I was about 12 and me and 3 of my friends wanted to be in a gang. We all had the same tattoo on our ankle, done with ink and some needles we'd stolen from WH Smith.
Then when I was 13 or 14 I went to a grown up tattoo parlour using my friend's id and got a big dagger, a serpent and a skull going through them. It said Gary, born to lose.
After anytime that life got shit I felt I'd cursed myself. Prison, drugs, addiction, my failure at being a father, my failure at being a son, a brother. You know it was just a complete failure, a fuck up.
Then I realised that out of all the guys who got the same tattoo on our ankles that day, I was the only one left alive.
I started to think a little different. Am I really born to lose if they're all dead and I'm not?
Eventually I decided to do something with my life.
I went to rehab. When I left I realised two things. One, I was a winner, I weren't a loser. Two, I had to get rid of that tattoo on my arm, so I got it covered up.
I actually designed this myself. Now it depicts a journey rather than a self-fulfilling prophesy.
told by gary