Planning My Holidays

I’ve allowed myself a much needed break from my current reality and I’ve been excitedly (as excited as I can get) planning my escape.

My family has a summer house where I spent every single summer as a child there, swimming and being young. We usually used to stay there for 2 months, sometimes more. It’s a much different story now that I’m an adult, thinking back on how much fun I used to have.

To be honest, I avoided going there because the good memories were just too overwhelming, they were a stark contrast to what my life feels like now. The happy memories remind me how easy it is to lose everything you love and how a good place can turn into a place that haunts you.

Despite the deep, fucked-up and prolonged trauma I have, my summer house is capable of giving me new, happy memories.

I spent some time there with my best friend, before the summer and we had so much fun exploring and being in the moment because I guess she’s caught up with the future and I’m stuck in the past… how ironic.

Anyway, I’m planning my trip, I’ll be leaving as soon as possible, probably around the 15th of August.Hopefully, my friend will be able to come for a couple of days. I’ll try and rent a bicycle so I can go around the island and explore a bit more. I don’t know, I’m trying to be spontaneous!

Probably No One Has Been Perscribed Anti-Depressants This Fast!

Yesterday was less stressful than I thought. I guess your body and mind know when it’s time to man up and be an adult with problems that need solving.

I took the bus, there was one in my neighborhood that oh-so-conveniently passed right by the medical center I was going to.

The bus ride was uneventful and so was the time I spent waiting in this desolate waiting room. Let me paint you a picture; imagine a hallway, filled with sad posters that tell you to cover you mouth when you cough. There’s a distant drilling noise since it’s not just a mental health clinic, it’s an everything clinic and there’s a person having their teeth drilled by (hopefully) a dentist.

The appointment itself was painless. It’s not like I have anything against psychiatrists, I just never thought I’d be the one needing one since I’m so in charge of my life.

The woman was neutral, the beginning was awkward since she asked me why I’m here and what my deal is. It’s awkward confirming that you have problems, or at least it is for me. Sitting there and talking about myself to a person that has no idea about me is strange.

To cut a long story short (my appointment took around half an hour), it was decided that therapy and medication would help me out most. I literally just took my first dose of Prozac, so that’s that. I don’t know how this will change me, but she also perscribed me a light anti-anxiety sleeping pill which helped me sleep last night. I hadn’t been sleeping for a week, so this was a welcome change.

Anyway, I’m curious about how all this will change me, since I’ve lived almost half my life depressed. It’s never been as crippling as it has felt the past few weeks but it’s been a constant companion.

Back, Like Something That Returns After A Hiatus

And it’s time to make this blog more personal.

There’s an actual human being typing these words. And I’m depressed. I said it, without injecting tasteless humor.

I don’t know when the last time I fell asleep like a normal person was. Every night is my eyes begging not to be so dry, while my mind fights me and keeps me awake while I keep thinking how I have to brace myself for everyone’s upcoming death.

I’m scared of losing people, of dying, of wasting my time, of not being there, of being too late, of being too distant or too clingy, I’m scared of losing every single person I love and I’m ruining my life over it and it’s time to get some help, actual professional help, because being quirky and having a dark sense of humor just won’t cut anymore, no matter how invigorating I was, like a breath of fresh air.

Who knows what this new chapter will be like. I’ve never been to a psychiatrist. I’m scared and also not scared, maybe finally I’ll be rid of whatever is holding me back. I don’t know why my brain works this way.

I guess I’ll be less faceless on here.

I will have my point of view on things you never asked to read, but there will be shit that’s going on in my actual life. Like how this depression thing will go.

Cheers to whatever’s coming up.

With ultra regret,


She May Or May Not Approve Of This Post

I have a friend, my best friend, she’s been mentioned in a lot of my posts directly or indirectly and she’s my best friend, you know… the kind of friend that doesn’t judge your fascinations about serial killers or questions your inherent fear of the subway. She’s the only friend I have and I currently don’t want any more of them.

It’s no secret to me or her online followers that she’s suicidal and depressed. Her blog is scarily candid about the shit that goes through her head.

The first time she posted about her contemplating suicide, she told me not to read it. When she finally gave me permission to view her mysterious post, it was like a rug pulled beneath my feet. Here I thought she was just strange and the dark but hilarious jokes we shared were all fun and games. Nope, it was a way for her to share her reality and I hadn’t seen through that.

This universe that was thrust upon me was scary and uncertain. This person who is fearless and beautiful and so unique doesn’t really want to keep on living and I had no clue about it.

I called her and pretended to be cool about it.

Like… “Oh, hey… I just read your post. Is this true? Why are you rehearsing your suicide? Please call me whenever you feel like this!”

I was trying to be calm and adult about it. I had never really been in a situation quite like this. I had to google stuff and try not to sound like a cliche cunt while throwing inspirational words at her face, like keep on living, it’s worth it etc.


Truth is, I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine how it feels but it seems vulnerable and I’m sure she feels useless at times by accepting help. She was looking for a confidante to share her suicide with but in reality found someone who would stop her and force her to do something she never thought of doing, getting professional help.

It was never an option not to help her. If I could, I’d be even more involved but she doesn’t let me. She thinks she’s a terrible burden and that I shouldn’t blacken my soul with her worries. Too late for that, I say. I don’t know why I’m so determined to be there but it’s because I want to, not because I’m supposed to. Her existence means a lot to me… and a universe where she doesn’t exist is a doomed universe.

I noticed recently that all of my previous friends had never really complimented me on anything. Somehow, she’d notice things I was good at and brought them to my attention at times (with me of course incapable of accepting the kind words) and was actually interested in finding out my opinion about small things. For most people, these are trivial things but I’ve been unlucky with people in general. These tiny insignificant things matter.

She matters a lot.


Watching Reality Tv

RmlVQxC.gifI found myself lazing around with my mother on a Tuesday afternoon. We stumbled upon America’s Got Talent and while it had its funny moments (a weird pumpkin man dancing sensually)… let me tell you, it’s blatantly fake.

The tragic stories are needed for every season of talent shows because tears mean money. And money is what dictates how hard the judges will clap when they see the woman that got burned in a house fire… but what about the burn victims in hospital right now that can’t hold a microphone and sing? Yes, they’ve been given a voice but we all know that they’re being strung along as a narrative device.

I take personal offense with hearing the word ‘brave’ sometimes. Oh my god, you’re so brave by taking the stage while having some kind of physical problem. YOU’RE BRAVE. I can’t imagine being in that person’s shoes, what are you supposed to respond with after hearing that? Thanks? Thank you supermodels and celebrities for tolerating my deformity for a second?

Secondly, no, not everyone is beautiful and that’s okay, 87% of the world’s population is average. The vanilla flavor of ice-cream. The trend of every band/musician having that one video of showing “unconventional” faces, redheads with tons of freckles, an assortment of big noses, an overweight person, a safe and all-American taste of what’s ‘ugly’. No, ugly can be worse than that. But what’s the point of stating what ugly is? And why must we applaud these artists for being so open-minded and accepting when they’ve spent millions on their bodies and faces? No. Stop profiting on people’s need to be accepted by the masses. If you’re ugly or fat or short or whatever, they’ll never accept you, they’re just building a marketing campaing around embracing our differences. You might be ugly and that’s okay.

It’s funny how up until a couple of years ago, all these shows heavily featured segments where people were being made fun of. Now, the panel of guests and judges is still the same but oh they’re so nice and considerate, they’d never hurt a fly. They’ll tell the kid with acne and the mediocre voice how brave he is.

Fuck being brave for showing your face.

Your face has always been there for you and simply you to accept it, it’s nobody else’s business to make or break you.

I don’t know where this was going, I guess it’s a rant. Yay.


Growing Up Bilingual Back When It Wasn’t Cool

I still wonder why the kids at school treated me so differently. Why did they have to make fun of me whenever I read during our English lessons? Why did they make me feel embarrassed of who my mother was and where she was from?

A small heads up, my mother is probably the most Western-looking person in the world, from Canada of all places. Yes, still considered an immigrant in this small European country I call home and hell yeah, still treated like shit at times (guaranteed way to make me fly off the handle and attack whoever is making fun of her).

In the deep 90’s of my childhood, being from any other country was different and scary. English was my first language so when I started school, I was thrown into a world with strangers who lacked any connection to foreigners. Up until then, my whole life was foreign because that was my mother’s coping mechanism, finding other foreign women and building a network because it was hard enough not speaking a country’s language, it was even harder not having anyone to relate to.

So here I was, suddenly noticing that kids made fun of me when I talked in what was a correct English accent and it made me feel so bad. It sounds ridiculous, I know. This is like the world’s whitest problem and that’s the point, shit like this shouldn’t even happen.


I changed my accent so I wouldn’t be made fun of but people still knew who I was. I had teachers ask me where I’m from and when I replied “From here”, they’d give me an ironic look and ask me again. It wasn’t because of curiosity, it was plain old dislike. Keep in mind, this was a country that remained “untainted” and narrow-minded for a long time, up until the late 80’s and early 90’s.

In the same country now, I see younger kids trying to mimic an American accent, even taking catchphrases and intergrating them in their own language and suddenly it’s all good, it’s cool. I’m glad it’s not some sort of taboo anymore but it makes me angry that I was treated differently for the same thing while now it’s widely accepted.

What I do wish is that society around us would stop categorising what is considered a cool nationality, honestly, does it make any sense if you’re Canadian or Spanish or Indian? Do countries have ranks?

I tend to judge people on their personal merits, so if you’re an asshole, you’re an international asshole.

The “Sloppy Acoustic Vibes” Compilation

With ultra regret,


The Only Weeds I Have Are In My Garden; And I Remove Those Too

I don’t do drugs.

I don’t even smoke conventional cigarettes anymore.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t smoke weed (when people look at me they think I must roll joints all day long). Apparently everyone smokes weed nowadays and it’s safe to assume that drugs are involved when having a good time.


Peer pressure doesn’t really work on me but it drives me up the wall how we’ve normalised drug use. If it alters your reality, yeah my friend, it’s a drug and it’s not good for you.

I stumbled upon a nugget of information last year, my father of all people turns out to be a stoner and I was angry and upset at how I’ve been a witness to some sort of performance… because being stoned is not really being yourself. All the times when he was annoying and immature and downright ridiculous, he’s been high. I’ve been around enough people to know that it changes you into something different. So yeah, zero tolerance to drugs here and I won’t be conforming to the agenda of being cool about it.

This is my opinion of course but as long as others have the right to openly talk about getting high, I have the same right to complain about how much I hate it.

A Beginners Guide to T.Rex (the band, not the dinosaur)


It physically hurts my heart when musicians don’t really get the recognition they deserve. I don’t know why Marc Bolan is not as significant as David Bowie. They were both around the same age, they had a similar look (yes, David Bowie did copy Marc’s look at the beginning) and despite the fact that T.Rex had more of a tween following, their music defined a whole generation and defined movements to come, like punk and glam metal.

Anyway, here’s a list of some songs I personally consider landmarks for T.Rex (and no, Children of The Revolution and Get It On are not included because everyone and their grandmother knows those songs):

  • By The Light Of A Magical Moon. Lyrics that paint a whole picture of a beautiful place where everything’s carefree and you’re walking barefoot on the grass, this is what this song feels like.
  • Laser Love. Everyone thought that rock n’ roll was dead because disco reigned supreme. Those two worlds could co-exist in peaceful harmony.
  • Life’s A Gas. I’m a sucker for acoustic guiatrs and apathy. This song has both. The album Electric Warrior is one of the most iconic records of the 70s and I could probably list every single song from it as life-changing but I’m trying to remain calm.
  • Rabbit Fighter. This is the point where we shrug and say ‘this song makes no sense, what is this all about?’ and you’re right, what the hell is a rabbit fighter?! You still can’t help loving the groove and the squealing guitar. It feels like this song should have been on hundreds of movie soundtracks.
  • Token of my love. From an album that was considered a flop. The backing vocals are worth every single penny and it’s refreshing to hear about broken hearts in such a upbeat melody.
  • Life Is Strange. No, not the video game. Simplistic but beautiful, it’s one of those songs I listen to with a smile on my face because I can relate to it. Life is strange.
  • Monolith. It’s cool-sounding.
  • The Slider. Okay, this is quite a well-known song from the homonymous album. Marc Bolan sings so indifferently, stating that when he’s sad, he slides. Apparently the entire song is about doing lines of cocaine but I think he was just having an existencial crisis. This is probably my single most favorite song.

Hard to stop once you start going but this is just a small taste. What’s nice about music is that we could like the same album but be enraptured by different songs. Find the ones that mean the most to you and make them your own.

With ultra regret,


Placeholder People

My best friend and I talk a lot on the phone. It’s usually about how I’m incapable of understanding basic human reactions, about existential issues… you know, the typical stuff girls talk about.

I’ve never really had a friendship like that. Let me correct myself by being more direct. I’ve never had a friendship like this (I removed the word ‘really’ because I felt like it made the meaning of the sentence less important. It’s very important).

My entire life used to revolve around people that I somehow ended up befriending out of need, out of fear of being a weird freak while everyone else seemed to have the time of their lives by hugging and laughing and making connections with people and here I was, feeling more like this



Most of my teenage years were spent wondering if there are people out there that I’d really enjoy spending time with. Could I possibly be even remotely open about myself to someone without being scared of the villagers tearing my house down with their pitchforks? I’m kidding of course. I live in a metropolis, not a village, so my pursuers would probably be extroverted club-goers.

The friends I used to have filled a spot that I thought should be taken up by anyone available and my quiet existence filled the rest. In reality, I almost despised the people I hung out with. They weren’t bad people, they just weren’t my kind of people.

Surprisingly enough (and completely by chance), I met my best friend now. Let me tell you, it’s a miracle both of us became friends… me being picky and hardly ever liking people, her thinking I’m out to get her. Turns out we make a good team. A couple of years ago, I never thought I’d have one of those real friendships that Hollywood talks about, the ones where people share their problems and feelings! I’m still pretty fucked in the head when it comes to being open and chill but hey, I’m trying.

So, here’s to my best friend, a real friend.