Dear Griffith

Dear Griffith,

I’m trying to wrap my head around Kant and Hegel and Rousseau but all I can think about is you and I, which is really stupid because neither you nor I have made any significant contributions to the world but, hey, at least both of us are still alive.

I don’t know why I’m writing.

My heart is pumping absinthe because I’ve run out of blood. It burns. My eyes burn, my lungs burn, my arteries burn. Everything is scorching from the inside out because I have a personal hell inside. I’m not sure if I’ve lost it. I’m not even sure I’m alive because it isn’t possible for humans to feel so vitrified all the time. You know how sometimes I trap flies inside of my glass at the dinner table? Well today life trapped me inside it’s giant motherfucking glass and all I can hear are the muted conversations around me. No matter how hard I kick, I’m in this glass alone, burning, consuming the little oxygen left.

I think about life and how maybe, just maybe, nothing actually matters. I mean Hegel could spend his entire life synthesizing and Rousseau could spend his entire life being romantic and making Marie Antoinette pretend she’s a farmgirl, so?  Answer that Griffith, you have a fucking answer for everything…

Today I researched your name because I’m a sucker griffithsin.pngfor semantics and because the thought of you is like an IV dripping with morphine. I learnt that Griffithsin is a type of poison which seems all to fitting, but I can’t explain why. I think it’s because you sometimes make the burning go away but I know you’re killing me. You make me feel exactly the way Griffithsin looks, all tangled and disorganized but perfect. I don’t know if you will ever agree to meet with me again, because I wouldn’t if I were you. But if you do, please know that I’ll try to make my breaths longer and that I’m not in life’s glass every day. Today is just a bad one.

(potentially but realistically) Love,



Dear future daughter: here’s the best advice I can give

Dear future daughter,

When people ask me about the most important thing I’ve learned thus far, I can’t help but think about how destructive I was as a young teenager. If the old saying is true, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you will be relentless, vicious and (secretly) scared to death. I think I can help you.

I know that all of a sudden, you’ll go from being the class nerd, to the girl all boys want to feel up at parties. You’ll go from wearing limited too tracksuits and looking like a character from a bad sitcom, to wearing nothing but shorts, fishnets, crop tops and winged eyeliner. You won’t have a clue about what the fuck goes on around you.

One day, someone will hurt you. One day, some 19 year old predator will fix his eye on you. One day, you’ll feel like the bones in your body must stick out even more. You’ll learn to hate yourself, to avoid your reflection, to count calories and skip meals, to mutilate your own skin.

I need you to forget about all this shitstorm around and think of your best friend for a minute. What would happen if he or she ever told you that you looked disgusting? How would you react to them pinching whatever amount of fat you have on your body?  What if they suggested you should grab a razor and slash your wrists up? And how would you feel if they pointed out that barely noticeable pimple or scar or whatever imperfection on your face, and told you it completely ruined you? What if your best friend ever told you that you were not worthy of being loved, or cared for, or an incredible human being?

Let me answer those questions for you. You would cut that bitch out of your life for being cruel, cold and critical. You would be outraged at them for daring to treat you with such a blatant lack of respect and disregard for your feelings…

And yet I know that you will do all of the above to yourself. You are not your enemy. Treat yourself like a friend, and do not tolerate doing to yourself what would be unspeakable if someone else did it. What you say to yourself in front of the mirror or when you shut your eyes to sleep at night is no worse than what a toxic friend could possibly tell you. Don’t tolerate all that negativity inside you: You are worthy of being loved, worthy of inner peace.

If you manage to make that inner voice your friend, and find peace within yourself, I promise, you will come to find that facing the world outside of your head becomes a million times better, and way more gratifying.


Aisling, and (in theory), your mother.

Trigger Warning

You never said no.

He was 19, you were 16. You knew no better.
“It’s not your fault.”
But you shouldn’t have had
quite so much to drink.
“It’s not your fault”
But it isn’t he who cries
In front of that crucifix
At the confession line in mass.

“Good girls don’t do that”
But screw the good girls.
You can swallow the world in one shot of vodka.

Slut. Whore. Harlot.
You have a reputation Miss Ahearne.


“Lucie stop crying”
Lucie drank pills yesterday.
And Sophie was locked in a stall.
Save us Márquez!
El mar crecerá con mis lágrimas.


The grave in your heart is deeper
The acid in your brain more scalding
Arteries ripped and harrowed,
The oxygen in your lungs tells a more ominous tale

I’ll tell you a secret.

Sometimes her spinal cord
Feels like she’s being impaled
To her own used, disgusting body.

And to those of you who won’t believe the last sentence.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.
She burns like the fifth circle of hell.

To the three men in my life in 2015

Dear James, 

To this day you’ve probably been the man I’ve loved the most.

I don’t think love is even the right word.

Did I really love you?

Or was I just infatuated with the idea of loving someone who lives exactly 9,743 kilometers away from me?

Dear James, I’m afraid I’ve no answer. I’ve no answer because you never let me figure it out.


I do, however, know you never loved me. You moved on, you texted me one day,

you said “I fell for you for a while”.

For a while.

 Have you any idea of how much you debilitated me?

Of course you don’t.

Or do you?

 I see the light green, guilty tint in the resonance of your voice.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.



Dear Connor, 

I unknowingly used you, and I’m sorry. I am eternally sorry for getting lost in your voice when all the other voices in my life directed their hate towards me. I’m sorry I stopped speaking to you when my heart had healed. Please know that if ever I hurt you, it wasn’t because I never saw something in you, but rather because you and I are incompatible. I’m sorry I made out with one of your best friends as some sort of fucked up symbolic statement.

I’m sorry that I never told you how beautiful your letter was, and how my favorite line is “the vicissitudes of coincidence once again conspired against two people”.

I never told you I’m sorry, C, I’m sorry for that too.

Most of all, I’m sorry about how not sorry I am most of the time. Truth be told, I rarely think about you anymore. I hope you can stop thinking of me too.


Dear Carlo,

For you I preserve nothing but disdain

You hurt me,

It still hurts.


Dear you (all three of you),

Funny how time outsmarts me every single time, isn’t it?


Aisling A.


The Happy Couple: 14 year old me on self harm and anorexia

Note: I was a pretty messed up fourteen year old, which you will shortly be able to admire through this short story I wrote at that age. Self-harm and eating disorders are hardly an easy topic to discuss, and yet I feel like some of you might find this helpful or interesting. I might write more on the actual topic and my experience with overcoming it, but for now, enjoy a little fucked up piece of my early teenage years. You won’t understand what’s actually happening until the end, but that’s the part that I found scariest, re-reading this, nearly five years later. Continue reading