It Gets Better
It took some time to figure out what to say about such things; the issue can be so big, and there are so many rationales for saying nothing at all. The internet is great at learning about possible reasons. About learning that solutions that seem obvious become complicated when you look at them a certain way. But in my experience the personal is always simpler than we imagine. Ideas survive so long because they are hard, to make real, to break down, to explain to others. But stories? Stories are simple.
And the simplest story for me isn't discussing the recent deaths of gay teens - that just leads to talking about all the gay teens and adults over the course of history that have been pushed to death because of their "different" nature. Either the ones that died directly because of it, like Matthew Shepard, who the calendar reminds me about much more than i ever needed, or someone like Laurez Hart, who died almost a century ago, for many reasons, but likely partly because he was gay and different and couldn't cope. Those stories are too rough for me to just talk about in two minutes of video.
But my own story is a little easier to communicate. All I have to do is imagine myself at the age of 12 or 13, and feel the similarities. Its more than empathy, understanding how people could make those decisions, but also sympathy - describing how you felt the same way. It's all too easy. Even if some made choices different than yours - you understand. And that's potent - even across a community that often doesn't have much in common and struggles to find common cause, there is one thing that we can all share - that feeling of being different and being told so in such an unending, harmful, shameful wasy that we can do nothing but look at ourselves and believe it.
So yes, even though recent dead bear varying resemblances to my childhood, and though many of the stories you see via the "It Gets Better" project don't fit all the demographics, the core remains true: It gets better.
Not in the way you'd think. I was bullied somewhat as a kid, and here we are 15 years later, and bullies still exist. Gay and lesbian youth still face the taunts, and anyone who isn't defined by the narrow gender roles hear the snickers. And kids who are different are pushed in the mud and pointed out as worthy of ridicule. Obviously, things in the word have not improved that much.
But, if I went back right now, if i could go back to Brookly in 1995 or so, and reach in for a few minutes with that 15 year old version of me, hiding up against the wall, trying to sleep knowing what waits in that school in the morning - oh the things I could tell him. The comfort I could provide.
I'd tell him that i'm doing alright; that because I pushed throughm it's now been 15 years since rougher boys followed me home whispering at how scrawny I was and how likely I was to crumble after one strong punch to the face. Its been 15 years since I looked in the faces of my relatives and saw hurt because i resembled nothing they considered their own. Its been years since I was worried that I'd never find anyone who understood me well enough to love me as a really am (and how i'd tell him that love will suck for him just like in all the sad fiction he's reading - that loves sucks so much that, even with the obvious use of time travel, i don't have enough time to tell him, but that it sucks in the delightful, excruciating, affirming way that all human beings, gay or straight, experience the power of love and fate). i'd tell him that i have friends that love me and back me up in the face of the assholes, and make me laugh and smile when things are rough. I'd tell him about how I have seen the sun rise over atlantic with some beautiful arms wrapped me, and have seen it set over the pacific as a wonderful man leaned against my shoulder.
And more importantly, i'd tell him that none of these things "just happened." I'd tell him, and all teens, that "it just gets better." I'd tell that scared little boy that he made it happen - that he stood up in the face of all the horrible things in the world and made his life. He made it better. He made it his. He made it. The bullies are wrong. We have the stuff of stars in us just like anyone else. We have what it takes to be happy, and not only will there be people and organizations and friends to help us, but, please trust me, we also have within ourselves the power to overcome the shame that others put upon us.
Now go to sleep, i'd tell him, and dream like I know you will, and when you wake up, try to remember that those dreams, however ridiculous and unreal and irrational in the face of your current days, are just visions of what your life can be, if you are still here to enjoy it.
Oh, and if and when you find yourself in front of beautiful brown eyes, and the urge to sing about how beautiful he is, feel free to let go. It's truly worth it.
And the simplest story for me isn't discussing the recent deaths of gay teens - that just leads to talking about all the gay teens and adults over the course of history that have been pushed to death because of their "different" nature. Either the ones that died directly because of it, like Matthew Shepard, who the calendar reminds me about much more than i ever needed, or someone like Laurez Hart, who died almost a century ago, for many reasons, but likely partly because he was gay and different and couldn't cope. Those stories are too rough for me to just talk about in two minutes of video.
But my own story is a little easier to communicate. All I have to do is imagine myself at the age of 12 or 13, and feel the similarities. Its more than empathy, understanding how people could make those decisions, but also sympathy - describing how you felt the same way. It's all too easy. Even if some made choices different than yours - you understand. And that's potent - even across a community that often doesn't have much in common and struggles to find common cause, there is one thing that we can all share - that feeling of being different and being told so in such an unending, harmful, shameful wasy that we can do nothing but look at ourselves and believe it.
So yes, even though recent dead bear varying resemblances to my childhood, and though many of the stories you see via the "It Gets Better" project don't fit all the demographics, the core remains true: It gets better.
Not in the way you'd think. I was bullied somewhat as a kid, and here we are 15 years later, and bullies still exist. Gay and lesbian youth still face the taunts, and anyone who isn't defined by the narrow gender roles hear the snickers. And kids who are different are pushed in the mud and pointed out as worthy of ridicule. Obviously, things in the word have not improved that much.
But, if I went back right now, if i could go back to Brookly in 1995 or so, and reach in for a few minutes with that 15 year old version of me, hiding up against the wall, trying to sleep knowing what waits in that school in the morning - oh the things I could tell him. The comfort I could provide.
I'd tell him that i'm doing alright; that because I pushed throughm it's now been 15 years since rougher boys followed me home whispering at how scrawny I was and how likely I was to crumble after one strong punch to the face. Its been 15 years since I looked in the faces of my relatives and saw hurt because i resembled nothing they considered their own. Its been years since I was worried that I'd never find anyone who understood me well enough to love me as a really am (and how i'd tell him that love will suck for him just like in all the sad fiction he's reading - that loves sucks so much that, even with the obvious use of time travel, i don't have enough time to tell him, but that it sucks in the delightful, excruciating, affirming way that all human beings, gay or straight, experience the power of love and fate). i'd tell him that i have friends that love me and back me up in the face of the assholes, and make me laugh and smile when things are rough. I'd tell him about how I have seen the sun rise over atlantic with some beautiful arms wrapped me, and have seen it set over the pacific as a wonderful man leaned against my shoulder.
And more importantly, i'd tell him that none of these things "just happened." I'd tell him, and all teens, that "it just gets better." I'd tell that scared little boy that he made it happen - that he stood up in the face of all the horrible things in the world and made his life. He made it better. He made it his. He made it. The bullies are wrong. We have the stuff of stars in us just like anyone else. We have what it takes to be happy, and not only will there be people and organizations and friends to help us, but, please trust me, we also have within ourselves the power to overcome the shame that others put upon us.
Now go to sleep, i'd tell him, and dream like I know you will, and when you wake up, try to remember that those dreams, however ridiculous and unreal and irrational in the face of your current days, are just visions of what your life can be, if you are still here to enjoy it.
Oh, and if and when you find yourself in front of beautiful brown eyes, and the urge to sing about how beautiful he is, feel free to let go. It's truly worth it.