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Gut smashed

I remember the night this one came out quite clearly. Months into my retreat/escape from Los Angeles, it was late at night, everyone in bed, me in the middle of my solo time, getting ready for an almost daily ink expression piece. Walking down the stairs my subconscious struck on a wild boar of a thread…

A deep dive, now possible because of distance, environment, maybe even some healing emotionally brought on a tidal wave of emotion. A tragic irony twisting its rusty edge into my heart as I saw all that had been possible, but no longer was, because of my actions and decisions.

Not just the big stuff, but all the little fuckups along the way.

ALL OF THEM.

Faster than I could logically register but each one another pebble in the sacks I carry upon my shoulders (but can’t seem to ever get rid of…)

Fuck it was heavy. And I wish I could say I cried at the pain of it all…but instead I made this.

Did it make me feel better, no. But now this exists…so, there’s that.

Why did I start here, and not at the beginning, because, in a way, it did start here…my recognition of what these pieces may be. I say may. Because, I don’t feel like I know anything anymore.

I just feel lost, alone, hurt, and confused.

Maybe, though, making these and writing about them will help…and that small hope is enough to keep going…

Wessel ‘26