It was a bad week here. Towards the end of it, I confided in my dear friend Joyce.
"I kind of hate talking about this, because I know it puts you in a bad position. Like, 'do I call 911 or not?' I was feeling suicidal again this week."
Joyce murmured some supportive things.
"But you know what kept me from doing anything? My tattoos. I can't stand the thought of them dying with me."
"Dude, that is so weird." Pause. "You have got to put that on your blog."
8 comments:
Dude, that is kind of weird.
But whatever works, right? That was sort of the point of getting them in the first place, wasn't it? Deriving joy from art-on-self? And joy is one of the few benefits of not being dead.
That and food.
i can't even see my tattoo (it's on my back) but i still love it and still fondly remember getting it almost 20 years ago. glad all of yours help you feel better, fwiw, i think it's weirder your female friend calls you "dude".
I totally sympathize. <3
Also: 1-800-273-Talk
for all those times you can't decide about 911
I'm sorry you've had a rough week. Take care of yourself.
I can only see one of my tattoos, but I love them all.
I call everybody dude. It drives my nieces nuts, "I am a DUDETTE!" they like to tell me. "Dudette is lame" I like to tell them.
Dude! I envy your tats. Let my envy buoy you. I hope you're doing better now.
I hope you're feeling better now. Take god care of yourself.
Tried to call you last night, after talking to Joyce and having her repeat this conversation to me. I, too, am quite proud of my tatts, so I can understand.
I don't like it when my friends feel this way! I do hope you're feeling better!
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