Journal entry
You Little Fucker
The second chapter started in the Book of Andy. Not to be confused with the actual second, sequential chapter in the book. The sequence is not linear.
“Black. Everywhere. Like a splatter pattern from a shotgun blast wound, but black rather than red. Sometimes I still see it. Especially in my moments of instantaneous rage. I’ve learned to control that over the years, but it remains a part of me. Sometimes I wonder if I should have just let it consume me in the ways it tried to. I fought it, for years, yet it beat me repeatedly and it allowed me to justify doing wrong to others. Until I learned to wield it as a weapon. Now I use it to protect myself and those I love rather than use it as a weapon for causing harm to others.” I said as I sat on my therapist’s couch.
“Tell me about the black. What is it? What triggers it? How do you stop it?” She said as she wrote in her little notebook. Her office was calming, always a dog and various toys for the younger ones. There were soft yellow lights and a constant hum of a white-noise machine. I liked to just sit down and trauma dump because I was never taught how to communicate effectively to share feelings or thoughts or even know that I was allowed to have feelings of my own. She changed that for me. And so I talked. And I healed. But it took a very, very long time.
“Ink”, I said as I sat there staring into her eyes waiting for her to prod me further. “I learned to suppress the rage, fury, and raw emotions that come with it throughout the years, but there was a time when it came out on its own and manifested in ways that caused destruction, pain, and loss, all while taking me on a ride I never asked for and wanted off of always. I couldn’t stop it”.
“Let’s unpack this some more. We’ll take it in pieces. Tell me about the ink”, is what I heard next. I knew this would come, I dreaded it. Talking about the thing that I worked so hard to suppress seems like the opposite of rational to a broken person. I wasn’t ready. I had a trauma-bond with my ink. It protected me from being hurt. It allowed me to do as I pleased. It was my ink, and I was not ready to clean it up yet.
To be continued…
Notes: You Little Fucker is not finished. It is also likely not the only chapter of this story. Additional writing will be added here when ready. Check back if you want to. - Andy, 08/09/2026