Pain. I got my first tattoo when I was only 14. Granted it was only of my mother's initials on my arm but I remember the experience like it was yesterday. I was nervous and this was the beginning of my next addiction, Adrenaline. Anything for a buzz right? I thought so anyway and so I sat down and let my friend's older brother give me a tattoo. I am much older now and that was a long time ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. The shape needles going at an incredible speed slamming in and out of my skin leaving ink behind and a painful tingle that I couldn't get enough of seeing as I've gotten over 100 tattoos at this point in my life and I still want more we'll chalk that in the healthy addiction pile and not look again for fear of coming to the conclusion that maybe forcing ink underneath your skin with a sharp needle at a fast speed isn't necessarily the bad coping mechanism.

This isn't the only way pain has been a coping mechanism for me. When I was 15 years old I drew with silver for the first time but only red was left behind. Now years later it's white and rough and I use tattoos to hide the shame of my actions and the scars they left on me. These scars will never leave but I hope to one day forget that they are there so they can be nothing more than part of my past. A long distant memory that I've forgotten.