I got my first tattoo at 18. The day I turned 18 actually. It is some silly little star with UV ink behind it because I wanted to show it off at the clubs. 

Over the years I got a few more tiny ones. Words here. Symbols there. Nothing too big. My mother always kind of got on my ass every time I got one.  

“Ugh. Really? You’re going to regret it. That is your last one for a while, young lady.”

I never knew what it was that drew me to them. Never really understood WHY I would want to mess up my perfect ivory skin. Well, except during a flare when it is bright red. 

Here recently I’ve started sleeping with this guy. TMI? My titer is 1:640. That’s about as personal as it really gets. My sex life shouldn’t be a problem. 

Anyway, he lets me vent and ended up being one of the first people I told. It was an accident but he was before almost anyone. I like that he GETS it. Well, he doesn’t GET it and it’s sucks that since we’ve known each other now I’ve been this fucked up little sick girl. But, he lets me yell enough so that I can finally digest things. And asks me questions to make me actually think through things. He recently told me that I have control issues. Like, in bed its me telling him to tell me to do things. I always thought I was more submissive than that. 

Back to tattoos…I think that’s it. I think it’s a control issue. 

It’s the one thing about my body that I actually have full and complete control of. That’s why I have such a hard time deciding each time because it has to be PERFECT. 

Lupus make me lose control. 

No, literally though. Who ever came up with this Lupus bullshit was an asshole. My body isn’t mine. It gets to be in charge 70% of the time so when I’m in bed or on a tattoo table or in life, I get to be the H.B.I.C. 

And I’m going to stop apologizing for that.