Salire

I was a middle-aged woman, barely in her 50's when I met him. At first, his attempts to be domineering was refreshing. As a professional creative, I relished the fact that he would choose restaurants, or "make suggestions" on what would be a flattering haircut. I didn't realize right away the deceit that lay beneath that smile. I was ashamed that I wasn't wiser at my age, that I couldn't see the danger that was waiting. Looking back, I suppose there was something intriguing about an amateur photographer who was complimentary of my work, who wanted to learn from me, mentor under me. The ego of a creative can be a fascinating world to enter, and it can be deadly.

The changes were subtle at first, wondering where I had been or why I didn't answer the phone. It took less time than you think for it to boil over into obsession. I eventually discovered that he was a sadistic sociopath with a trail of destruction in his past. He took pleasure in breaking what he saw in me as a rebellious spirit. After he choked me to unconsciousness, I told him that he had won, he had broken me. His response with a laugh was, "I only broke your heart; I haven't begun to break your spirit." When it was finally over, I wasn't me anymore. I didn't want to live, I didn't want to create, I didn't want to publish. I didn't have the energy to take my life; I also didn't have the power to plug into my life. I couldn't imagine what healing might look like, what life away from him would feel like. I wasn't allowed to get tattoos in 2018, choose my nail polish color, get a haircut, eat dinner, or shower without asking permission of the monster who said he owned me. He called me his property, and I had to send pictures of my meals, my bank account, and following knee surgery, wasn't allowed to take my pain medicine without prior permission in case I fell asleep and missed his call or text. When it finally ended, I visited a friend out of state, and we got matching tattoos. I designed this logo, and it is the name of my magazine that I publish for my business. It is Italian and means "to rise." I was inconsolable during the session, not because of the pain, but because I was terrified of his reaction if he came back.

I look at my wrist every day to remind myself of where I was in late 2018 and that I have a proven record of rising up again and again. I am 53 years old and have a history of 40 years of abuse and trauma. I use my skills as a professional photographer to do narrative photography. I am proud to say I am using 12 models in November to do a high-end shoot on what life after domestic violence looks like. I have everything from a phoenix rising from the ashes to a bird being freed from a cage to a wisdom tree. I have had no contact with my abuser for over a year and a half and never will. Just as I view my work as art through a lens, I consider the body as a canvas for a tattoo artist's designs. This artwork is so much more than a tattoo. It is my liberation, my freedom, my emancipation from abuse for once and for all. Through art in its different expressions, I can heal myself, one day at a time.