These past few days I’ve been able to actually partake in regular-people things, like watch Dr. Strange in theatres and indulge in butter flavored oil drizzled popcorn, watch my talented friends discuss and showcase their work in the East Room as well as other speakers, and eat salty cute skewered foods. Everyday is a constant struggle of convincing myself it will be okay, and even though I still immerse myself in existential crises after another, I’m still grateful for the people in my life and the days I get to spend struggling with my impending doom with them. Breathing is not an easy feat but our body is programmed to continue otherwise.

anxiety asylum

Not sure if I was manic for a couple of weeks, but things are back to looking bleak. Although it’s completely unfair and an inaccurate portrayal of myself to disappear and only come back to cry about my feelings.

I’ve been working on multiple projects which I can’t even seem to grasp right now mainly because of this ugly brain fog that looms over me. Is it the depression or the meds? Not sure. I honestly just feel stupid. My cognitive skills are depleting. Meep moop bloop zoop.


as the additional serotonin from an attempt at adding 5-HTP to my life only resulted in a messy landslide, trump won the american election and i’d say half the country feels the same. although i am not an american citizen, i fear for many of the minorities and their lives. as a WOC, canadian or not, i still feel the jabs of “inconveniently” not being white. may we have the strength to stay up and support each other to make a difference.

zombie nimbus cont’d

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The past two weeks have been a melancholic shit show. Nothing happened, nothing’s happening. I’m still trapped in my room – convincing myself that I’ll never need to step foot in to the outside world, even if I need to replenish anything, since this house is basically a hoarder’s paradise, that I’ll find everything, anything, somewhere.

My antidepressant was a big joke – it worked well, but to the extent that I was driven to heavy bouts of crying spells. Wiping away the river that descended only insisted on a weight I refused to face. I bid myself bedridden due to an obligatory force that states its mandatory presence. AKA you-know-what.

Truth be told, it was Thanksgiving weekend, I gave up on my AD and it was out of my system long enough for me to be able to pretend to be a regular human. It was an eerie event. Everyone was either staring up at the giant flat screen HDTV, or down at their smartphones, scrolling through the abyss of memes and likes. At this point I only had brief encounters with older relatives, trying to fake a smile as they tell me that I’ve put on weight and “it’s good!”. Right. I found my cousins and they’re busy doing homework. No one my age is holding a drink. It was around this point that I started considering going sober; why am I even so reliant on a beverage that will only ruin my liver, weight, and skin?

A friend once told me that she was too vain to do cocaine. 50% health 50% vanity. Maybe it’s time to immerse myself in my narcissism, like the pretty girl I’m expected to be.

zombie nimbus

I’ve been on a mood stabilizer for more than a week, and an antidepressant just under. I’ve been avoiding this blog as soon as I’ve publicized it; do my internet friends really need to know what drugs I’m on? ..which, frustratingly, is the exact opposite purpose of this blog.

I’ve been on a slow, rickety rollercoaster ever since I added antidepressants to my mood stabilizer. My brain fog is preventing me from doing anything, let alone make a cohesive post.

In the worst way possible, I feel 16 again. Trapping myself in my room. Waiting.


In the midst of taking up painting-black-holes-and-nipples, I’ve been consumed with, surprisingly, getting my life together. Other than my resume, I’ve started an online portfolio which can be viewed here.

I’m exhausted and running mostly on caffeine, sodium, and cornbread.

Trying to adult out here – send help!