I never knew that one’s skin could tell so many stories until I realized that the most common questions I get are about my skin.

Between scars and tattoos, my body tells a story of my life. Anyone who knows me well enough knows these stories, but to outsiders, I just appear to be a tattoo addict with some emotional problems. Little do they know that it is really so much more than that. I like to think of my left arm as a story. Sophomore year of high school, when I first met my first alter (I discussed DID or Dissociative Identity Disorder in a previous post), she destroyed me mentally, emotionally, and physically. I called her Isabella Riley and it stuck. While I relied on her for protection, she simultaneously ruined my skin. She protected me from the feelings I didn’t want to feel. But as a result, I ended up in the Sheppard Pratt psychiatric ward twice for “suicidal ideation” and cutting. I remember the first time I went in. It was like waking up from a coma. Suddenly, I came to and saw that my left forearm was bandaged up to the point where I couldn’t see my skin. I wasn’t allowed to look at it or wear short sleeves while I was in the hospital. Isabella apparently had an obsession with cutting herself (physically me) in order to feel like she had her own body. Unfortunately, I was ultimately the one who had to pay the consequences.

Years later, I still have these scars. Last summer, I finally had it with the constant staring and questions. After enough trips to a variety of plastic surgeons and dermatologists without any promising guarantees, along with scar creams, Vitamin E, etc., I finally decided to just get it tattooed over. I’ve been going to the same tattoo shop for years and I knew I trusted them enough to work that closely with my skin and my past. Luckily, now that I’m more than halfway done with the tattoo, my scars are hardly noticeable! I haven’t been asked about my scars in months and it feels fantastic.

And then while we’re on the subject of tattoos, I’m sure some of you have gotten a tattoo that you’ve later regretted. Yep, I’ve been there too. At one point in my life, I was dating a marine who was super into tattoos so I got into it as well. Long story short, don’t try to impress the guy you’re dating with something permanent on your body. I spent $200 on a bird sitting on a hand grenade with Eminem lyrics. Yeah. And then about $1400 a few summers ago to get it covered up (granted, the guy did an awesome job and now I have a beautiful Alice in Wonderland half sleeve). So it seems like I’m constantly covering my past with tattoos doesn’t it? Well, if that’s the worse that I can do, I’ll take it.

I love my skin now. I love the stories that my tattoos tell. Now I get questions about my tattoos! While annoying sometimes, it’s not nearly as embarrassing as having to explain to strangers while your arm is 80% scar tissue. Here’s me now!