Perspectives From a Tattooed Arm

Posted by Emily in Blog, Rebekah Havrilla      3 comments

Jun
20

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I have lots of tattoos.  A full sleeve covers my arm and plenty more.  I got my first tattoo when I was 18 and they were still illegal in South Carolina.  I drove to Asheville, NC by myself and got a very small phoenix on my lower back.  In my mind, it was a declaration of my independence and I was proud that I didn’t need anyone to be with me and that there was no pressure involved.  I didn’t get any other tattoos until I joined the Army.  I was 21 then and learned pretty quickly that tattoos are very much a part of military culture.  As my military experience progressed, I got a few more tattoos here and there but they were all black with no color or shading and in rather innocuous places.  I remember when I made the decision to get a tattoo on my upper arm.  At the time it was a BIG deal to me because it was a tattoo that could be seen and judged by others.  At that point in my life, I was still very concerned with what people thought of me and getting a visible tattoo was my first conscious decision to put other people’s perceptions aside and go with what I wanted no matter what others thought.  By the time I went to Afghanistan, I had 5 black tattoos in various places all with stories behind them.  My Hawaiian turtles were based out of an experience that taught me to always enjoy what I have at any given time because you never know when those things are going to go away.  My tattoo on my wrist is Y.A.M.F.O.D. which stands for You Are My Favorite Oldest Daughter and is a tribute to my mother’s emails and letters and of course, her love for me since I was a child.  It’s this tattoo and the one that is described in the following recollection that have the most meaning to me of them all.

The first six months of my deployment had their challenges but they were nothing compared to my last six months.  The combination of the desert, an abusive team leader and peers, and being the only woman with no one to turn to and no support systems resulted in a downward spiral of depression and PTSD and I was at one of the lowest, if not THE lowest point in my life.  One afternoon, I was walking from our HQ back to my hooch and the feelings of isolation, coupled with my mental state, was suffocating.  I didn’t have a clue what to do.  The realization that my situation was likely to continue with no respite, along with the fact that I wasn’t sleeping or eating made me feel like I had two 1000 pound weights around my neck and I was getting to the point where I felt like I no longer wanted to exist.  I wanted something or someone, anything, to take me out of the brown, colorless, nasty, lifeless place and put me somewhere, anywhere else that wasn’t that stinking hole I was in.

As I trudged back to my hooch, I picked my eyes up from the brown dirt for just a second and out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of this brilliant flash of red.  I followed that color, the ONLY color I could see, and in an instant this little bright red lady bug perched itself on the inside of my wrist just below my ACU sleeve.  It was so beautiful!  The brilliance of the red and the little black dots against the brown on my skin and all around me took my breath away and I instantly burst into tears.  That little ladybug sat there for a few seconds as I stood there and stared at it in wonder and then it took off into the sky, my teary eyes following it until I could see it no longer.  I stood in that spot and cried for probably five minutes and all I could think about was how the universe, God, or whatever you choose to acknowledge had just thrown me a lifeline.  When there was nothing for me to hold on to, no one for me to turn to, no color, no life, no feeling, no reason to continue on – there was one little ladybug who gave me that brilliant flash, that spark of color, a reason, to get me through that day and the next…and the next.  I never saw a ladybug before that and I never saw one after while I was over there. At some point someone told me that there are no ladybugs in Afghanistan at all (although I don’t know how accurate that statement is) but whether they are there or not, I had one at the perfect moment revive me and give me the strength to continue.

Although my situation remained extremely difficult, I got through it and I was extremely relieved to be done with those six months.  After returning to the states, one of the first things I did was go have that little lady bug tattooed on my wrist right near where it landed and next to my mother’s reminder of how much she loved me.  I named her Hope (actually my mom did when I told her the story but I kept the name) and she reminds me when things get tough that the little things in life can help get me through.  She was the first tattoo that I got with color.  Now the tattoos I have are no longer just black but are surrounded by color.  Color to chase away the darkness and get me through those moments when the world may seem brown and dreary and dead.  Color to make me smile and give me a reason to continue.  Color to share with others who may need it like I did.  Never again will my life not have that color I need.  I carry it with me daily.