I got a bee on my knee and I called him Jeremy.
It was my first tattoo, done as my relationship was falling apart. It was the start of my rebellion against the rolled eyes and indifference.
I’ve since had many more tattoos, increasing in size and confidence each time, each one with its own story or appreciation of the style. Far more thought has gone into them.
I have a love/hate relationship with the bee these days.
I’ll always be fond of him because I know that he marks the start of me finding out who I am, and eventually regaining some semblance of control and purpose.
He also reminds me of a time when I could be frivolous with my time and my choices.
A time when I had not a care in the world.
A time when I didn't have to watch every penny, and could spend money on stupid things like novelty tattoos.
A time when I had such little respect for myself and my body that I didn't think twice about getting something so whimsical placed permanently on my skin.
It was a time when I was a person I’m not sure I’d like if I met today.
It wasn’t too long after acquiring the bee that I lost everything I thought I once wanted.
My three bedroom house, my job, my friends, my marriage, my morals, my mind, and even my dog.
Everything else from that world has gone, but Jeremy remains.
My rebellion bee.
A sting in my tale.
written by jo