Where the name Jemeryl came from.
A book called “The Exile and the Sorceror” by Jane Fletcher.
It’s lesbian fantasy. A young warrior, Tevi, is banished from her homeland because, not only is she useless in a fight, she’s also a lesbian. How disgraceful! She winds up in the sexually quite liberated [place] of [fantasy place name] where she meets a beautiful young sorceress who takes away her shame and allows her to embrace her sexuality. It’s quite lovely, really. The tone of the book is very earnest and bubbly - it’s a fun read, and the author manages to convey some real moment of beauty. Oh, and the sorceress is named Jemeryl.
A couple of months ago, I was still in my depressive funk. I hadn’t gone into university for four or five weeks and my social anxiety was just getting worse. So I figured I’d read some lesbian fantasy and science fiction. I did, and it was 5 AM. I finished the book and lay there in my bed, utterly desolate.
Whenever I see or read about two women kissing, or holding hands, or snuggling, or having sex or anything - that’s when my feelings of dysphoria peak. My whole body is screaming, “This! This is what I want - what I need!” I feel elated that the two girls are doing whatever it is they’re doing. At the same time, I feel absolutely wretched. My mind is shouting back at my body, “You’ll never have this. You’ll never have this. You’ll never have this. You’re wrong, all wrong, all wrong.”
Cue intense feelings of depression. Sometimes really bad levels of intensity.
It was a horrible moment, but at the same time it was also a beautiful one. I realized that this was still a thing. I still feel this way, even after so many years of telling myself it would go away, I just needed to get a bit manlier, I just needed to get a girlfriend, etc. etc. etc. A moment of realization that lead to eventual acceptance.
In the book, Tevi is miserable. She assumes all same-sex relationships are bad. She assumes people will despise her for being lesbian - including women she’s attracted to. She assumes that she is an awful, awful person. Jemeryl saves her.
Jemeryl didn’t totally save me, but she set me on the right path. I don’t think there’s a bigger compliment I could give to Jane Fletcher than that. So that’s where the name came from.
Uni, being a total mess, and Fine Art
I’m seriously considering redoing my third and maybe my second semester. While I was in the process of realizing that I was trans, I had a period of about three months where I was badly depressed and had some pretty terrible social anxiety. I was too scared to go into uni, would start to get panic attacks when I was in town, and sometimes I would wait for a good few hours for the landlady to leave the kitchen so I could go down and get a drink or something to eat.
Now the final exhibition is in, like, 10 days. Ten days. I can’t think about art… I’ve hardly done any work. All I can think about is transitioning and that I need to call up the GP and get a referral or something, and walking through Boots looking at the makeup, and looking at pictures of the dresses on draculaclothing.com.