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ONCE YOU GET STARTED, you’ll never stop,â€Â said the phlebotomist as she drew my blood.

She had seven tattoos.

Two years later, my parents sat me down for an intervention. They had a nurse and a priest try to talk me out of getting my first tat.

It was almost as if they could already see the tide of ink to come.

Born into a family saturated with alcoholism, I grew up with the AA psychology and knew addictive behavior when I saw it.

So I stayed away from alcohol, but eagerly pushed up my sleeve for the tattoo needle.

“Don’t worry,â€Â I assured my folks. “It’s just one.â€Â

It was a rose on my lower back, and my mom didn’t freak quite as much because it was “pretty and delicate.â€Â

And hidden.

I went almost a whole year before getting the blue moon. The craving had returned for some reason or other.

I spent quite a bit of time poring over magazines and tattoo shop walls in search of the perfect moon.

Then I had it etched into my shoulder.

A good six months went by before that craving was back. My parents rolled their eyes in resignation, and then there was a weeping mermaid just above the rose.

At this point, I figured there must be something to that phlebotomist̢۪s theory. The craving returned like a needy relative, every few months.

So out came the tat mags and back to the needle I was drawn.

People always ask me what the appeal is; do I get off on the pain or something?

The answer to that question is no.

The reasons change with each tattoo. Once it was to mark a specific occasion. Twice it was in memory of a loved one.

The craving, however, is always the primary motivator; it presents itself, on average, every four to six months, and persists.

Entering a tattoo shop is like going into a candy store — flash covers the walls, every kind of picture and design imaginable, and my eyes drink it all in.

My ears prick up to the whine of the needle. And the image I choose will stay in my head until it is inked onto my skin.

So was the phlebotomist right? Does tattoo addiction exist?

I believe that in my case, it probably does. Take the addiction trait my great-grandfathers introduced to my paternal gene pool, throw in the fact that needles never bothered me, and it makes sense.

A tattoo’s permanence is sometimes difficult to fathom. I know that someday, when I’m old and saggy, I might regret getting inked — and I do regret the fact that I can never seem to go a full year without getting one, so I can’t donate blood anymore.

But I̢۪m not old and saggy yet.

I doubt, however, that I will ever morph into the Tattooed Lady my friends envision, as the habit can get quite expensive, and smaller (cheaper) tattoos appear to be my specialty.
But you never know.

Sarah Peterson is a returning student getting a second bachelor’s degree in mass communication and journalism with an emphasis in print journalism. She also has a degree in English literature. She generally enjoys horror films, but noted that one recent addition to the horror genre that she did not enjoy was a direct-to-video production called “Silent Scream.â€Â None of the editorial staff of The Collegian had ever heard of it.