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
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Saturday, March 12, 2016
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
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
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
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
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
Sunday, March 6, 2016
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
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
Saturday, March 5, 2016
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
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
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