“Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good - No, Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good - When the levee breaks, mama you got to move”

I really need to write.  Last night Preston told me something very interesting.  He said he got into our relationship for the wrong reason: to get over Liz (his ex).  Apparently every time I asked if he was over her he lied.  He says he still loves her.  He wants her over me.  Here's where it gets interesting: Liz is in a happy relationship with no desire at all to ever go back to Preston.  So basically, he loses.  Words cannot express how deeply hurt I am.  I gave him everything, and then some.  The worst part of it all is there's nothing I could have done.  He has this ridiculous image of perfection in the form of Liz in his brain and nothing and no one, not even Liz herself, can live up to that.  I can't change the way someone feels, no matter how jacked up the emotions are.  I'm glad I know his true colors, but that doesn't stop the pain, doesn't even dull it.  I feel so alone and unloved, which makes no sense because people are calling and texting me nonstop making sure I'm ok.  I'm not ok, but I will be.  It just bugs me that I didn't see this coming.  I always see it coming, always smell a rat.  

P.S. Karma is, in fact, a bitch.  The worst part of all of this is I gave up what Alex and I could have had for Preston.  We could have had something truly amazing.  Well technically we still can.  We're starting over.  Hopefully we can still live out everything we planned.  We shall see.  He came over to snuggle today because I really needed a hug.  I tried my best to keep it together, but laying with him, the tears came.  I clench both fists to stifle a sob.  He reaches over and strokes my hair with one hand and unclenches my fists with the other.  I bury my face in his shoulder as every emotion I have been robbed of comes flooding back.
Here's to starting over.

Just like a tattoo...I will always have you...

I've definitely had tattoos on the brain lately.  I got my first one in April, a few days after my car crash.  It's a memorial for my childhood best friend, a ladybug that says "vale tudo" (Portuguese for "anything goes") around it.  I had been planning it since I was 12 years old.  Finally I made an appointment at State Street Tattoo.  No way was I going to let a car crash get in the way of being so close to something I wanted for so long.  
Yesterday, I got another tattoo.  This one says "atmen," which means "breathe" in German.  It's in black tribal-looking script on my right side.  This tattoo joins the "vale tudo" ladybug on my left foot.  I biked seven miles from my dorm at UMBC to Ghost Town Tattoo in Ellicott City, only to realize I had forgotten my ID.  So I biked the seven miles back home and then called a cab to come get me - no way was I going to make it home after getting a tattoo on my ribs anyway.  After an hour of tattooing, here is the final product.  I think it looks fabulous:

People get tattoos for many reasons.  Some are rebelling.  Others feel empowered.  Sometimes tattoos are used for identification purposes.  I chose to be tattooed because I can.  I hold the power to decide what goes on my body, what clothes I wear, makeup I put on, shoes in which I torture my feet.  I choose to hold certain memories close by physically making them a part of me.  Every morning when I wake up I look at my ladybug and smile.  My mom always says, "Every time you get a tattoo, another door that you didn't even know was open slams shut."  However, it has been my experience that this is not the case.  I am a student at the number one up and coming national university, I have a wonderful boyfriend, great job, and loving family.  I think I'm pretty well off, if I do say so myself.  My tattoos are strategically placed so that they are invisible, should I choose to hide them.

So do I regret my tattoos?  Absolutely not.  Will I regret them when I'm 80?  Absolutely not.  Some see it as self-mutilation, I see it as self-beautification.  

My tattoos are beautiful.