Call it vanity, call it ego, call it becoming emboldened by years of therapy. I will now be asking and answering my own questions about writing.


Dear Molly,

I’ve always enjoyed writing, and I have the time and courage now to self-publish my own writing on Medium. This is mostly because I like writing about myself, and although I enjoy writing fiction sometimes, I feel better when I have complete control of when and where my work appears (Editor’s note: I am now aware Medium owns my writing to an extent.)

My problem is the crushing self-doubt and inevitable vulnerability hangover that comes from writing publicly. I fantasize about a Dickinson style life, where no one reads what I write until I die, but my therapist…


Somehow I managed to drag myself out of bed this morning to go to therapy and talk about my recently dead grandfather and my biracial identity, then subsequently pulled off the equally impressive feat of transitioning from the table to the couch, where I promptly wrapped myself in a blanket and online shopped in a Valium haze for two hours.

It’s been a hard morning, for myself and many, many others.

Although my writing may suggest otherwise, I’m not a big fan of public emotional processing. Everything I write about is something I’ve already worked through. Old wounds are good…


I was once a lonesome teenager with a colossal crush that sustained me for an entire year. I was completely, totally, wholeheartedly in love with Rory Culkin, the youngest Culkin brother.

The summer I fell in love with Rory, I was 17. I had a Black Lips CD in my paint-chipped Chevy, and escape on my mind with NYU on the horizon. I agreed to go out with a relatively popular guy, someone I met at a party with greasy blonde hair. Everyone knew him, even people who didn’t go to his high school, so I agreed, even though there…


What could be more thrilling than driving for hours in the middle of nowhere, tagging abandoned rock quarries, having a run-in with a biker gang, and skating in Bam Margera’s home town of West Chester, PA, all while following a convoluted Atlas Obscura map? Doing all of the above while dressed like you’re in a Gregg Araki film and also pretending to be Edie Sedgwick.

In this series I examine internet trends and fads that captured my interest for better or for worse before my brain fully developed.

When I was 15, I was in love with Effy Stonem, the queen of the UK series Skins (2007). If you didn’t watch this show as a teenager, then subsequently reblog images like the one below on your black and white Tumblr, you probably do not have a mental illness.

I’m pretty sure this is a fake quote. I’ve seen the show enough times to know.

Skins was the pre Euphoria drama for teenagers that featured a cast of vulgar, horny, drug abusing teenagers in Bristol, England. I don’t like the Euphoria comparisons…

The Writer With A Regrettable Septum Piercing Post-Break Up (2017)

I love a good breakup. Though I’m happy in love now, I consider myself an expert on the matter, having been Bridget Jones level screwed up at many points in my life. I was dumped in a Trader Joe’s parking lot once, after I bought the guy groceries. And then I had to drive him home while we both cried, except he was only crying because I dumped him on the side of the road until I felt bad and picked him up. Whatever you’re going through, I’ve been there. If you’re heartbroken, go ahead and despair. Heartbreak is a…

Their first album turned 21 yesterday.

When I was around six years old, my oldest sister and I were allowed to buy two CDs from Best Buy. She got The Swiss Army Romance and probably something by Brand New, and I got A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar and No Pads, No HelmetsJust Balls. Ugh, my Simple Plan obsession. It was the early 2000s, okay?

In honor of its 21st birthday, I will admit that the shining star, the stand out, and the emo classic was very clearly The Swiss Army Romance by Dashboard Confessional. SCREAMING INFIDELITIES!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, that white boy angst. I love…

The following is the story of the year I was a manic pixie dream girl for a skinny hipster boy: a tale of lies, deceit, and mix CDs. What innocence.

Oh good lord. Something I would have reblogged on Tumblr 11 years ago.

The 2010s, aka when I first became aware of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, gentrification, and the originally defined hipster, before it became a widespread term used to encompass anyone who listened to Fleet Foxes. My Tumblr was bloated with pictures of American Apparel clad girls with pastel dyed hair. Their influence was strong. I wore galaxy leggings from BlackMilk Clothing, dyed pink streaks into my hair (I had yet to give up…

Pure Bliss

I spent around 11 months as a music writer for an underground music blog headquartered in Washington, DC. I call it underground because no one reads it except for musicians. I hope my former editor doesn’t read that because he was a cool guy who gave me free rein to write about whatever I wanted, and also because I now write on Medium for an audience of three (my parents and my boyfriend). So, like, I get it.

I had no idea what the hell I was doing around 99% of the time. In terms of writing things, okay, yes…

Rainer Maria Rilke. I quote him too much.

Bipolar disorder (BD) is nuanced and complex. There are no chemical imbalances here — brain imaging has revealed that there are brain “abnormalities” (aka differences in structure compared to a non-bipolar brain) in the Bipolar brain. I would not be me if I didn’t have BD. It’s not my primary identity, but I’d be a neurological liar if I said it didn’t inform my decision-making, impulse control, memory, attention span, and more. This isn’t to say all these brain differences mean that my emotional and cognitive processing is worse than average, because there are a lot of factors at play…

Molly Guillermo

Literary lightning in a pill bottle. Glamour graffiti beauty queen in a blonde wig. Deeply personal and highly irreverent. Words: Mosh Lit & Alchemical Records

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