I had never thought about getting another tattoo until I was standing at his funeral. My right shoulder suddenly itching and burning for more ink. Unsure of what I was going to get; I just knew that my soul was affected and I wanted my body to reflect that.
The tattoo artist helped work from the original geometric design into one that looked more like a gemstone. I added spikes around the outline to give it more of an old-fashioned, sacred heart look. It was originally done to honor my friend Chris who passed away in the Pulse shooting. He started the first Gay Straight Alliance at my hight school and I wanted to pay tribute to his courage.
The days after the shooting were dark indeed. I was sitting with my best friend Amber when they announced his name on the news as one of the ones who didn’t make it. We cried with each other as other as we recalled fond memories. At work I remember two customers coming in with pictures of rifles on their shirts boasting about how they were proud gun owners who would never get ride of their guns. I fought to keep my composure then excused myself so I could cry in the bathroom after they left. I had a boss who called me weak for mourning and boyfriend who told me he couldn’t understand why I was so upset.
Members of the Westboro Baptist Church had flown in to Orlando to taunt people as they went to the funerals of their loved ones. I almost didn’t go to Chris’s funeral. I was already at a low point and couldn’t bare the thought of having to face that kind of hatefulness. I did go, and thankfully the counter protestors shielded us. I walked behind a row of them singing to drown out the hateful chanting. Chris’s funeral was full of people who loved him and celebrated all the wonderful things he had accomplished. For the first time in days I was surrounded by people united by love.
My soul was affected and I wanted my body to reflect that. The heart represented love and the rainbow colors represented pride. The spikes radiating around the ages represented a blend of modern acceptance with spiritual reverence. Chris fought to bring more love and understanding into this world and wouldn’t let that be forgotten.
The difficult days after the shooting turned into difficult years. I addition to struggling with a difficult break up and a rocky new work environment, I had to cope with a harsh reality within my own family. I have many relatives who are pro gun and anti gay rights. This coupled with the fact that I am an artist leaves me wide open to being mocked. Mocked by people who say they love me. Mocked my people who view sensitivity and understanding as a weakness.
Dating had become particularly dark. My ex who made light of the pain I was experiencing after the Pulse shooting had often told me about how awful men were. I knew that some men were awful, but I had always had a lot of male friends - gay and straight. After all, my ex was controlling and jealous of my friends. He spent a lot of time trying to drive me away from them. I dismissed his behavior as groundless paranoia; but in the three years after our break up I had been subjected to a lot of terrible behavior at the hands of men.
A married co-worker tried to force himself on me. A man who had pursued me for months went out with me once and disappeared. Another man only wanted sexual favors. I had a customer pursue me aggressively after I told him no multiple times. That situation got so bad I had to alert the HR department and get a regional manager involved. Mostly because my manager - a woman - refused to help me. She knew I was single I felt I shouldn’t be so picky. I had even begun to feel unsafe around women.
Looking back, maybe I found all this so shocking because it was new to me. I never partied much, I’d largely been around people I trusted, and the majority of my co-workers were respectable. Maybe I’d been luckier in the past. I had been able to avoid the worst of it. But the Pulse shooting was the beginning of a parade of some of the worst humanity had to offer for a long time.
In those difficult years my tribe of people I could trust became greatly diminished. I wrote more because I had less people to talk to. It was hard to find my voice. I was always in the wrong.
Of course the shooting was terrible, but is banning guns the answer? I lost a friend, but should my family members have to get rid of their precious guns? Maybe if my friend hadn’t been gay this would never have happened. Those people from the Westboro Baptist Church were just expressing their opinion.
And the married co-worker who grabbed me was just trying to make me feel better. Why did I have to hurt his feelings like that? Maybe if i had said yes sooner to the man who pursued me he would have liked me better? The man who only wanted sexual favors obviously found me attractive, how could I possibly take offense to that? And maybe my boss was right. That guy who stalked me was only trying to show me that he loved me. How could I be so picky?
The heart tattoo I had gotten to commemorate Chris’s memory started to feel like symbol of things I couldn’t have. Chris was gone, gay rights were still being argued, and love was something that had become elusive. Rebuilding it took a lot of effort.
I wrote a lot about these painful experiences because acknowledging the sorrow made it valid and forced me to work through it. I took on the injured stray cat because I couldn’t bare to see needless suffering. I visited the children of my best friends as often as I could. Their innocence and sweet nature did wonders to reconnect me with sense of joy. And getting involved with fencing had introduced me to group of people who have continuously showed me overwhelming kindness.
And with the rebuilding, the new foundation becomes vital. I constantly had to remind myself to make decisions out of love rather than fear.
The third anniversary of the Pulse Shooting still brought sorrow, but this time around impacted differently.
In the span of three years I had lost a lot of friends but gained many more. I left a job with a toxic work culture for one that I truly feel appreciated for my talents. I left an awful renting situation for a place that I can truly call my own. Three years ago I had become more timid. I was afraid to rock boats already in tumultuous waters. Now, I have grown more into the person I was meant to be. More outspoken, more determined, and more commanding.
Every little bit of creativity was an act of rebellion. Even in small and simple ways the fight rages on.
I had never thought about getting another tattoo until I was standing at his funeral. My right shoulder suddenly itching and burning for more ink. Unsure of what I was going to get; I just knew that my soul was affected and I wanted my body to reflect that.
Three years ago I got the tattoo to celebrate my friend and what he fought for. Now my bejeweled, rainbow spiked heart servers a reminder that I have come a long way, and fighting for the right things got me this far.
Love Always
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