I’m Molly, and I’m trying to write about how I see the world. At the onset, I thought that meant whimsical fiction and poetry of all subjects, complemented by a few think pieces. It turns out I’m not that organized.
Similarly to how vegans and CrossFit enthusiasts can’t help bringing up their respective lifestyles in every conversation, my experiences (past and present) with depression and anxiety tend to influence practically everything I post**. However, I’d like to think my neuroses give my perspective a refined, erratic tone that’s not entirely unpleasant to read. And I’d be happy knowing that if just one lonely person in the world reads my words, maybe they won’t feel so hopeless.
This is the ongoing story of how it all unfolds.
“Awkward, profanity-laced, and full of comma splices, but overall a robust collection of essays from another neurotic white girl.” -The Atlantic
“Ms. Young tries to be witty far too often, but makes up for it with her conscious acknowledgement of said habit.” -NPR
“Just when you think she’s about to actually take the risk of sharing her true emotions on a subject, the tone will suddenly switch to a desperate sarcasm.” -The Huffington Post
“I don’t know this girl. Maine isn’t THAT small, okay?” -Stephen King
**I should have known where it would all lead when I chose a blog title taken from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot—I consider this poem to be, quite possibly, the closest anyone has ever come to accurately expressing what anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses feel like. (But at the time, my rationale was that I also just really liked toast and tea.)