It Gets Better (3 page)

WASHINGTON, DC

 

 

L
ike all of you, I was shocked and saddened by the deaths of several young people who were bullied and taunted for being gay, and who ultimately took their own lives. As a parent of two daughters, it breaks my heart. It's something that just shouldn't happen in this country.

We've got to dispel the myth that bullying is just a normal rite of passage—that it's some inevitable part of growing up. It's not. We have an obligation to ensure that our schools are safe for all of our kids. And to every young person out there, you need to know that if you're in trouble, there are caring adults who can help.

I don't know what it's like to be picked on for being gay. But I do know what it's like to grow up feeling that sometimes you don't belong. It's tough. And for a lot of kids, the sense of being alone or apart—I know can just wear on you. And when you're teased or bullied, it can seem like somehow you brought it on yourself for being different, or for not fitting in with everybody else.

But what I want to say is this. You are not alone. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't do anything to deserve being bullied. And there is a whole world waiting for you, filled with possibilities. There are people out there who love you and care about you just the way you are. And so, if you ever feel like because of bullying, because of what people are saying, that you're getting down on yourself, you've got to make sure to reach out to people you trust. Whether it's your parents, teachers, folks that you know care about you just the way you are, you've got to reach out to them; don't feel like you're in this by yourself.

The other thing you need to know is: Things will get better. And more than that, with time you're going to see that your differences are a source of pride and a source of strength. You'll look back on the struggles you've faced with compassion and wisdom. And that's not just going to serve you, but it will help you get involved and make this country a better place.

It will mean that you'll be more likely to help fight discrimination—not just against LGBT Americans, but discrimination in all its forms. It means you'll be more likely to understand personally and deeply why it's so important that as adults we set an example in our own lives and that we treat everybody with respect. That we are able to see the world through other people's eyes and stand in their shoes—that we never lose sight of what binds us together.

As a nation we're founded on the belief that all of us are equal and each of us deserves the freedom to pursue our own version of happiness; to make the most of our talents; to speak our minds; to not fit in; most of all, to be true to ourselves. That's the freedom that enriches all of us. That's what America is all about. And every day, it gets better.

BALTIMORE, MD

 

 

 

W
hen I was ten, my family moved to a suburb of Boston, Massachusetts, and, for the first time, my sister and I were put into Seventh-Day Adventist schools. My family's very conservative Christian. These schools were really small. There were only a hundred kids, total, in grades K through 8. And the high school had only fifty students altogether.

I did not fit in.

When I started at these schools, I was only ten and I didn't know I was gay. I knew I didn't like boys, and I knew I was different. But I didn't quite understand what that meant yet. The other kids knew I was different, too, and they picked on me. I was actually afraid to go to school because I got made fun of all the time. And once I got there, on any given day, I was afraid to move. Because if I moved, they'd see me, they'd notice me. And every time somebody noticed me, they would make fun of me. They said terrible things. I remember getting a note from one student saying, “If you're too stupid to know how to kill yourself, I can offer you some suggestions.” I went to the principal when it got bad enough. I actually cried myself to sleep in her office.

She told me, “Don't take it personally. Your class has always had a scapegoat.” Which, I've got to tell you, did not help a hell of a lot. I tried running away from school. I tried to kill myself. I just didn't believe it would ever get better. I didn't think it was possible. I tried to kill myself when I was ten years old. And again when I was twelve. And again when I was thirteen.

High school was both better and worse. The other students weren't as cruel but, because I had been dealing with this for so long, by the time I got there I was pretty mad and was acting out. The teachers decided that I was a bad kid and told me that all the time. I had to stand in front of a church tribunal, where I was told to beg God for forgiveness for my anger. I remember getting a letter from a church elder telling me that my parents were ashamed of me.

As soon as I graduated, it got better. It got better immediately. I lived at home for a few years after high school and went to a community college. And, even though I was staying with my parents while I was doing that, it was still better. I came out while I was living with my parents. They weren't happy about it. After all, they were very conservative Christians. They said some things that were pretty mean, and some things that were kind of silly. My mom said at one point, “You're just doing this because you're used to rejection.” And, “You're just doing this because you're desperate to be
accepted.”
They told me that I couldn't bring home any girlfriends and that I wasn't allowed to do this while I was in their house or under their roof.

A year after graduating from the community college, I went away to a four-year college and moved out of the house. And then my life got amazing. If I had managed to kill myself when I was ten or twelve or thirteen, then I would have missed out on meeting my people. On finding friends. And that would have been terrible. I would have missed out on learning another language. I would have missed out on going to Ecuador and Denmark. I would have missed out on this amazing trip I took a couple of years ago with a couple of my friends. Just for a weekend we rented this crappy hotel room in Savannah and spent all of our money on expensive restaurants and amazing food. It was fantastic and I would have missed that.

If I had killed myself, I would have missed out on having a horribly awkward first date with a girl. She was
way
too hot for me, and I was way too excited and incredibly intimidated. Just going out with her was amazing. I would have missed having a first kiss. I would have missed falling in love. I would have missed breaking up. I know, that's the crappy part. Who likes that? But I'm glad I didn't miss it.

I am glad I did not miss out on having an amazing relationship with my family. I really thought they were ashamed of me, that I was hurting them somehow by being gay. And it's just not true. I believed all that crap I was told when I was young. I believed that I was going to hell and that I was a bad kid and that I was hurting my parents. And none of it was true.

My parents tell me all the time now how proud they are of me; how much they love me. They're proud that I've worked so hard to go back to school. They're proud that I've moved to a city and have all these friends. They are so proud of me, period. And it's not even that they're proud despite the fact that I am gay. My mom tells me all the time that the day I left the church is the day she knew she succeeded as a parent. She tells me she is proud to have a gay daughter—somebody who is brave enough to choose her own way. It is amazing to hear that, and to believe it. To know without question that my whole family—my grandparents, my sister, my aunts and uncles and cousins—they all love me and are proud of me. I would have missed knowing that. And I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad I didn't miss that.

I'm glad that I got to the good part. And you will, too. Your people are out there, whoever you are. If you're a geek, like I am. If you're a queer theater kid. If you're a jock. If you're a loner. It does not matter who you are. It might feel like nobody can understand you, and nobody will ever like you, but your people are out there. You will find friends and you'll find love and you'll find happiness. You will get to the good part. You just have to slog through a little bit of crap first. And that sucks. I'm really sorry about that.

If you start feeling bad, just look at these amazing people who are part of this project. It's not just me. It got better for all of us. We're not all the same. We grew up at different times; we grew up in different places; we have different families. And we have different problems that we faced along the way. But it still got better for all of us. And it will get better for you, too. I promise. Your life will be amazing; you just have to get there.

The good parts—they're totally out there waiting for you. Don't give up.

CHICAGO, IL

 

 

 

T
he beginning of high school wasn't actually that bad. I went to a fairly culturally diverse school. My sister attended the same school two years ahead of me, so as a freshman I already had this built-in support system. Since she already had a group of friends, I was able to fit into that crowd, in addition to making my own friends and finding my own way.

By the middle of my sophomore year, I began to question my sexuality, a process that really rocked my self-esteem and confidence. And, while I still had the support of my sister and friends during that time, it started to feel more like a curse than a blessing. I could lean on them to try and forget what I was dealing with, but at the same time, I felt I had to hide myself. I felt I had no one that I could fully confide in and that I couldn't fully explore who I was discovering myself to be. Despite being surrounded by all of these people, I felt I had no one I could really talk to.

By the end of my junior year, my family moved, and I had to go to a different high school, one very different from the first. This school was not culturally diverse, and within the first week a decision I made would set the tone for the rest of my time there. I was sitting next to someone who started making fun of another student, making homophobic jabs at him. I don't know if maybe I was feeling brave at the time or feeling that since I was at a new school I could make a new start, or what, but I defended him. And within a day, I was marked as the new gay guy, “the fag.” Even then, I wasn't all that sure about my sexuality. I was even dating a woman. Regardless, I experienced a lot of bullying from that point on. I got pushed into lockers, got called names, and was generally made to feel like an outcast. It was a really rough time, and all I kept thinking was, “I need to graduate; I need to get out of this school.” I knew I needed to get out of that town and go someplace else where I could be more accepted. I thought college would be the answer.

Fast-forward to my freshman year of college and a hospital ICU, where I found myself after an attempted overdose—things had clearly not gotten better after leaving high school. Instead, I was in a new environment where I felt I had no support, and I had no coping skills at all. I just wanted to be done with it. I really didn't know any other way to deal with it.

While I was in the hospital, the doctor told my family that they should probably start calling other family members because it looked like I wasn't going to make it. It looked like I was going to pass away. But I was given a second chance; I pulled through. It took a long time after that for me to find peace—to make peace with myself, with the issues I was struggling with. It also took me some time to make peace with my family. It was pretty hard on them. They felt helpless; they didn't understand why I hadn't gone to them for support. And yet, I hadn't really known I could.

In those months after I left the hospital, there was a lot of communication with my family. We became a lot more open, sharing thoughts and feelings in a way we hadn't before. I'm so thankful that I was given this second chance. My family is great. My parents, the people I wasn't sure would love me if they knew who I really was, are my number one supporters now.

It's been ten years now, and I have a really wonderful partner who loves me. We've been together for more than five years and just recently bought a home to share together. We've begun talking about having a family of our own, too. My parents love him. My whole family loves him. My partner recently told me a story about my dad. We were at an engagement party for my sister, and my dad and my partner were outside together, and my father looked at him and asked, “When are you and my son getting married?” That's a really remarkable moment, you know? I certainly did not give my father, or my family, enough credit.

I just didn't give them enough credit.

Life is so much better now than it was in high school or college. I have a wonderful family and an amazing support system. And while I went through a lot of struggles, life definitely did get better. I didn't think it would while I was in high school and college. I felt like nothing could get better—I felt like I was very alone. I'm so glad that I was given that second chance after my suicide attempt, but not everyone's so lucky. It's not worth trying it. It's not worth the attempt. Just go out there, find your support system, find that support system within yourself because life does get better. It's going to be rough; and you may be surrounded with people who don't understand you, or you may feel like you're alone, but you're going to find that support system. I had that support with me all along. I was just too scared to recognize it. I was too blinded by the fear of rejection to give my family the opportunity to get to know me. I wasn't giving them enough credit, and sometimes you have to trust and give people more credit to learn who you are and still love you for you. You have to give yourself credit, too. Trust that even with rejection, you have strength within yourself to pick yourself back up and carry on. You're going to find the people who love and support you. You're going to learn how to love and support yourself. And you're going to live a very happy life.