The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry One-Hundred and Nine :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

Last night was the first night in two weeks where there hasn’t been the unavoidable, unstoppable onslaught of tears before I sleep. Whether it was because I was willing it or because I felt a little better for having begun to tackle how I have been feeling.  There is some kind of inexplicable therapy in the form of getting a new tattoo. It can transform how you are feeling about something or somewhere. It makes sense I suppose; you are undergoing a transformation. It is a choice every time. I suppose that is the beauty of it, when you sign the consent form it is like signing to say, yes I am ready to transform and grow and turn whatever brought me through those doors emotionally into something beautiful. Getting a tattoo for me, it makes me feel better, stronger, transformative, different, brighter, newer… it just feels like some kind of preparation. Some kind of allowing on a different scale. Sure it hurts, a lot. This one hurt a tonne, I was glad I chose something smaller. But it was perfect. I let go of the executive decisions on colourings and let the artist take over, I trusted him to choose what would look best, as long as the pattern followed what I had in mind, and it did.

After the tattoo, it just felt easier, walking with the pain, like there was some connection forged where I didn’t feel so alone, as crazy as that sounds.

That’s when some of that caring a little more about myself kicked in, making some of those moving forward steps began to happen. I got home and ate dinner with nana, having a nice chitter chat about nothing in particular. I went and cleaned my tattoo off and put that first wonderful soothing layer of cream on to make it feel better. I loved it. I didn’t really think it through too much before getting the tattoo, I didn’t have major expectations for it, in fact I just had some vague idea and I couldn’t picture it on my skin until it was done and it was right, it was just exactly what it needed to be. It was me, I even found the colour pleasantly surprising, most of my other tattoos are black work with a little colour pop here and there, this was full colour and it was perfect. I couldn’t help but love what it was, it was the perfect symbol.

So yes anyway. I cleaned off my tattoo, came sat back down, put a base coat on my toes and watched whatever was on the TV, I can’t say I was paying much attention. Then I put on a nice shade of lilac I must have had for a few years that I have very rarely used. I treated myself to just feeling a little pampered. I painted my big toes in a different lilac, a similar shade but this one was super iridescent. It just felt nice, to have that little pampering. The lilac isn’t too far off the lilac that’s been used in my tattoo. I don’t have a blue nail varnish that would match my new tattoo, yet but I have seen one that would look like a gorgeous complementing colour.

It was a nice way to start putting some real self-care into action. I prepared my vitamins for a week while I was at it. I tidied up a tiny bit of my bedside table. I wrote in my book of positive aspects. My three good things that happened that day. I do it every day, it has become a bit of a comfort thing, I like it. It sounds like something small and insignificant, but it has helped me in so many ways. I relaxed and watched TV last night with my nana and spent the time chatting about anything and everything.

Going to bed was easy enough, sleeping is where it got harder. It was hard, falling asleep in the darkness, but it was the first time I didn’t fall apart at the seams. I can’t promise the same tonight but it doesn’t mean I won’t be trying to not try but to just be.

I just know that today I want to keep looking after myself a bit. While this computer took forever to sort itself out I trimmed, filed and painted my nails in some sparkly stuff that is called fairy spell unicorn addiction. I just liked the twinkle and sparkle and fun. It’s basically unicorn jizz- sparkly white stuff that has no real colour it’s sort of transparent but has a lot of sparkles and shimmers in it. Such a wonderful description right?

I guess I could say I had a good day at work, excruciatingly tired but it was essentially a good day.

Right now I am listening to Bring Him Home, a song that would usually make me cry but right now I feel strong enough to listen, strong enough to let it just be with me. To let it be my prayer for JJ, even though I don’t know where he is or what happened to him, it just feels like the kind of song I would be hugging him while listening to right now, because that is what I want to be doing right now. Hugging my big lump of a crazy dog. I don’t think there is any shred of doubt in me when I say I will never, ever, ever, ever forgive my mother for rehoming him without even letting me know, for hiding it for months, for not letting me find another, for not letting me have a choice, for not letting me even say goodbye. On what planet did she ever think that it was going to be a good idea, a forgivable action? How could she think there would be no consequence, not when there wasn’t a good enough reason to do that in the first place.

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