RIP, Kyle
I had a great time yesterday. I went to the beach and hung out with foxesdaughterand justindecent. We had drinks and conversation, and went out on the lake in kayaks. I wore my slutty bathing suit. It was extremely relaxing and great to see my friends again. It made the hour and a half it took to get there (stuck in a streetcar behind a parade to honour the Dalai Lama's birthday) totally worth it.
I'm glad I had such an affirming and relaxing time because when I got home I learned that Kyle Scanlon had killed himself. I won't be using any euphemisms like "passed" or saying it in Latin so it sounds less awful. It is what it is.
I knew Kyle back in my Dyke March days. When I first moved to Toronto I realized that my close friends were all guys and that I needed to make more female friends--specifically, more lesbians. So I started going to events like the Monday Night Women's Discussion Group at the 519. One of the people I clicked with best was Kyle Scanlon, who hadn't transitioned yet and was living and identifying as a dyke. Being friends with Kyle was so easy that I wondered why I hadn't reached out to lesbians sooner. We hung out, talked about art and music and activism, got a group of friend together for dancing until 2am at Pope Joan (Fatboy Slim's Funk Soul Brother will always remind me of Kyle), and even went on a date (that confirmed for both of us that we were not more than friends) to Spiral Restaurant at 582 Church St. Kyle has written briefly about that period of his life. When he came out to me as trans I had a bit of a smacking-myself-in-the-head moment. No wonder we get along so well, I thought. You're a guy.
Most of all I remember Kyle from working together on the Dyke March. He was coming out as trans and he did so in space that wasn't safe or supportive. He helped us fight to establish the March as trans-inclusive so that trans women could participate and so that trans men who were transitioning from identifying as lesbians didn't have the rug yanked out from under them (in terms of community belonging) when they were at their most vulnerable (e.g., just prior to, during and after transitioning). He named the Dykeversity art show, which our committee created and that went on to run for five years. I always appreciated his practical approach, especially when things got really frustrating. And they did, often.
Our friendship was a casualty of the Dyke March stress and burn out. Maybe part of it was Kyle's transition, too. He was the first trans friend I'd ever had, and I learned most of my trans etiquette from him. I practiced using male pronouns and saying his male name over and over so I wouldn't fuck it up. And when I fucked it up I practiced some more. He seemed angrier after transitioning (an effect we associated with the T, but truth be told we were all pretty grouchy post-Dyke march), and we had some arguments and both drifted off into other things. I buried myself into school and BiWOT. Kyle started working at the 519. At the time I wondered if I was an unpleasant reminder of Kyle's pre-transition life, but maybe we just both needed to not be reminded of Pride for a while. We'd run into each other and say "hi," but we didn't go out of our way to meet up.
I knew that like me, Kyle had depression issues. Unlike me, I felt like Kyle's depressions had a cause. He'd had a tough life and had worked through some rough shit. I figured that his problems would all go away after he transitioned. Looking back, I was naive. But Kyle had a great sense of humour and was resourceful and smart, so I never really worried about him. I guess that was naive too. On some level I always assumed that if he (or any of my friends) had a problem they would just reach out and ask for help. Not that I would; but I assumed the others would. But that doesn't seem to be the case.
For the record: if any of you are ever in a Very Bad Place you can call me, and tell me so, and I will come and visit you or just listen while you talk. Even if we haven't been friends in a long time. Even if we've fought recently. Regardless.
Maybe we haven't talked about that kind of thing enough among our queer friends circles. But the fact is, I think A LOT of us have considered suicide. For me, I haven't been in that kind of mindset since 2004-ish, primarily due to mr_pughand partly due to figuring out that my depressions have an end that I can anticipate. Knowing the feeling is temporary has helped. But not everyone has temporary depressions and not everyone has support.
I wouldn't have believed that Kyle was really dead if I hadn't seen it on The 519's website. I called the cops to see if they had a record of his death, but they don't. I called his phone and left a message asking him to get back to me if he's alive. He didn't answer, but his voicemail wasn't full either. It was nice to hear his voice and his (also now deceased) cat's purr. Maybe that's my denial, but I've kind of been hoping that it was just a weird internet rumour. Of course I felt like that when Cobain killed himself, too; looking for anything that proved it hadn't really happened.
Kyle worked on the Trans PULSE project (where he talked about the high suicide stats for the trans community), and I talked to him about our research at an awards event last year. We decided we should meet for coffee, to catch up with each other. Right now I'm regretting that we didn't make the time to get that coffee plan off the ground. I feel like I really missed an opportunity, and I'm blaming myself for contributing to (an assumed) isolation which (I am again, assuming) contributed to his decision to kill himself.
I'm also kind of mad at him. Yes, I know that anger is one of the stages of grieving. I know that being angry at someone for killing themselves because of the political message it sends about the value of queer/trans lives is both ridiculous and obnoxious and blaming the victim, etc. etc. But that's where I'm at right now. I'm in denial and I'm angry. I hope soon I can start the bargaining stage.
I'm conflicted about his memorial service. On the one hand, I want to attend. He deserves respect. On the other hand, having heard only fucked up stories about his family of origin, I'm not exactly excited that they're organizing it. Based on things he's told me about them, I think my anger has legs, but the fact is, we haven't been close enough recently for me to know where he stood with them now. But that's how queer lives work: we make our own families but when we die the world defaults to the straight standard, no matter what place those people had in our lives. They make the decisions. I'm angry about that too.
But having such a life-affirming day yesterday helps. I remember how excited Kyle was about swimming with dolphins, and I think he'd understand.
I'm glad I had such an affirming and relaxing time because when I got home I learned that Kyle Scanlon had killed himself. I won't be using any euphemisms like "passed" or saying it in Latin so it sounds less awful. It is what it is.
I knew Kyle back in my Dyke March days. When I first moved to Toronto I realized that my close friends were all guys and that I needed to make more female friends--specifically, more lesbians. So I started going to events like the Monday Night Women's Discussion Group at the 519. One of the people I clicked with best was Kyle Scanlon, who hadn't transitioned yet and was living and identifying as a dyke. Being friends with Kyle was so easy that I wondered why I hadn't reached out to lesbians sooner. We hung out, talked about art and music and activism, got a group of friend together for dancing until 2am at Pope Joan (Fatboy Slim's Funk Soul Brother will always remind me of Kyle), and even went on a date (that confirmed for both of us that we were not more than friends) to Spiral Restaurant at 582 Church St. Kyle has written briefly about that period of his life. When he came out to me as trans I had a bit of a smacking-myself-in-the-head moment. No wonder we get along so well, I thought. You're a guy.
Most of all I remember Kyle from working together on the Dyke March. He was coming out as trans and he did so in space that wasn't safe or supportive. He helped us fight to establish the March as trans-inclusive so that trans women could participate and so that trans men who were transitioning from identifying as lesbians didn't have the rug yanked out from under them (in terms of community belonging) when they were at their most vulnerable (e.g., just prior to, during and after transitioning). He named the Dykeversity art show, which our committee created and that went on to run for five years. I always appreciated his practical approach, especially when things got really frustrating. And they did, often.
Our friendship was a casualty of the Dyke March stress and burn out. Maybe part of it was Kyle's transition, too. He was the first trans friend I'd ever had, and I learned most of my trans etiquette from him. I practiced using male pronouns and saying his male name over and over so I wouldn't fuck it up. And when I fucked it up I practiced some more. He seemed angrier after transitioning (an effect we associated with the T, but truth be told we were all pretty grouchy post-Dyke march), and we had some arguments and both drifted off into other things. I buried myself into school and BiWOT. Kyle started working at the 519. At the time I wondered if I was an unpleasant reminder of Kyle's pre-transition life, but maybe we just both needed to not be reminded of Pride for a while. We'd run into each other and say "hi," but we didn't go out of our way to meet up.
I knew that like me, Kyle had depression issues. Unlike me, I felt like Kyle's depressions had a cause. He'd had a tough life and had worked through some rough shit. I figured that his problems would all go away after he transitioned. Looking back, I was naive. But Kyle had a great sense of humour and was resourceful and smart, so I never really worried about him. I guess that was naive too. On some level I always assumed that if he (or any of my friends) had a problem they would just reach out and ask for help. Not that I would; but I assumed the others would. But that doesn't seem to be the case.
For the record: if any of you are ever in a Very Bad Place you can call me, and tell me so, and I will come and visit you or just listen while you talk. Even if we haven't been friends in a long time. Even if we've fought recently. Regardless.
Maybe we haven't talked about that kind of thing enough among our queer friends circles. But the fact is, I think A LOT of us have considered suicide. For me, I haven't been in that kind of mindset since 2004-ish, primarily due to mr_pughand partly due to figuring out that my depressions have an end that I can anticipate. Knowing the feeling is temporary has helped. But not everyone has temporary depressions and not everyone has support.
I wouldn't have believed that Kyle was really dead if I hadn't seen it on The 519's website. I called the cops to see if they had a record of his death, but they don't. I called his phone and left a message asking him to get back to me if he's alive. He didn't answer, but his voicemail wasn't full either. It was nice to hear his voice and his (also now deceased) cat's purr. Maybe that's my denial, but I've kind of been hoping that it was just a weird internet rumour. Of course I felt like that when Cobain killed himself, too; looking for anything that proved it hadn't really happened.
Kyle worked on the Trans PULSE project (where he talked about the high suicide stats for the trans community), and I talked to him about our research at an awards event last year. We decided we should meet for coffee, to catch up with each other. Right now I'm regretting that we didn't make the time to get that coffee plan off the ground. I feel like I really missed an opportunity, and I'm blaming myself for contributing to (an assumed) isolation which (I am again, assuming) contributed to his decision to kill himself.
I'm also kind of mad at him. Yes, I know that anger is one of the stages of grieving. I know that being angry at someone for killing themselves because of the political message it sends about the value of queer/trans lives is both ridiculous and obnoxious and blaming the victim, etc. etc. But that's where I'm at right now. I'm in denial and I'm angry. I hope soon I can start the bargaining stage.
I'm conflicted about his memorial service. On the one hand, I want to attend. He deserves respect. On the other hand, having heard only fucked up stories about his family of origin, I'm not exactly excited that they're organizing it. Based on things he's told me about them, I think my anger has legs, but the fact is, we haven't been close enough recently for me to know where he stood with them now. But that's how queer lives work: we make our own families but when we die the world defaults to the straight standard, no matter what place those people had in our lives. They make the decisions. I'm angry about that too.
But having such a life-affirming day yesterday helps. I remember how excited Kyle was about swimming with dolphins, and I think he'd understand.