Recommended Listening: Saint Vitus - Burial At Sea, Trouble - Black Shapes of Doom, Witch Mountain - Wing of the Lord
Thanks to Courtney
I got my first tattoo when I was 20. It was the logo of the doom metal band Saint Vitus - a cross inside a stylized V. Prior to college, I had never seriously considered getting tattooed, repeating the adage “If I really like a design I'll just get it on a t-shirt.” But starting in college, a bunch of my friends already had tattoos, or were in the process of getting them. I had never gotten a cosmetic body mod before, but I was nervous. How would I know if I'll actually be happy with my choice 1, 10, 30 years from now?
My best friend had a helpful rule - if I want a tattoo, write down the idea and the date I thought of it, wait two years, and if I still want it, get it. That seemed like a great way to kick the can down the road, so that's what I did. By the time junior year rolled around, I still eagerly wanted it. Me and the same friend went to a reputable local shop, and I had plans to go to class afterwards. The artist estimated it would take half an hour, 45 minutes max, it was a pretty small design.
More than an hour later, having endured pain, nausea, and many regrets about my lack of preparation for getting a tattoo, it was done and I was just glad to leave. My friend drove me home, shivering from the cold November weather and tattoo shock. I did not, in fact, attend my archery class 3 hours after getting that shoulder tattoo. The nap I took instead was fantastic, though.
I diligently took care of the tattoo and it healed great, and I usually love how it looks. But sometimes I find myself questioning why I, having never been Christian nor a fan of Christianity in its many forms, got a tattoo with a cross on it, the logo of an explicitly Christian band with Christian lyrics and ideals. That's quite the contradiction to get etched on myself forever.
But first, concert story! My third metal concert was quite the lineup. Saint Vitus, supported by The Skull (Eric Wagner and co. formerly of Trouble) and Witch Mountain. It is to this day, one of the best concerts I've been to. I had been listening to Saint Vitus' first album extensively prior to the concert, and when starting Burial At Sea (my favorite off the album) vocalist Scott Reagers used a pair of beer bottles to generate the clinking noise. I got right up by the stage as much as I could be, but got pushed out of the way by some asshole right as Saint Vitus started. It was amazing. Regardless, I was decently into Saint Vitus before the concert. Afterwards, I was absolutely ravenous. I idly sketched their logo in class on spare pieces of paper, listened to their albums on loop, and tried to find more music just like it. I think this was also my first encounter with conscious gender envy (the admiration or jealousy for someone else's gender expression that you wish you had). These heavily tattooed headbanging men with long curly hair were everything I would ever want to be if I were a man. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to grow out my hair before college, nor am I a man..
And so, with my interest ignited and my gender envy working overtime, by junior year of college I had several years of bodily autonomy under my belt and was looking to express that strongly. In Jewish tradition, you are not supposed to get tattooed. There are a variety of reasons, and the social consequences for doing so have certainly lightened in the past few decades, but the undercurrent of stigma is still there. I was not the first person in my family to get tattooed, but being only third and getting a cross on my arm was quite a statement. Fearful of judgment, I did provide the explanation that “Oh it's for a band I like, no I'm not converting to Christianity, yes I thought about it 2 whole years” which usually settled the matter.
In those two years of thinking and waiting, I also wanted to imbue a deeper meaning into getting my tattoo. It felt important, it felt like a big step in my young adulthood. I'm quite happy with what I settled on, too: I want to be honest with myself and others, and this tattoo will serve as a reminder of that on many levels. It's a value that is central to my belief system, and yet one I have struggled with continuously. As an autistic person, I have a really difficult time discerning tones that aren't direct. I don't lie unless it is for my immediate safety. I sometimes withhold information, and assume other people do the same, but I do not tolerate liars. That's the simple part - If someone flat-out lies to me, it's highly likely to be discovered eventually, and our relationship will be over.
The difficulty arises in being fully honest with myself. I've had many personal realizations where I'm too scared or uncertain to allow myself to believe what is true. The cost seemed too high, and repressing the thoughts felt optimal. Plenty of gender, mental health, and interpersonal relationship events fit into this category. Sometimes the truth is deeply inconvenient and I have run from it for years at a time. Usually this happens when a truth being enacted would cause conflict with other people, whether real or theoretical. While transness was not nearly as negatively politicized in 2020 as it is now (2024 we're the new conservative scapegoat because fear mongering with immigrants lost some of its luster), there was still a cost for me to weigh. Was self-discovery and actualization worth the inconvenience of change, conflict, and rejection? I decided it was, and I have repeatedly made that decision since with no regrets. And while it has gotten easier, it's still not easy.
Sometimes it does end up being the correct decision to comply with the norm, make myself small, not take up space, be nice and likable and proper with people who don't deserve it, etc. Usually that decision is informed by short-term safety, but if it gets incorporated into my general existence and way of interacting with the world, I become a pushover and people-pleaser. I've caused conflict with those close to me because I've failed to advocate for myself, when instead being honest about my boundaries, preferences, limits, interests and abilities would be respected and valued. While it often feels emotionally dangerous to speak up in the moment because it's "confrontation", as long as there's not risk of physical harm or endangerment, I generally view that it either goes well and I get what I want because I asked for it, or the person reacts as badly as I was anticipating, which gives me a damn good reason not to continue interacting with them.
My ongoing process of raising my standards for the people I give my time to has certainly helped - I can now trust the people close to me not to minimize my feelings or have petty blowups over being corrected on something they're wrong about.
The biggest red flag that I've been working on better recognizing is the feeling of being scared to give someone constructive/negative feedback. If I fear someone's reaction to telling them "hey, I don't like how you handled this and I would like it to change in such and such way to handle it better for future" and they respond in a blaming, defensive, or deflecting way, I intend to run. And this may seem obvious for some people, but as a neurodivergent kid I didn't have many social options growing up due to discrimination and isolation. I was obligated to tolerate shitty behavior from people who would give me any amount of positive attention. This may be the cause of my tendency and preference to see the best in people: their potential and their ability for growth, while also overlooking potentially disqualifying qualities. One too many friends-turned-nightmare-roommates has made this a particularly pressing change.
And so I think the lesson for me is again honesty. I try to believe people when they tell me (perhaps not so directly, often through actions) that they are unwilling to grow and change for the better. I try to believe people when they tell me, through lying, that they do not value me. I also try to believe people when they show me that they are invested in our relationship, that they will grow and learn, and that it will be worth it for me to be open and vulnerable and kind. When I look at my tattoo I remember a choice I made to be true to myself. I remember to believe the actions of a religion that deeply informs American culture and is built on an institution of lies. I remember to listen to myself and my deep desires for change, inconvenient and painful as they may be. I remember that through truth to ourselves and others, things can be better. I remember some of the best damn guitar riffs I've ever heard.