Snake Juice

It’s 1:29pm on Wednesday August 21st and I am currently teeming with excitement because I just bought myself a tattoo gun. Do I have any experience tattooing? No sir! Absolutely zero. Nevertheless, I find myself eager to start designing what will be my first leg tattoo. I’d tell you what it was going to be and what it means to me, but you still wouldn’t really understand. Not because you’re dumb or anything. It’s just kind of a personal matter I guess. But I suppose a lot of people could say that about some of their tattoos, if not all of them. I guess that’s part of the reason why tattoos can be so cool in the first place. There’s always more than meets the eye.

I didn’t even have a lot of tattoos until I was 26 and did not get my first one until I was 24. I think. Fuck, I don’t even remember anymore. Might’ve even been 25. I seriously don’t remember. I got it on my birthday though. I feel like that’s pretty late in the tattoo game for most individuals that get them. Maybe I’m wrong. But what’s particularly odd about my case is that if you asked me at the age of 23 if I ever wanted tattoos I would have told you, “Hell no!”

Unfortunately for me, I suffer from mental illness. A wicked case of bipolar with psychotic features, and one of which that didn’t start rearing its ugly head until my early 20’s. Then, one summer, things got really bad when I decided to take the initiative of discontinuing my much needed psych meds.

I found myself without sleep for three days in a dilapidated shed that my parents had in their backyard at the time and I was chain smoking cigarettes like it was my job. Strangely enough, I was completely sober. And I mean from everything. And I had been for a number of months at the time back in 2013. In case no one remembers, it was hotter than a fucking bitch that summer. In this whirlwind of mania, I found myself talking to voices that were heavily trying to sell me on the idea of getting tattoos. When I say this, what I mean is, I was standing there talking to voices like they were people in front of me. I listened to these voices pitch their idea to me in an attempt to persuade me into getting tattoos. Or at least to go get my first one. After a long and drawn out debate, I came to an agreement with the voices that I would get my first tattoo and it was going to be an ace of spades card. Why that? Fuck if I know! I didn’t end up getting it for a while after that little debate in my psychosis, but I made the decision that day that I’d get it. And I stuck with that. I was convinced back then that it held some kind of spiritual relevance to me and my life. I’m pretty sure that was just my mental illness though.

Satisfied with me being swayed by their relentless attempt at persuasion, which apparently triumphed, those particular voices dissipated while I spent another sleepless day chain smoking more cigarettes and depriving myself of any food or water in that shithole shed in my parents backyard that was full of rat shit and god knows how many fucking spiders. A few times my parents came outside with a glass of water and tried to get me to drink it and I’d refuse it by not even acknowledging that they were there. Soon thereafter, my parents became increasingly worried that I refused to drink water, eat, or leave the shed, for it had been days, so they called the cops. Once I had knowledge that the cops were on their way, I smashed a window and ran until I was found an hour or two later with no shoes on at CV Park. My shirt was covered in blood from the cut I got on my wrist from shattering the window. Once I was at the hospital, despite the fact that it was against my will, I actually felt some relief. The mania slowly started subsiding over the course of the three weeks I was there on that particular stay.

The main reason I just told you that story though was to explain to you how and why I initially started getting tattoos. Like I said, I never wanted them. I could’ve lived my whole life without tattoos and been fine. But what’s funny is that now that I have them, I would feel fucking weird as fuck without them.

I don’t hate any of my tattoos per se. Maybe one. But what I mostly dislike about them is I didn’t get to choose them. I swear to God. Perfect example, the giant black rattlesnake I have on my left arm. Why in the fuck would I want a giant black rattlesnake tattooed on my arm? Now that I have had it for so long though, it actually possesses a very significant meaning to me now and one that remains relevant at all times.

What the big ugly black rattlesnake on my left arm represents is false reality. You know how when you first meet someone you know only what you see in front of you or what you’ve heard about that person? But really you don’t know shit. Not really. This even applies to people you know well. Or that you think you know well. You see, did you ever see the movie Natural Born Killers? You know the scene where Mickey and Mallory are tripping balls and head into the pharmacy to try and get the snake juice, the rattlesnake antivenom, so they won’t die? Well, if you watch the movie you never really actually know if they really got bit by rattlesnakes or if it was all in their heads because they were tripping out on drugs. Our reality is between our ears. The shit you think is real at one time or that you think is a certain way might be completely fucking wrong. Duh, right? Goes without saying. But for some reason the voices in my head wanted me to be reminded of this fact in a very creative and symbolic manner. Lucky me. It only cost me $300 and it’s permanently inked to my arm until I die. Lmao! Pretty punk rock, bruh.

So now my body is pretty decently inked in various spots and a lot of my tattoos I don’t like despite the fact that the artwork itself is extremely well done. Namely because, like I said, I didn’t choose them. Mental illness is a mother fucker. Even so, I have a tattoo gun on the way now. I’m gonna start with my leg and then use it to cover up a lot of the tattoos that I don’t like, which is a lot of them. So it’s pretty exciting. My girlfriend even said I could tattoo her. I’m not 100% about doing it, but we’ll see. I’m definitely gonna use myself as a guinea pig first. I just wanted to give a quick piece of advice to anyone who is thinking of getting a tattoo in case you’re reading this. Just so you know. In case you didn’t know. The thing about tattoos is…they’re permanent.