Some days my brain feels overclocked and underfed and everyone who loves me gets the worst of it. I watch calls light up my phone and let them rot in the notification bar, answer texts with three-hour delays, convince myself I am protecting them from my bullshit when I am really just hiding. That is exactly where ‘Issues’ hits me. It lives in that ugly, intimate space where you know you are the common denominator and still cannot bring yourself to explain. It feels honest in that way that makes you want to pace your apartment in your underwear and pretend you’re fine while every intrusive thought does cartwheels. This is some next-level shit for anyone who has ever self-sabotaged and then pretended it was self-preservation.
Princess Melia calls this “the sound of falling apart beautifully,” and she means it. “I wrote ‘Issues’ while learning how to stay grounded through bipolar highs and lows,” she says, and you can feel every swing in the way the track moves. Alt-pop with depth, edge, and honesty is how she frames it, and that checks out. The production sits in this dark indie dance pocket, low-lit synths shimmering under a beat that keeps its composure while everything else threatens to crack. She grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, steeped in her Indigenous heritage, and now she is in Toronto building this cinematic little universe where vulnerability comes wrapped in club textures. You hear that arc from earlier singles ‘2055’ and ‘Notice’ into this, which lands closer to a confession whispered on the dance floor.
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The first verse opens with emotional avoidance so blunt it almost feels rude. She starts, “You’ve been callin / Every day / And I don’t answer / I’ve got nothing to say.” I feel that in my bones. That is the exact flavor of shutdown where you hit DND, disappear into your own head, and hope no one tries to drag you out before you’re done falling apart. It’s that fucked-up mix of guilt and relief I know too well. Then she follows with “And I’m sorry / That’s all I can give / Is my apologies,” and now we are in that sick loop where you apologize for disappearing instead of changing anything. The hook drops into full self-drag: “Dealing with issues / Dealing with issues / I thought that you were the problem / But it’s me saving the tissues.” She drags her own ass in real time and drops the diplomatic bullshit. The honesty hits hard as fuck and makes you want to pour a drink, because the sting feels way too familiar.
Second verse goes straight for the bruise — the part you pretend doesn’t hurt until someone presses on it. She admits, “Dreamed of the best / Didn’t meet my expectations / Now I’m laying in bed,” which feels like every night I have spent scrolling and spiraling instead of doing the thing I said I would do. Then she cuts the line that hurts the most for anyone familiar with dissociation: “I wanna / Separate from myself.” That’s a girl who would trade her left tit for five minutes of mental quiet. Melia spells it out when she says “This song came from a very real place,” and she is not exaggerating. She goes on, “It’s about dissociation, isolation, and the constant push and pull between wanting to let go and trying to hold on. I wanted ‘Issues’ to feel like that, like you’re falling apart, but still finding beauty in the breakdown.” The synths smear around her voice, the rhythm hangs back, and the whole track feels held together with shaky hands and good production instincts.
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The bridge takes that unraveling and drags it deeper into the body. She sings, “I’m holding on / With white knuckles / I wanna release / But I stay buckled,” and suddenly the whole thing turns physical. I picture grip marks on the steering wheel, jaw locked, lungs tight. That tension lives in the groove too. The drums stay controlled, almost minimal, while the bassline hums under everything with this low, anxious energy. When she admits, “I wanna feel / What it’s like in the end / But I keep pushin / I keep pushin on,” it lands like the kind of survival shit you whisper to yourself at 2am because the alternative is melting into the carpet.
By the time she gets to the final refrain, the mask has slipped all the way off. She confesses, “I don’t want to,” and then twists the knife with “I don’t want to keep pushin / But I keep pushin on.” She repeats it even flatter, “I don’t wanna keep pushin / But I keep pushin on,” and then drops the line that made my chest go cold the first time I heard it: “I’ve been losing / My sanity / And I don’t care.” That apathy hits with the same energy as texting your ex at closing time — reckless, sexy, and about three steps from emotional arson. The beat keeps moving under her voice, and the whole track breathes with that dangerous calm you feel when you’ve been strong for too long.
The Indigenous girl from Whitehorse now tearing through Toronto’s scene doesn’t give a fuck about polish. She’s handing out truth raw enough to trigger your ex and impress your therapist in the same breath. ‘Issues’ knocked the wind out of me in that hot, humiliating way that feels personal. This is the emotional damage I pay monthly dues for.
