I have a mailing list now! Eep!

Hey everyone! Just me, dropping in to let you know that, well, I’ve been doing this blogging thing for almost two years now–and I figured it was about time to set up my very own mailing list.

I promise not to spam you, or send too many emails–honestly I’m way too tired to make enough content for that. But I will slide into your inbox every now and then, and attempt to be inspirational, give you the updates on whatever I’m up to, maybe share some musings or stories from my life; whatever I feel like.

Success! You’re on the list.

Thanks so much for your support! New posts will be coming out tomorrow. 🙂

Lots of love,



it’s kinda hypnotic. the longer i spend following the spiral down, down, down as i search for the end. end, buried deep beneath these caverns of gold.

and so i’ll follow, follow, follow. i’ll do as i was told. cheap plastic, shattering beneath the slightest pressure. don’t i want to get old? sit atop my rocker, telling tales from a bygone world…

of a time, when the periwinkle sky granted me a single drop of mercy, and you told it to leave me the fucking hell alone. when endless hallways screamed my name, and i drowned in the maze of bone.

but right now, maybe i just want to stop. maybe all i want to do is prick my finger, on another goddamn spindle. fall asleep on my cardboard throne.

let the pulsing fear begin to dwindle. and hope that someday, i’ll be able to atone.

It’s a lot, sometimes. Everything happening on the news.

I want to disclaim this post with that–well, although to be honest it is exhausting to see, I am in no way the victim in any of the situations going on right now, or the most affected party. I don’t want this to come off entitled, or self-centred. But at the same time, I think discussing how all the news affects us, and taking care of our mental health as best as we can is very important. That’s my intent in writing this.

I’ve been trying to keep up to date with the news throughout the pandemic. I guess it was a habit I picked up around March, when quarantine started, and never really dropped. So after I wake up, the first thing I do is check my phone–usually log onto Tumblr, Instagram or Twitter, intending to post something, or check out what some of my mutuals are up to. (Or that’s the excuse I make to myself anyway.)

But inevitably, I end up finding out about some bad thing that happened while I was asleep. Then, I’ll usually google it, and read a basic news article informing me on the situation. Read another one. Have a complete breakdown, gradually feeling more and more disgusting and/or making myself increasingly late for work. But I just lie there, paralyzed on the floor. The background anxiety of that will often stick with me for the rest of the day

I come from a family of activists. My mom–who grew up during the Cold War–went to protests from a very young age, and often tells me about how formative that experience was to her. My great-grandparents were huge activists for nuclear disarmament, sticking to that cause literally until their deaths. Every summer, my mom and her sister would fly to Ireland to stay with them. I was actually named after my great-grandmother.

Anyway. One time, when my mom was staying with them, she had gotten all her clothes too dirty to wear. So she was sitting outside of the washing machine wrapped up in a towel, waiting for the laundry to finish. My great-grandfather came up to her, and asked her out of nowhere: “What are you going to do to save the world?”

All my mom wanted to was something clean to wear. She was ten years old.

As much as we’ve laughed at that story–I think it really illustrates the culture of obsessive responsibility my mom–and then I–have grown up in. (Many times, my parents have asked me the same question.)

I grew up with the mindset that the needs of the public far outweighed your own; that if you could learn more about something, it was your responsibility to find out all the horrific details, no matter how hard it might be to handle. And then, it was your responsibility to fix it at all costs.

But as I’ve grown older, I’ve started to realize… that kind of mindset isn’t sustainable. If I’m going to do the best I can to make the world a better place, I can’t consistently do that at the cost of my own wellbeing. That only leads to the place I’m in now–of constant paranoia and paralysis to do anything about an issue.

Anyhow–I’m still grappling with this, and trying to figure out how to set healthy boundaries without turning a blind eye, if that makes sense. If you’ve struggled with something similar and have any tips–or just want to share your experience, feel free to let me know. 🙂

Lots of love,


siren song

i am lost at sea. i am a shell of who i once was, just trying my best to collect the broken pieces and figure out who the hell i want to be.

in between bouts of self-destructive tendencies. the heat exhaustion writhing in my bones; as i hold still, and brace for the hypnotic thrum of the dial tone.

i’m not all knowing. i’m just some kid, at 1 in the morning shouting out into the void. but the currents of cheap stardust… well, they keep going.

so i am a shipwrecked sailor searching the parched desert sands, for splintered pieces of wood. or… i don’t know. someone who understands.


i don’t want to do much of anything, i guess. waking up from dreams i don’t remember in a puddle of sweat. and these days, it seems like everyone is just so happy. so why can’t i forget?

as the tide drowns out any sense of morality i used to possess. but it was nice while it lasted. a pastel blue sky, and my pink flower-girl dress….

so just keep going. even if you don’t know why. even if you can’t fucking stand to. because you’re getting older. and you are not immune to the wear and tear of time against you.

so i mumble a desperate prayer, fighting off the rose bower with a pocketknife. my fingers stained with morning dew…

just give me a second. and i’ll be there. ready to live out the best four years of my life, or whatever… beside you.

I’ve been struggling a lot of late with how normal the people around me have been acting, as we gradually come out of quarantine. My mom said that opening up is a lot harder than closing down emotionally–and I think that’s true.

It’s like, I’ll be seeing my friend, and for once in my lifetime not be so worried about this stuff. We will snuggle and watch a baking show, and go for long walks in the forest. And then, maybe we decide to go for a coffee or something, and it just all slams into me again. That things are not normal. Despite how much I want them to be.

Her mom was driving the other day, and she turned on the CBC news on the radio–which happened to be a report about the second wave, and I almost cried. I didn’t fully calm down until, like, two days later. We were going to the beach–and it was supposed to be a fun day, or whatever. But the whole time, I just felt like shit.

I don’t understand how other people can hear about the possibility of another lockdown happening again–without breaking down. Without feeling like it’s happening all over again; seeing the colour leech out around you, as all the things you missed so desperately are pulled away in an instant. And you’re left, as always–sitting at home. Alone.

I have found that wearing a mask helps. Like, genuinely–I’m not trying to sell you on wearing one, although in places where you can’t maintain social distance you definitely should–it just makes me feel better. It’s irrational, but if I know I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to, and often even going overboard and wearing one in situations where it’s really not required–like walking down the sidewalk or whatever, I feel in some small way in control of what’s going to happen next. (Even though I’m, but at least it takes the self-loathing out of the equation.) (Also, I have this really cute mask that makes me feel super pretty and put together whenever I wear it, which might also help.)

As I’ve said before, I know there are lot worse things happening than, and I hope this post doesn’t come off entitled or anything like that. (And I apologize if it does.) But I just wanted to get some of these thoughts out of my head and onto the page.

Lots of love,



the blood drips off my fingers. and i should just fucking go to sleep, but the charcoal hatred lingers…

and i can’t breathe, as a thousand razor-sharp teeth devour me. so let’s call it a superpower. call it anything, but the emptiness, congealing in my bones. but my burnt matchstick limbs; threadbare diary pages suddenly exposed.

my cheekbones splinter, the words spilling out of my papercut tongue faster and faster. i sit cross-legged in the garden, laughing maniacally as the flames drink up that silly. little. aster.

but i’ll write a happy ending for. just like i always do. paper maché gates and a glimmering castle. you’re running out of time, little girl….

at this rate, no one’s going to remember you.