So anyways I was sad today and then my second Orla Kiely shoes arrived which went perfectly with the dress I just put on and they go so nice together. That’s such a cute coincidence and I needed to document that. It’s the coincidence I want to share not the shoes & the buying & buying & buying. Feelings, smiles and good things. That needs to be remembered. I need to document these tiny moments that make me smile more. Will you help me? Like give a shout out whenever and say hey what’s yr outfit or what was good today, eline? or something?

Ever since my last exams in December & January I’ve been extremely Not Well (mentally). And just like the shoes in my last post I got them on ebay in a panic-fueled-stress-impulse purchase. I have been sucked in those moments quite a lot lately. I need to stooohhhhp. But that small piece of adrenaline I get, the short-lived illusion of happiness when spending money, all my money and just letting myself go for once, like I can breathe for five minutes (and then the panic comes knocking right on time) is so hard to resist. I feel like this glass version of myself and it cracks and cracks and cracks and soon there will be nothing more left to crack and I’ll be gone. Physically, mentally, both? I don’t even know. But I feel like I’m at a border that I never want to cross because I don’t think there’s a path to turn back. But I’m just being pushed towards it little by little and I’m scared.

Clothes, makeup, shoes, bags, skincare…. it let’s me breathe just for a bit. Some will cry out CAPITALIST CONSUMER CULTURE HAS TRAPPED YOU. But you forget the love I have for clothing, my personal rituals, myth and becoming/being I’ve woven around it all of that. And oh yes, of course my relationship with consuming is warped.

But I’m trying to be easy on myself.
It’s difficult.

greedy greedy greedy


Th exact moment I forgot how annoying taking outfit pics can be, screaming (whisper) to myself WHY? Because I love everyone who checks this lil space out once in a while.

Resignation: nap while standing.

Shoes by Orla Kiely, dress from a magical attic where vintage treasures made in exactly my size are silently waiting for me. Earrings by Poola Katarynya.


I mean….

My essay for Issue Four of Doll Hospital Journal! Click here for details. & buy buy buy ASAP if you’d like a hard copy edition of Issue Three! We’re currently accepting pre-orders til April 2. Not only will you get a lovely book to sit-stop-read, get calm, feel understood or get a chance to read others’ experiences with mental health. A digital copy of our latest will zoom right to you.

No white-washing, manic pixies, romanticization of our issues. Just you & you & you & you (& me) & maybe you too some day. All of our selves are still horrifyingly underrepresented. Mental health, in general, is across all our media oversimplified, villainized, victimized, erased, used as cheap plot devices, 2 minute entertainment, large-scale political trickery… What else?

Our illness is the easy solution to justify that terrorism is and always be an outside threat. It’s only a poor lonesome white wolf. He owned a vast collection of deadly paraphernalia and a manuscript detailing his future actions? Well, of course, he must have been mentally ill. Poor little white boy. Must be psychopathicismer or whatsit. White boys just aren’t capable of rage, are they? It’s something biological, you know, it just can’t be helped.

Our illness is an excuse for reprehensible crimes. I heard Sickly Dicky Trump must have a personality disorder, that’s why he may come off as a little volatile. Let’s forgive his orange crisp skin. He must have been lonesome as a child, don’t you think? Manipulation, treason and censorship… well, it just can’t be helped. Give the poor man some space.

Still, it’s funny. There’s thousands of listicles floating around the internet diagnosing anyone up for the public spotlight (even if dead). I’ve waited ten years for help. Of course it’s hardly affordable or I could stop my life for a couple of months. Funny still, my country has great health care that had a plan to reduce therapeutic costs this year. It’s hysterical: therapists voted against this. Hilariously, I’m white, I’m of the “correct” nationality and I have a good support system. My health care plan is top-notch. But why am I still here? Why am I to blame? I feel sick.

And these are just such little things compared to most. And this is really why I find Doll Hospital so important. It says it’s ok. It’s for you, yourself; everyone. For the fourth time Doll Hospital Journal has stayed away from all those stereotypical nonsense lies yet again. It’s hard and easy and difficult but wonderful and necessary. Everyone is welcome. Welcome to write or submit visual works (though we do need more visual artists right now!). Come hang out with us. Share your frustrations, create something with your anger or have a good, nice cry.