“You judge me when you look at me because of the tattoos that cover my body—but that’s only because you don’t understand what they mean…”
My mother named me Mercy, after the nuns who raised her, but my life has been anything but merciful. The path I’ve traveled has been long and winding, full of heartbreak and violence, but also rare moments of beauty.
My story starts in Savannah, the day I found my mother’s body after she’d chased two bottles of sleeping pills with a bottle of home-made moonshine. It’s the story of my unhinged stepfather, a devastating fire, and how I ended up on the run, wanted for murder.
It tells of my obsessive search for my birth father that I clung to like a life raft as I drifted—from the bright lights of a shady traveling carnival, where I was given my first tattoo by my older lover; to a biker gang falling apart at the seams, where I met the man who would torment me for years to come.
From the cream of high society in California, to the lonely beaches of Mexico where I finally found a type of peace—just not the one I expected.
You judge me because my tattoos make me look strange, dangerous. But there’s more to them than that. To understand the way I look, you need to know where I came from. To understand me, you need to know my story…