I was halfway through my iced coffee when “Lamotrigine” hit—Princess Melia didn’t ease me in, she dragged me straight under. One second I’m scrolling, the next I’m hit with this electro-pop spiral that felt way too close to home. Like someone cracked open my head and made a song out of it.
From the first line—“Honey, what’s wrong? You haven’t touched your cereal”—you know you’re not stepping into a standard pop song. It’s quiet, intimate, and weirdly devastating in its simplicity. It feels like overhearing someone whisper a truth they didn’t mean to say out loud. And then—bam—we’re in it. Melia wakes from a bad dream just to realize it was real, and that disoriented blur between sleep and reality never quite clears. Many of us have been there.
The production by Lottoz is slick but a little haunting, like glossy vinyl laid over a panic attack. Synths pulse in this dreamy, muted way, like they’re sedated right alongside her. That tension between floating and spiraling is baked into every sound, every breath.
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But the real magic is her voice—whispery, controlled, but aching. When she sings, “Haven’t taken my Lamotrigine in over two weeks / And now I know my mind is gone.” There’s no metaphor or sugarcoating, she just says it. And I felt that shit in my bones. This isn’t a breakup track or a sexy club banger—it’s the story of losing grip on your own brain and still trying to function like the world isn’t sideways.
The chorus is the real emotional hook. “I don’t wanna fall apart / I do admit it’s kinda hard / When all it takes is one little pill”—ugh. Melia’s delivery is so soft and resigned, like she’s already accepted that balance might always be just out of reach. It’s the push-pull of craving clarity but missing the drama of chaos. She confesses, “Missing all my doses / I just wanna feel my emotions / Even though it’s bad for my health.” That right there is the thesis. It’s terrifying and, for a lot of us, way too familiar.
When she sings “Bad decisions / Live off the adrenaline / Nothing matters anyways,” the track swells with this nihilistic defiance—like lighting a cigarette with the last match in a burning building. And then she drops “I’m having an existential crisis / While I’m on a floating rock in space.” I laughed, but not because it’s funny. It’s that unhinged laugh you let out when someone else says what you’ve been thinking but didn’t have the nerve to admit. She’s spiraling, and it’s gorgeous.
The second verse edges into full dissociation. “Losing my grasp on reality / I don’t know if what’s in front of me is true.” And then, “I’m so reliant / I’m so dependent / I wanna take control.” That moment cracked me open. Wanting to be better but not knowing how? That hits. There’s no solution offered—just honesty. She’s trying — “I’m tryin / I’m tryin / I’m tryin / I’m tryin / I tried”—and it’s like she’s clinging to the last thread of herself. It’s not polished or triumphant. It’s survival.
I don’t think this track was ever meant to be empowering in the traditional sense. It’s a confession, not a resolution. And that’s what makes it so goddamn powerful. It’s also personal. Melia isn’t just writing from imagination—she’s writing from experience. She’s lived it. “I’ve lived with the tension between wanting stability and craving intensity,” she said. And this track embodies that tension start to finish.
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And for those of you wondering—yes, Lamotrigine is a real medication. A mood stabilizer. One that’s saved lives and also made people feel numb and disconnected. There’s no easy take on it. And Melia doesn’t try to wrap it in a bow. Instead, she leans in—hard.
Born in Whitehorse, Yukon, now based in Toronto, Melia’s background in her Indigenous heritage and her fearless genre-blending have already set her apart. She’s not just another pop girl with a moody track—she’s building her own world, one that feels like late-night thoughts you don’t admit to anyone but your closest friends. And now us.
This track is for the girls who are messy and real, who cry in Ubers and skip pills and still show up to work with eyeliner smudged from the night before. It’s for anyone who’s felt too much and not enough all at once.
“Lamotrigine” doesn’t ask you to fix anything. It just wants you to feel it. And trust me—we do.
