Big Love Got in Touch
⚠️Warning: This blog post contains details of suicide and drug abuse.
I don’t think much of horoscopes, but I did read one the other day that said something about an ex getting in touch. With what’s happened re: The Fireman lately, I thought that he was the ex, getting in touch – but another one has now joined the chat. Big Love got in touch.
My heart is still pounding.
Notification
I saw the notification on my phone’s screen and had to blink a few times to make doubly sure it said what I thought it said.
No, it can’t be.
Was it really… him?
My heart thudded so hard, I thought it was going to thud right out of my chest. My hands were shaking so hard, I couldn’t even hold the phone straight. It took me three attempts to input my PIN, then another three attempts to try and open the messaging app.
To put it bluntly, I was a fucking mess.
All sorts ran through my mind as tears streamed down my cheeks. Did he want to get back together? Had he finally sent the text I’d been waiting so damn long to receive?! Was it finally happening???
Sadly not.
Death notification
Tears streamed down my cheeks even more, but for a completely different reason.
“I thought you should know that our tattoo artist passed away,” Big Love’s message said. “He killed himself.”
My heart sank. Fuck.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Big Love,” I replied. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Big Love thanked me for asking, then we chit-chatted for a little bit, reminiscing about memories past.
“Do you remember when I was anti-tattoo and piercing?” he laughed, and I laughed right back.
Back when we’d first started dating, Big Love was about as anti-body modification as you could get. He didn’t like my tattoo (back when I only had one) and wasn’t overly fond of my piercings.
“I bet you’d look so pretty without them,” he’d said.
“I look so pretty with them,” I joked back, poking my pierced tongue out.
Things sure had changed since then. I’d “converted him,” or so he repeatedly said. By the time we parted ways he was practically covered from the waist up. I’d introduced him to my artist, paid for his first ink, and that was it: he’d caught the tattoo bug.
You really can change a man, it seems.
History
My relationship with our tattoo artist was… complicated – but it wasn’t because of sex, or anything like that. Let’s call him TA for now.
Every time Big Love went out with TA the results would be chaos and carnage. They brought out the worst in each other. A couple of drinks at home would turn into a three-day bender that involved multiple strip clubs, several eight balls, and enough Jack n’ Coke to sink the Titanic.
I blame myself for Big Love’s subsequent downfall (and the downfall of our relationship,) but I also blame TA and a bunch of other supposed friends that didn’t know how to say no to him.
I liked TA, and we always had a lot of fun – but he was a very bad influence. He offered me cocaine (which I said yes to) at my very first tattoo appointment, and we were either drunk or buzzed every time we saw each other, from that point onwards.
Every single time.
Without fail.
There was a big difference between me and Big Love, though: I’d already come dangerously close to an addiction once before, so I started saying no to cocaine.
Big Love could never do that. Ever.
So, as much as I cried for TA’s suicide, I cried tears of relief, too. His death might push Big Love to change things around. At the very least, it might make him realise how dangerously close he is to meeting the same fate.
Either way, Big Love’s back in my head now. I wish he hadn’t messaged me at all, because I’m now asking why? Why did he contact me? Why did he feel the need to tell me that when he knows, damn well, how I feel about the whole situation?
Does it even mean anything at all?
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
If you fancy reading the entire Big Love story, from start to finish, you’ll find it right here.
If you fancy reading something else, here are a few places you could start:
