The Ink that Speaks in Silence

The molecule etched right beside the vein that carried it in.

I didn’t get it for the trend,
Or to spark a chat with a stranger-friend.
No, this tattoo’s quiet, small, and stark—
A symbol etched to hold the dark.

Two rings. A line. No grand design,
Just two molecules linked in a perfect sign.
I marked the vein where hope returned
Where death stepped back,
where fire burned.

They’ll ask, “What’s that?”with curious eyes,
I’ll shrug it off with practiced lies.
But if they knew, if they really knew,
Then they’d see the storm that I lived through.

This wasn’t ink, it was survival.
A lifeline disguised as molecular revival.
The drug that steadied my fractured soul,
The one that stitched together the gigantic hole.

So let them stare, let them not see,
The chemical that resurrected me.
Not for them, but for the me that fought,
For hope, for breath, for every thought.

In January, I got a new tattoo.

A permanent, visual reminder of how hard I fought to stay.

A simultaneous ode to myself at 19 year old and an exhale for present day me.

A strategic placement, representing the spot right beside where an IV goes.

Today it felt right to share it.

Today it feels important to think about how much this medication changed me, changed everything.

I’m forever grateful.