fruitsofnolabour-blog

[fruitsofnolabour-blog]

TATTOOING WHEN MENTAL

Firstly I’d like to add a little old content warning; Tattooing, Self Harm and Mental Health, Bi-Polar Disorder.

Now that’s out of the way…

I spoke recently with a friend, who talked frankly about her history of self harm, and for the first time in a decade, I felt able to engage in a conversation about the act itself. So I made a decision at that moment in the car, that I would open a conversation around it at some point. And now I’ve got round to starting that dialogue with…Myself

I have often been asked about the meaning behind each and every one of my tattoos; in particular what was part of my 5 year getting tatt-ed plan, if they were a much overthought life aspiration or a flippant style choice that I am likely to regret in years to come. The honest answer is that I need them, I want them constantly and I find my collection entirely essential for my life and my mental wellbeing. Tattoos for me are entirely therapeutic and I find it grounding, important and vital so I can develop and maintain stable lifestyle.

The traditional lining for me is the outer boundary of my needs, a tattoo for me needs a boundary the block black; that holds it all together, the deep injections of solid edges and something which will keep me occupied for the majority of the time during the sessions.

The shading however is the variety, with an incredible amount of colour, shade, tone and whip individual to each artist. It is simply the precious moment when the art becomes something more than what is required, the finishing touches.

Getting into the zone is incredibly difficult for me, the first few moments are utter relief, followed by around 12-15 minutes of harrowing uncomfortable, burning, scraping and then as if by some neurological bliss, I switch to complete and utter tranquility. By the time we move to shading, I am coming into the headspace that this session will soon be over. The ending and the peace associated with that. (P.s - most of my tattooists will call utter bullshit on this and attest to the fact I am a whingey whiney bugger.)

I have never had the opportunity to go to a mental health support group, well not one that I’d consider attending. But I can honestly say from the moment I step over the threshold into a tattoo studio; my mindset changes, I don’t feel excitement or lust or even nerves. I just feel ready. I leave anything from 1-8 hours later feeling energised, rooted to the world, connected to myself, I feel content with my new art, the image, the pain and the journey as though the edge has been taken away from the harsh feelings.

I suppose at some points earlier in this piece, it may have already been clear that for me; this is self harm. I remove myself from the “doing” and I have considerable control over the situation, I know what the design is, I know the placement, I know the quality and skill of the person doing it. I am a self harmer, I have for some time suffered with dermotillomania, for those of you who don’t know it is a ritualistic skin picking disorder which in my case is also the scratching of hypodermic needles against my skin. I also have historical issues with different severities of harm from head banging to using cleaning products on my skin.

Tattooing was a way of deflecting the pain, thoughts and ritual. It’s a way to set a date for relief, look forward to it and to cease the obsession with self harm, even if only temporarily.

My tattoos do hold meaning but not in the traditional sense, I can tell you where I was at in my life when it was done. My stresses, worries, pain, where I worked, where I drank and partied, who I was dating. But I can’t tell you some wonderful story about falling in love with the design, sticking it on my high school notebook and waiting 3 years to finally get it done with a friend holding my hand. I can’t tell you I approached Gary at “bog standard tattoo” to pick something off the wall and make it the same as any other flash and I can’t tell you I have my child or dogs name scrawled across my neck in grey patchy blocks.

In the 90’s I struggled being a troubled child, in the 00’s I struggled being a more than troubled teenager and now in 2017, I struggle being an adult diagnosed with a complex mental health condition. I have struggled for the last 4 years to find anyone in a medical professional capacity who will listen and take me seriously. I have felt hopeless, psychotic, suicidal, alone even in a crowded room. And I have needed support, nurturing, advice, love and patience (something my wife does perfectly, if only it could be extended to professionals, the mental health services in Manchester would be a lot more compassionate and richer)

My life isn’t dismal, it isn’t over but it is an everyday challenge. A struggle to wake up, a struggle to sleep, a struggle to function and be someone who is productive, I manage different degrees of functioning dependant on my manic phases and my lows. You always get my all or nothing.

I will probably never be able to say “I am no longer a self harmer” and I think I have made my peace with that. But what I can say about my life and body is that the people who have helped me create my incredible collection of tattoos are more than artists, more than tattooists and more than friends. Without even realising they allow me to release, they have often counselled me through my hardest times, solidified my engagement plans, they speak with openness about their life and mine, they develop a relationship through providing a coping mechanism and they offer me something the NHS can’t, something no psychologist can.

They offer me hope and for that I will always be thankful.