Ech ech ech.

I tried to kill myself last night. Yes, you read that correctly. I tried to kill myself. I took a bunch of sleeping tablets and Benadryl. I can still taste the Benadryl in my throat. I slept exceedingly deeply, but I unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) woke up this morning. So there's your daily update. I'm basically on suicide watch for my family and friends because I made the mistake of telling them. I'm not happy with myself, and I am still very tired because the sleeping tablets and Benadryl aren't 100% out of my system.

I'm sorry.

~ Master Jellyfish

I'm so, so sorry.

I know that I told myself that I'd be posting every day, but somewhere along the line, I kind of told myself "Fuck it" and started to ignore the fact that I even had a blog until now. The only blog that I can be arsed to check at this point is my Tumblr, but we won't even go into that. No one is allowed to know my Tumblr URL, because they will look at my Tumblr and think that I'm a freak. I mean, I am a freak, but not everyone needs to know the full, explicit details of that freakiness. I suppose I should let you all catch up.

There's only one really interesting thing that's happened since my last post: I got back together with my ex-girlfriend. We're not putting any labels on the relationship, because that's a good way to set ourselves up for failure. I don't know what we are, per se, but we are definitely back together in every way, shape, and form. That's kind of fantastic for my mental health, because she is the literally the best person I have ever met or ever will meet in my lifetime.

Lately, I've been seriously fucking depressed. Like, to the extreme. My grades have been slipping from high As down to mid-Bs, and that's got my parents pissed off. They expect me to juggle mental health bullshit, friend bullshit, family bullshit, and school bullshit, which I'm barely managing. I'm struggling beneath the weight of my own depression, OCD, anxiety, and sociopathy. I have never hated myself more than I hate myself right now, and I am seriously on the verge of taking apart a razor and slicing through my forearms.

I miss being sane. I miss having some mental clarity. I miss being able to sit down and get things done without this overwhelming sense of anxiety, guilt, and hopelessness. There are suicidal undertones to everything that I do now, and I hate it so much. At the same time, I'm scared to see what's it like to be sane again. I don't remember what it was like, and I'm scared of seeing that again. Without being horribly depressed and anxious about everything, my brain would be nearly empty.

I still need to make another doctor's appointment so I can get my dosage of Prozac upped to something along the lines of more than 10mg every day. I don't care how large and horse pill-like in nature my medications become. If I don't have them, I will literally die.

I have begun my transition from female to male. I am transgender. The genderfluid thing was a test to see how people would react. I know how shitty and immature that sounds, but I wanted to test the waters before I did anything. I cut my hair and my friends have started to use the proper name and pronouns. Hopefully all progress goes well.

♥ ~ Master Jellyfish

Gender is an interesting concept.

I made a discovery about myself recently that I've been kind of subconsciously suppressing for the past few months or so. I am what is called genderfluid. My gender comes in varying degrees of masculinity, femininity, and neutrality. Honestly, it makes sense now that I know the word for it. It's rather liberating knowing that there is a technical term for what I am and that other people have been experiencing the same thing for quite some time. I guess that means that I run anywhere between homosexual female, heterosexual male, and female-loving genderless void. So that's cool. I told my real-life friends and a few online friends, and they are all very okay with it and my varying pronouns, which I'm pretty much reducing down to they/them to make everything easier for everyone.

Self-liberation is a wonderful thing, innit?

~ Madame/Master Jellyfish

Let's talk about being fabulous.

Under normal circumstances, I try not to engage in discussions that are overly touchy. In light of recent events, I feel like it's necessary to discuss a topic that is close to home for me: homosexuality and the parental reactions that I have witnessed in regards to their gay children.

When I came out to my parents, I left my mom a letter on her computer desk that I gave her permission to pass on to my dad. My mom was immediately accepting, and my dad took a couple of weeks to digest the information. Both of them were just fine with the fact that I'm attracted to fellow females. In my immediate family, it's never been an issue. Rather, it's been a source of many entertaining jokes, intriguing questions, and beautiful displays of acceptance from people such as my maternal grandfather. However, from the stories that I have heard from my peers at my school's Gay-Straight Alliance, that is rarely the case where I live.

I have heard stories of my fellow LGBTQ peers that range anywhere from their parents outright rejecting them to their parents ignoring their child's identity and living in denial. I have a friend who was put through "reparative therapy" at the urging of her grandfather and her parents' friends and coworkers. To the surprise of no one, these people are Catholic, and for the most part, they aren't terrible people. They simply have skewed beliefs and that led to immoral actions against their daughter.

It sickens me to think that there are so many LGBTQ teenagers out there who feel rejected or actually are rejected by their parents because of who they are. Rejection isn't just saying that they're disowned because they're bisexual. Rejection also comes in the form of their parents not using their preferred name and pronouns. It comes in the form of never acknowledging romantic partners as anything but their close friends. I really feel for the kids who have to live through this, because it's not fair to them that I live with people who love me no matter the gender of the person I may end up marrying and they are forced to live in a toxic, homophobic environment. I want to take these kids in and hug them and give them the love that they deserve. They are my favorite people, because they are just so brave for being themselves through adversity.

Parents, I plead with you: love your children unconditionally. Don't limit your love to your heterosexual, cisgender children who fit their traditional gender roles. Give them the love that they deserve and need from you.

On that same note, kids and teenagers: work with your parents on their biases. Help them to grow and evolve from their adherence to societal norms. Inspire them to change. If you respect them and their beliefs, sooner or later, they'll respect you and your beliefs.

~ Madame Jellyfish

Running through the field where all my tracks'll be concealed and there's nowhere to go...

I feel like the longer I live, the faster time goes by. A moment ago, it was September. I was fourteen, I had a girlfriend, and I was fresh to my high school. I was taking St. John's wort, and for the most part, I was feeling good. Then I blinked, and I was fifteen, severely depressed, and feeling lonelier and more pathetic than ever before. Time is moving without me, and every day is passing me by like a Ferrari without a braking system. I so easily fall in and out of my own timeline that I'm not 100% certain that I'm actually among the living. For all I know, I could've died months ago and no one bothered to tell me, so my ghost took over full-time. If that's the case, I'm not surprised that I ended up dying in my hoodie.

Where is all of this time going? In six months, I went from a happy-go-lucky weirdo with rainbow suspenders, big ambitions, and an inkling of confidence in myself to an apathetic masochist who's impressed if she manages to wake up in the morning. How does this kind of thing even happen? I don't understand how it's possible to lose track of so much time. I've hit the end of this road, and I don't even remember where I took a wrong turn. I've hit this dead end, and I don't know how I got here. There's nowhere I can go. I can't retrace steps that I don't even remember taking. Have I just come out of a coma and all of these things I remember are mere dreams? Am I still comatose?

I wonder if I'm the only person who wonders about this and asks themselves where all of this time is disappearing off to. I wonder if I'm the only person who feels like they've been in a vegetative state for so long and dreamed their living nightmares. Maybe I'm just crazy.

- Madame Jellyfish

This is a title, I guess.

I managed to sleep for eight hours last night, and I still feel like I am dead tired. My eyes feel like somebody forcibly held them open all night and now they're dry and itchy. I tried waking myself up with coffee and a hot shower. Alas, nothing's working, so I guess today is just going to be one of those days where I'm not fully awake until I go to bed. That seems to be happening a lot more lately. I don't understand why depression has to be so tiring. There are other things I'd like to do than be lethargic and unmotivated all day.

People have started commenting on my Instagram pictures that I look tired and sad, even though in all of my pictures I'm either smirking or fully smiling. I guess that they're all starting to see through the veil that I've been putting up for years. The best picture that I got yesterday just had to be plagued by how tired I am. I don't think it's nice to tell someone they look tired, considering that someone who looks tired generally looks like shit. But that's just my opinion.

I've been thinking about Alyssa a lot today. For those of you who don't know, Alyssa is a girl whom I used to date online. She was a sweetheart, and she put up with all of the things that are wrong with me because she loved me. As it turned out, Joey (the one I "swore" I'd never bring up again) was the one who created her and used her as one of his three online aliases, only one of which was actually him. Talk about traumatizing. I spent three months worrying about this girl who was depressed and suicidal, and then he told me that all of it had been for naught. That's beyond unfair, but who ever said that life is fair? Life may be strange, but life has never been fair to me. To get back to the point, I've been thinking about her a lot today. I always think about her after a night when I have a fitful sleep. Not sleeping reminds me of the nights when I only got three or four hours because I was so worried for her safety. I guess today is just going to be one of those shitty days where I'm not going to feel great no matter what I do or think.

♥ ~ Madame Jellyfish

Where do I even begin?

Sorry I haven't been updating as much as I should. I have been going through a lot of interesting and bittersweet bullshit that I've been struggling to deal with by myself and with friends. I decided to quit an online friend group that is just all-around corrupt because of the leader, and I left them a very nasty resignation letter that every single one of the people there deserved. At least now I'm finally rid of them and I no longer have to submit to the leader's will. I understand that from the outside looking in, it sounds ridiculous to have a "leader" of an online group, and trust me, it is. The leader is a manipulative, sneaky, all-around dishonest ass-wipe who doesn't deserve to be mentioned by name, so I won't mention him by name. Actually, let's make it better: I won't mention him ever again.

These past few weeks, I have been feeling like I might honestly try to kill myself if I'm left unsupervised for too long. I keep looking at my dad's pocket-knife like it's my key to leaving the ridiculous amounts of emotional pain that I have been feeling for the past three years, what with the depression and the obsessive-compulsive disorder doing nothing but steadily escalating. It has gotten to the point where I don't even care about what's going on in the outside world. I immerse myself in my online world and message my online friends on Skype instead of going out and actually doing things that I used to enjoy. I really need to get off of my phone and get out of the house, but I already took care of that for the day, as I went to the store against my free will and ended up listening to music that I enjoy listening to. I bought that Vance Joy album that came out in 2014. Dream Your Life Away, I think it's called. Indie folk is just the thing that I need to get myself through the day. That's not sarcasm. I really mean that. His voice is just flawless.

Back to the point... I don't feel like I want to live anymore. I used to breathe pure air that smelled of joy and walked through fields of roses that smelled of the sweetest of fragrances. Depression swept through my life and destroyed my roses. It cut through my rose fields with a machete and then built a smog-belching factory where it once was. Now I'm forced to either hold my breath or choke to the death on the thick, black smoke. The world is suffocating me, and I have two options. I can let it take me and surrender to the unknown. I can hold my breath and wait until I pass out. I'm tired of fighting. I'm a pacifistic. I'm not the kind to fight violently, even if it's in defense of my own existence. I've fought this bullshit for three years, and I don't see any end to it coming up on the horizon. The light at the end of the tunnel burnt out, and now I'm stuck in this dark cave without a flashlight. I can't tell what's up, down, left, or right. I just want to get out of this tunnel, and that seems like it's the only way to do it, but there's so much left that I feel obligated to do in this tunnel before I bash my head into the stone walls and render myself unable to move. It scares me to think that if I left now, all I'd leave behind are five dozen shitty poems, seventy-five pages of a novel that I'll probably never finish, and a shit-load of writing that I typed on Google Docs and then abandoned. There's so much closure that the world needs from me before I'm allowed to leave, and that stresses me out.

*sighs* I suppose I'll just keep hanging on until I'm able to finish all of the things that need to be done before I go. I'll get my affairs together, and then I'll be good to go, I guess.

♥ ~ Madame Jellyfish

Chocolate, mint gum, and white cheddar popcorn.

I got my first smartphone yesterday. I wonder if my raging headache has anything to do with the fact that I've been dinking around on it all day. It's a nifty little thingamajigger. My friends all convinced me to get an Instagram,  a Snapchat, and a Pinterest. That's lovely. Now I'm slightly more normal in terms of my teenagerness. :P

Tomorrow,  my friend is going to be gone from school because her homophobic grandpa died. It's going to be amazing staying mildly sane without her around.  What?  I'm not dependent on her for the majority of my sanity or anything. //sarcasm over//

♡ - Madame Jellyfish

2spooky4me

Weird shit's going down. A few years ago, in the town where I live, this eleven-year-old girl was strangled to death by her psychotic mother during a schizoid breakdown. Yesterday, in the cemetery, my friend was there standing next to her grave after a wake for her grandfather. The girl asked her if she'd seen her mother, and then said that her name was the same name as the girl who'd been strangled. Later, my friend was taking a picture of the woods around the cemetery because she wanted a picture of this really cool tree, and when she took the picture, the girl had been in the picture. When she showed us the picture today, the girl wasn't in it. Either my friend is bat-shit crazy, or this town has some paranormal stuff going on. I'm willing to accept either answer.

Surprisingly, today was an eight out of ten, which is really fucking good, considering the fact that most days are anywhere between a two and a six. No one has pissed me off, except for last night, when some asshole was being an obnoxious prick about something that shouldn't even be an issue. Nothing bad happened today, so that's pretty great.

♥ ~ Madame Jellyfish

[insert a clever title here]

So I had my psychologist appointment today. We established that I more than likely have OCD, and that the depression roller-coaster needs to be monitored because we don't want it to hit a low point and then have me bottom out at the low point. So, yeah. That's grand. My next appointment is next Tuesday... at 2:30, which is before school ends, so my dad's going to have to pull me out of school before fifth period is over, yadda yadda yadda.

Nothing of note really happened today. My ex-girlfriend brought me a bunch of Girl Scout cookies last night because my mom wanted cookies and we happened to have $20 available for cookie-related purchases. I find it funny that even though she hates being in the Girl Scouts, she's still doing it after seven years. I mean, she was just telling me yesterday that she hates that the older Girl Scouts have to have sex appeal in order to sell cookies to the point where her mom was telling her to show a bit more cleavage when boys and men came over to wherever she was selling the cookies. The little seventh-grade Girl Scouts can still get away with being cute, but she's FOURTEEN. She's not supposed to have fucking sex appeal. *steps off of soap box* Okay, I'm cool now...

So yeah. Things are pretty normal. Err... about as normal as they can get when you have more than two mental illnesses at once. xD

~ Madame Jellyfish

I suppose introductions are in order.

Today, I'm doing something that I have never done before: I'm posting my thoughts on the Internet without the fear of someone telling me that I'm wrong. But before I get started on that, I suppose that there are a few things that I need to get out of the way first, for both my sake and for the sake of anyone who's reading this.

Call me Madame Jellyfish, though I'm not actually a jellyfish. Quite the opposite, actually. In reality, I am a fifteen-year-old human female. I'm red-haired and bespectacled, and rather short by the standards of most people, sitting at a comfortable 5'2". I consider myself to be a geek in the realms of science-fiction and history, and I am a music aficionado. I play the bass, write stories, and attempt to make sense of the world around me the best I can. But the reason why I'm here is far more important than anything in relation to that. I'm here because I'm depressed. And obsessive-compulsive. And a sociopath. I need to get it out of my system in any way that I can, and a close friend suggested that I start a blog. So... here we are.

I can deal with the fact that I go nuts whenever I step on a crack in the road. I can deal with the fact that I have the uncontrollable and irresistible urge to rearrange things like the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator, the shelves of movies, and the silverware drawer to be absolutely perfect. I can deal with the fact that sometimes I lie to my real-life friends just for the hell of it. What I can't deal with is the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that I feel far too often. I can't deal with the fact that I often consider how easy it would be to walk out into the middle of traffic on my way home from Hell school. I can't deal with the fact that I often wonder what would happen if I got the guts to slash my wrists out. I need an outlet, so here we are. I finally have a decent, reliable outlet.

I'm going to try to write daily. If I don't update daily, I'll still update more than once a week. If you can't handle cynicism, morbidity, dark humor, and idle contemplation of existence, this is probably not the place for you to be.

Peace,
Madame Jellyfish