captain Marvel tattoo that’s not even going to be done until July began to lose her details and her beautiful Jamie McKelvie rendered face began to shape until something more childish.

I know these dreams are ridiculous, but I still wake up and triple check my ink when it happens.

I don’t know what brings on these dreams. It’s likely the anxiety that comes with each healing cycle. I’m overly paranoid of everything that could mess it up. What if I get overzealous with the soap? What if putting a shirt on scratches all the ink out? What if I accidentally sleep on it? I become overly aware of how my body usually acts and it puts me on edge. This one has been particularly brutal because cleaning it has not been the easiest task and it makes me realize just how much I favor my left side when I’m trying to fall asleep.

It does make me wonder sometimes if my brain has more subconscious things at work when this happens. Is it a fear of permanence? A worry that I put investments in the future of my body when I’m still figuring out what I want out of life? Is this how the fear of the ink rejecting my body manifests itself, even though it’s been proven not true multiple times at this point?

Or maybe it’s just angry at me for being paranoid and oily all the time after a small bit of trauma was performed on its home. Who knows?

I read too much into my neurotic brain sometimes, but it’s reassuring to tell myself that these aren’t going anywhere. They’re the things you picked to remind you of what’s important. You watched them get drawn on your skin with ink and needles. You care for them because you want them to stay. There is nothing to worry about. These dreams are nothing.

Though yeah, I can’t wait to sleep with my back to the door again.


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