Witch, its been rough

I’ve been writing about heavy things lately. Trauma. Tattoos. Grief that tastes like burnt sage and unfinished prayers. But this time, I’m flipping the tarot deck and pulling a joy card—still slightly cursed, obviously, but this one’s dipped in glitter and moonlight. Last time, I wrote about getting a tattoo inspired by her. Because nothing

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Before we descend into this spiral of shadow and sorrow, consider this your official trigger warning: no blood rituals, no actual hexes, and no self-harm. Just your classic flavor of soul-crushing grief, depressive fog, and existential dread. You know, the usual cursed cocktail. When I lost my mom, I didn’t just lose a person —

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One deceptively charming Spring day – birds chirping like they’d been bribed by the Fates, and flowers blooming as if Persephone hadn’t just left them for dead six months ago – my mom decided to wage war against the suburban hellscape (she tried to weed the yard). Naturally, the universe, with its impeccable sense of

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So there I was in high school, innocently summoning spirits in my room (aka lighting Bath & Body Works candles and listening to pop punk like I was in mourning), when the Great Revelation hit me like a curse from the fae realm: “I think I might be bisexual…” Cue thunder. Cue inner monologue screaming:

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Welcome mortals. Congratulations. You’ve stumbled into my little corner of the internet – a cursed diary of chaos, dark humor, questionable decisions, and the kind of life lessons that come from being thrown directly into the fire (and staying there… for ambiance). This blog is brewed for the beautifully broken, the gloriously sarcastic, and anyone

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