Oh, the pain of a tattoo is great--but in the long run, it's COMPLETELY worth it. My first ink was six years ago, and I was the tinest little baby about it. It was a traumatic amount of pain, and I couldn't conduct myself like a functional human being. The only reason I kept going after I started is that a tattoo isn't a job you can half finish. And after a few weeks, the pain is gone, but the artwork remains.
What I heard was right--you can't get just one. Once the memory of the pain faded, I got a feeling of survival. Rough as it was, I made it through intact and complete. Complete, and yet more than I was before. I lost nothing of who I was, and gained something powerful and permanent that would be who I would be for the rest of my life. I needed another.
Three years ago, I got my second one. Nothing as important as the first, but it was time. The second wasn't as hard to endure as the first. I suppose I was just prepared, knowing what had happened before and knowing I could make it through a second time. And I did.
I still felt I was incomplete. I needed a balance, another picture as an equal and opposite to what I already had. Now that process has begun, and I couldn't be happier. It'll still be a month or so before I have my back filled out to my saticfaction, but filled out shall it be.
Pictures are up now--more to be posted as I get them.
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