Every year on the anniversary of my sobriety, June 1, I get myself a tattoo.

It serves both as both a gift to myself and as a memorial of one more year gone by sober. The tattoos also work as a bribery to myself; there have been many days where the only force stronger than my desire to drink is my desire for new ink, and if I relapse, I’ll have to start my one-year clock all over again. My tattoos serve as a strong visual reminder of how far I’ve come.

I love being able to look at beautiful art that came to me because of my hard work, and I do count them up every once in a while.

My first two tattoos were done by at Black Hen Tattoo in South Portland. My first tattoo was Captain America’s shield, although quite a few folks have asked me if it’s a Wonder Woman tribute (I think this speaks more to an unfamiliarity with superhero nuances than to the quality of the tattoo). It’s on the outside of my wrist, right where a watch might go. So far, I’ve only gotten ink that can be easily covered up, although thus far I’ve been lucky enough to be employed at understanding workplaces.

The second tattoo is on the flip side from the first, on the inside of my wrist. Not as painful a place to get tattooed as you’d expect! It’s the traditional Maine symbol of green pine tree and blue north star. I took the design itself from the campaign logo of Bre Kidman, Mainer, the nation’s first nonbinary U.S. Senate candidate, artist, all-around cool human being and a friend of mine. I took it to honor the best parts of Maine.

My third and fourth tattoos were done at Lionheart Tattoos in Portland. The third one is a sword. Specifically, it’s the sword Anduril, wielded by Aragorn in the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. The design came from the movie’s depiction of the blade. The design extends from the top of my arm almost to the elbow. I had told my mom before I got it that I was going to get “a big (expletive) sword” for my celebratory tattoo that year. And the first thing my mom said to me when she saw it? “Wow, that’s a big (expletive) sword.” You’d think she of all people knows I follow through when I commit to something.

The fourth tattoo is a Celtic knot pattern, styled into an armband, shaded in blues. This was the most painful of my pieces thus far. It matches a (smaller) tattoo that my mother has.

My fifth tattoo, from last year, was done at Brass & Briar in Portland. It is a group of stylized fiddleheads, drawn in a fashion reminiscent of illuminated medieval manuscripts. They look like they are growing out of the longest scar from my kidney donation surgery, above my left hip. Like the tattoo which complements it, the scar is precise and delicate, about 4 inches in length. Unlike the tattoo, the scar is fading fast. I wanted to honor that particular sacrifice with a visual metaphor of how organ donation makes new life possible.

I’m definitely tooting my own horn with it a little, but if saving a couple of lives doesn’t entitle me to be a little cliché and dramatic from time to time, what does?

If I keep adding to the collection with each sober year – and I plan to – then at some point my skin will start getting pretty crowded. I’ve had people ask me what my tattoos will look like when I’m in my 80s. And to be honest, I don’t know. I haven’t really planned that far ahead. Who knows if I’ll even get there? (I do think they’ll be pretty good at hiding liver spots.) For better or for worse, I didn’t have a plan when I quit drinking, other than “don’t drink anymore.” You can get surprisingly far by the seat of your pants.

The day I stopped drinking and decided to get sober was, in retrospect, the first time in my adult life that I made a deliberate choice about the type of person I wanted to be. Previously, I’d mostly just reacted to my environment and the things that happened to me. But part of being a grown-up is getting to decide for yourself who you want to be and taking action toward it. I’m creating myself as I go; I’m building the plane as I’m flying it, and some days it really feels that way. Decorating my body is just one aspect of that.

On the day this column prints, I’ll be six years and one day sober from alcohol. I scheduled the tattoo appointment a month ago. I knew I would make it.

Victoria Hugo-Vidal is a Maine millennial. She can be contacted at:
themainemillennial@gmail.com
Twitter: @mainemillennial