Ice Girl's public thoughts.

I am the Deep - exploring intensity 🔥

I think the most intimate moment you can share with someone—whether in kink or in life—is when genuine emotion is expressed.

So much of life is lived behind masks. We rarely get to see anyone as a whole person. Conversations often follow a tired script:
“Hi, how are you?”
“I’m fine. How about you?”
“Can you believe the weather?”
“Oh, it’s wild. Gotta be Maryland, right?”
Insert awkward laugh track
Insert awkward silence
And then we wait for the next prompt through a pained silence.

In my work as an EMT, I’ve been granted rare and raw access to the deepest moments of people’s lives. I’ve walked into homes where a mother is thought to be dying—people screaming, pleading, praying—and my team does everything we can to help. One way or another, I’ve entered people’s lives at their most vulnerable, and I’ve had to carry conversations that mattered.

I’m not particularly religious, but I’ve been asked more than once to sit and pray in the back of an ambulance with someone who knew—or feared—that this was their final ride. It’s in those moments that I sometimes feel a kinship with Charon, the ferryman of the River Styx. I’m not guiding souls to the afterlife, but I am a conduit. I do everything I can to make their ride with me meaningful—comfortable, kind. Sometimes, I’m the last person who gets to show them any humanity at all.

As a Field Training Officer, I teach new EMTs the importance of compassion—particularly with older patients. I stress never to say “hospice” or “end-of-life care” directly to them. Many have memory issues, or dementia, and often the family has made that decision without fully informing them. Mentioning it casually can trigger confusion, fear, or grief, sparking emotional chaos that helps no one and can pain families.

So I choose different words.
“We’re going to get you some care today." 'You haven’t been feeling too well. Don’t you want to go somewhere calm where they can take better care of you?”
Or I’ll mention facilities with gentle names like DoveHouse, if that is the destination while speaking of how great the care and food are there. I do whatever I can to make that moment feel peaceful and grounded. These little choices matter to them and the family.

I lost my grandmother to cancer. I was one of her primary caregivers. Watching the emotional neglect she suffered from the medical system lit a fire in me. I wanted to do better. So I do I try to give the same love to others as if they were my flesh and blood.

Does this lead to kidnapping play?

Oddly enough, it connects. At camp or in kink scenes, I get to help create intensely emotional, transformative experiences. And sometimes—just like in the back of that ambulance—I witness moments of genuine, unfiltered expression.

Why would I want to live my life in the shallow end of emotional experience, when there is so much depth beneath the surface waiting to be explored?

My personal fountain pen is filled with an imported Japanese ink called Shin-Kai—translated, it means “deep sea.” It’s a blue-black ink with waves of gray and purple, flowing together with an oceanic rhythm I chose it intentionally. I give deep thought to my words. Writing helps me understand myself. That’s why I write often—and publicly to attempt to be known inn the void of life.

Growing up with a single mom in government housing, I was often alone with my thoughts. Now, I offer them to you to be seen and see. Sometimes the void echoes back, sometimes it doesn’t. But the exploration is real.

You are always welcome to interact with me. Just know this: sometimes your response might feel too shallow for the depths I swim in. I crave intensity, authenticity—genuine humanity. And that’s something few people truly offer.