no rain, no flowers

I got my first tattoo yesterday. As something that was once a childhood dream, I never imagined actually mustering up the courage to do so. I lay still in the chair for nearly 4 hours as I was being injected with ink and at the same time was picking apart my brain. I thought of the look on my mother's face when she one day catches me wearing something a little too short and gets a glimpse of the scratchy letters on my mid thigh. As I felt my artist scratch through the large amounts of scar tissue, I remember the pain feeling differently as a teenager. I thought of my life changing trip to Atlanta where I realized I was made for more than who I believed myself to be. I recalled going to the location for that day (on set for a film) and exploring the abandoned prison farm. I remember how I climbed to the top of the building and found myself in the midst of a wide open, overgrown, disintegrating shower room. Riddled with graffiti and broken glass, I was careful. I knew people had died there so I was even more so. I remember scanning the room, examining the destructive creative art in front of me, and my eyes wandered to the very top of the wall I faced.


NO RAIN NO FLOWERS


It struck a nerve in me that I didn't comprehend at the time. But those words have since resonated with me. It dawned on me later when its meaning was more appropriate to me.

It's no secret I've struggled with depression my entire life, as many people do in my generation. It's no secret that anxiety is making its course through my veins daily and only needs the slightest of notions to act up. Its no secret that I've accepted self destruction and normalized it so that I could go about my day. And, to anyone who knows me, it's definitely no secret that I'm terrified of talking about it. Here's to this pride I have to stomach, it's a big pill to swallow.

No flowers can be brought about without the water to help them grow, and the storm provides that for them. It may be shaky and uncertain, but after its ugly, something truly remarkable comes from it. You cannot grow without the storm.

I was raped at 16 years old. It wasn't a stranger, it wasn't a close family member, it wasn't a torn shirt or blood in an alleyway. It was striped bedsheets. It was the door cracked with his mother in the next room. It was me lying there with my head turned so I didn't have to look at him. It was him kissing me after and looking me in the eye when he told me he loved me. It was me going home and crying and not even knowing why. It was me staying with him another 4 months. It was me being in denial, and not realizing what it actually was until after I left.

It was numb.

But only momentarily.

It was feeling inadequate for anyone I was around. It was me looking for happiness in other people, knowing well I'd never trust them. It was me convincing myself that it was all my fault because I should've seen the signs. It was me telling myself I was an idiot. It was me having anxiety spells for nights. It was me becoming an alcoholic by the age of 17. It was me giving up on the concept of a God. It was everything fading to one color. It was me not eating for days at a time. It was PTSD-like episodes. It was dreams of suicide.

My storm came in hard, and rained on my parade like a hurricane, and I sure felt it.

But the storm would subside, no matter how dark the clouds that looked overhead looked.

and there I was, finding myself in the middle of a storm, with moments of sunlight; and it was just enough to get me through the rest of the rain. When it finally ended, my eyes saw the sunlight so much brighter than before, this new found appreciation of what was in front of me really made me reprioritize and understand. I learned things about myself during my trials that I never would've known. I never would've imagined to find strength within my weakest moments. I never thought I would find the faith to carry on with life, let alone in an optimistic perspective.

You have to have the rain to grow. You have to have your lows before you can understand the highs. You have to have the storm for your flowers to bloom. And in this time, I realized that I was thankful. I was glad I had been depressed. I was glad that I had been blessed with crippling anxiety. Most importantly, I was accepting the fact that the rape changed my life, and if anyone was going to make good of it, I was going to make sure it was me. I was going to do my part and go out of my way to become the person I'm meant to be and fulfill whatever purpose I have on this earth. I think the most beautiful thing is to experience such a tragedy and still find the beauty in it.

Through this I've found the strength the forgive my abuser. Ive found my voice and my calling. Ive worked endlessly and strived to be nothing less than loving and compassionate to everyone I meet. I found all these thoughts and ideas and perspectives that have shaped and are shaping me into the person that I am destined to be. I will never be given more than I can handle, and there's more than enough room for me to continue growing.

So as I sit in the chair and marvel at the size of this piece and the artistry of my tattoo guy, I remember that this is something that will be forever ingrained in me, and I'm more than comfortable with that. The meaning finally dawned on me, and for once everything felt right. Though I got the tattoo on a completely impulse streak I had, for an idea that was an idea I came up with on the spot, I was and am content. And I'm even more so convinced that everything happens for a reason.

I have a bodily reminder now to hold on when things get less than optimistic. I have something to show for the storms I've endured. My mother will probably hate it. My thigh is going to probably be on fire for the next 4 days. But it was well worth it.

And swallowing my pride has never been so sweet.