by Dan Savage
My initial coming out happened over the course of a weekend, though, and before I knew it, the entire school knew. But with the love of my family and newly found love for myself, nothing kept me down. I was teased and called names at school and harassed in the locker room, but I didn’t let it get to me. I no longer wanted to hate myself for something that I couldn’t control. I either ignored the comments or took action. If I was offended, I would go to authority figures, tell them about the bullying, and an administrator would contact that student and call them into their office to explain the school’s “zero tolerance” policy to them. Since I was a peer counselor, I got plenty of support from some staff members and several classmates.
I decided action felt better than inaction so I created a Gay-Straight Alliance at Columbine. It was a little difficult to get the alliance going, especially since there weren’t many out students. The posters we put up in the halls were torn to shreds during passing periods but we just taped them back together and hung them back up until they were unsalvageable, and then we made new ones. The GSA didn’t really get up and running during my time there. Yet, in that short time, there were accomplishments. We were able to expose our school, students, and staff alike to the idea of tolerance. We created posters that defined words like “hate crimes,” “flaming,” and “tolerance” for readers. And our biggest achievement: a very successful Day of Silence. On this day students remain silent to honor victims of hate crimes.
At college, I started working through a speaker’s bureau, volunteering my time in different classes on campus, or at high schools in the area, to speak about LGBTQ experience. I’d tell my story and talk about coming out and my life since, as well as educating people on tolerance. I eventually changed my major to communication, drafting an independent study from my speaking experiences. I surveyed students before and after my speaking engagements to see if I changed attitudes. If I found even one person who thought differently, or opened their minds up just a little to see what it’s like to struggle as a gay person in a straight world, than it was all worth it.
Coming out when I did was the best decision I have ever made. I was able to make an impact at my school and hopefully leave a valuable legacy. I never could have imagined myself where I am today. I live in beautiful Hawaii with my beautiful man. It does get better and we need you to fight this battle for equality with us. High school and the closet are scary places. It seems like the whole world when you are in it, but there is so much opportunity out there. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and people who care about you. We need you to stick around. This life is amazing and I promise you that it is worth it!
Matthew Anthony Houck was born and raised in Littleton, Colorado. He graduated from Columbine High School and from the University of Colorado at Denver with a bachelor’s degree in communication. Matt moved to the island of Kauai, Hawaii, with longtime boyfriend, Kevin, early in 2007 and currently resides in the small town of Kalaheo. He is an activist for equal rights and has volunteered at Rainbow Alley for LGBTQ youth in Denver and speaks throughout the state on tolerance and LGBTQ experiences.
PATIENCE MAKES PERFECT . . . SENSE
by Angelo D’Agostino
BROOKLYN, NY
“Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.”
—OVID
I like to use these words from the Roman poet, Ovid, as a kind of mantra to help me when things are hard. They remind me that no matter what I am going through, someone else has gone through the same thing, or worse. Because one thing I know for sure, if I know anything at all, is that there is nothing that you are feeling, there’s no experience that you are having, that someone, somewhere in the world, hasn’t had before. You might be thinking, “Terrific, how does that help me now?” Well, think of it this way: There’s great comfort and security in knowing that you have an army of people behind you saying, “You know what? I felt that way. Somebody called me that name. Somebody made me feel bad. And I got through it.”
There’s nothing that you’re fearing, or facing, or enduring, that someone, somewhere hasn’t feared, or faced, or endured before. There’s great comfort and security in knowing that there is an entire community out there waiting for you and welcoming you if you can just push through and persevere.
The technology that enabled this project to reach millions of people via YouTube is amazing. As a creative, I believe in the power of research and, more importantly, the power of educating oneself. I have had the great fortune through my research (working as both an actor and musician) to dive deeply into our community’s history. From the riots at Stonewall, to lesbian jazz hero Frances Faye, or the fabled green carnation, our stories of survival are just a click away!
It allows each of us to reach outside of ourselves into someone’s living room, into someone else’s city, and it also allows you to reach out to resources that may not be available to you where you live. Maybe the town you live in doesn’t have any LGBT resources—a library, a center, a drop-in shelter. Maybe you’re in a place where you don’t feel secure enough to talk to other people. But you can talk to people online, through the It Gets Better Project. You can get in touch with people at the Trevor Project, PFLAG, and GLAAD. You have an entire history, a rich history built brick-by-brick by people who felt just like you do today. And they survived it, and you can, too.
It gets better. It gets really good. In fact, it gets so much better that you might forget how bad it was. That’s how good it gets.
Angelo D’Agostino is a singer/songwriter living in New York City.
CHRISTIAN LGBT KIDS: YOU’RE PART OF THE PLAN
by Raven Mardirosian
CHESTER, VT
I am walking proof that you can make it through this struggle and that life can be good. I grew up in a very strict Christian family. And by my own choosing, I went to Christian schools from seventh grade through college. When I was a sophomore in college, I fell passionately in love with a woman. Not the greatest place to be in love with someone of the same gender, and we were found out. Our relationship was discovered three weeks before graduation and I was nearly kicked out. They ostracized us. It was devastating.
I was so ashamed of being gay that I went though “reparative therapy.” In other words, I tried to make myself straight. Needless to say, that was a failed experiment, but I went so far as to have what is called a “deliverance session.” That’s Christian terminology for an exorcism. I tried to cast out the demon of homosexuality. I was just so afraid of going to hell, and so afraid of displeasing God, that I did whatever I could to be straight. It didn’t work. It took me ten more years to really become comfortable in my skin and to really understand that being gay is a gift. It’s part of the wondrous diversity of this planet.
I believe we’re here to help people expand past their own limitations of what they think life should be like or look like. We can be here. We have always been here, and we will always be here. No one can take away our freedom. That’s the freedom of the spirit—the freedom that says we can live life any way we choose.
Don’t spend a lot of time trying to convince people that it’s okay to be gay. If they believe that you’re going to hell, that’s their choice. It’s better to just follow your truth and follow your bliss. Because life can be whatever you want it to be. If you feel trapped, know that when you turn eighteen you can leave. And you can be anyone you want and go anywhere you want.
It may take time for you to be comfortable being gay. That’s okay; life is long. Spend time exploring what it means to be gay. Talk to people who are supportive and find your family, find your community. It took me a long time. When I was your age, I didn’t have the support and the community that you have on the Internet now. Today it’s possible for people like me, who you have never met, to let you know you have our support.
I used to be a teacher in Manhattan, and I knew which of my students was gay or bisexual. And though we didn’t talk about it, my classroom was a safe space for them.
They knew that. So keep in mind that there are teachers who support you. They may not say anything but they have your back, just like I had my students’ back. Know that you’re not alone. And know that you are so courageous and strong to go through this. Life will change for the better. It does get better. I guarantee it.
Raven Mardirosian of Shivaya Wellness is a self-taught healer who believes that everyone is blessed with the gift of intuition. Her passion is empowering women and her specialty is “healing the healer.” Raven hosted the popular radio show Tarot Talk in 2009. She holds an MA in English from CUNY and is a published writer, teacher, and artist. She lives in southern Vermont and happily offers sessions to U.S. and international clients, LGBT-family welcome.
TERRIBLE DAY
by Patrick Murphy
BROOKLYN, NY
It was one of those terrible days, shitty thing on top of shitty thing, a dreary Monday this past fall—cold and nasty like my mood. Over the weekend, I was rejected for an apartment I wanted and a guy I was dating told me, “I’m getting a friend vibe rather than a dating vibe,” and then promptly disappeared. When I got to my desk that morning, two of my projects were completely screwed up. I fixed what I could and prepared for a day of hiding in my cubicle and grumbling into my coffee.
I went out at lunchtime, hoping to shake off my crappy mood. Not feeling much better despite the break, I headed back to my office for more cubicle hiding and coffee grumbling. I was about to get on the subway at Christopher Street when a guy intentionally walked into me, knocking me into a store window. Speeding around him, I started down the subway steps. “Hey!” he yelled after me. Leaning down to pick up a very old pair of glasses, “They’re cracked,” he said angrily. Instinct told me that he was messing with me, and I had heard of a con like this before. “Yeah, because you knocked into me on purpose and dropped a pair of cracked glasses. I’m not giving you any money,” I responded. “Fuck you, faggot!” he yelled. “I’m not giving you anything,” I repeated as I hurried down the steps to the platform.
When I got back to my desk, I had a huge grin on my face that I couldn’t wipe off. I felt great. I realized that being called a faggot can’t hurt me anymore. I said to myself, “Fuck that guy. Why would I care what a con man bigot thinks? He only called me a slur for what I’m proud to be.” That would not have been my reaction if the run-in had happened a few years ago. A depressive spiral would have been a much more likely outcome.
I wasn’t bullied a lot in school. I was taller than almost everyone my class and I guess it’s hard for bullies to look down on someone they have to stare up at. I was still called gay and fag. Like at all American high schools, any guy who’s quiet, nonathletic, or awkward is called gay, but I kept my head down and learned to conform. My need to feel “normal” was so intense that I was in the closet even to myself. Fear sent me into complete denial. I couldn’t even think about my sexuality long enough to question it.
I was my bully. I was the tormenter trying to ruin my life. I almost succeeded, too. I isolated myself from my friends and family, gained excessive weight, and nearly failed out of college. I felt like something was broken in me; I hated myself completely. The bullies may have left me alone, but I continued to torture myself. At my lowest, I felt like I wasn’t even human, just a thing.
Just saying “I’m gay,” out loud once, I felt like every muscle in my body unclenched. The relief of finally accepting what I had been running from was like nothing I’d ever felt. Still, I was terrified. I thought people were going to cut me off completely. I thought they’d be furious at me for lying to them. I thought coming out would ruin every relationship in my life, but the exact opposite happened.
I told my family and all my friends that same week. I think I needed to tell people right away so I couldn’t try to take it back. Initially my parents worried that being gay would only add to my depression. They couldn’t understand that coming out was going to let me fix it. They joined PFLAG and it really helped them. Today I’m close to them in a way I hadn’t been since middle school. A few months ago, my dad, a man I worried would hate me like I had hated myself, became a PFLAG chapter president. My sister has been there for me from day one, becoming one of my best friends. And I’m closer to all of my friends. More than one has told me that they feel like only now do they know the real me.
It’s been three years since I came out and my life is completely different. I’m completely different. I moved to New York City. I have a great job and get to work with some of my best friends. And I lost over eighty pounds, which feels minor compared to the weight I’ve taken off of my soul. I’ve made great friends: gay, straight, and otherwise. I’ve been in love and had my heart broken. I’ve listened to more dance remixes then I would wish upon anyone. I’ve grown up, caught up, and started my life. All of that is amazing but the best of it is so small. It’s the feeling that I can “just be.” That who I am is right. It didn’t matter that the reasons why accepting I am gay was so difficult. Once I stopped trying to destroy that part of myself, I started finding the better version of the man I’m supposed to be. And I like that guy.
So a stranger on the street called me a faggot and it made me feel better. The fact that it happened across the street from Stonewall Inn (the place where the modern gay rights movement started) somehow made it funnier. I’m so much happier now; hate like that can’t get to me anymore. It really and truly does get better.
Patrick Murphy grew up in central New Jersey. It took him twenty-five years to escape to New York City. He lives in Brooklyn and works in children’s publishing. This is his first time being published.
THE WORST OF BOTH WORLDS
by Michelle Faid
KEENE, NH
High school sucked. And being a bisexual kid in high school really, really sucked. Not only was I hitting on girls but I was also competing with them for the same boys. So I was pretty much the most hated girl in my school for both causing their homophobia and at the same time adding to their insecurity. It was the worst of both worlds.
The worst part of high school for me was my senior prom, and the aftermath. I brought a girl as my date and that turned out to be a bit of a problem. I’d bought my tickets the week before from the prom committee, at the little table they’d set up in the cafeteria to purchase them and sign up. They had put out a note pad where you could write down the name of your date and get your tickets. So I put down the gender-ambiguous version of my date’s name and then on prom night showed up with a girl in a tux. Honestly, she was probably the best date I have ever had in my life. She took me out to dinner, and we had a nice little sports car and everything. It was really great and she was really awesome but I don’t think I was ready for the backlash. I don’t think I was quite prepared for how much I was going to suffer for that night.
I really wish that I could say I learned something from that experience that would help you, but the best thing I learned was to keep my head down. I don’t want you to have to do that. Maybe you’re stronger than I am and maybe you’re braver than I am. Maybe you can take them on the way that I couldn’t.
After my senior prom, life was hell. I would come in every day and find the typical sort of bullying stuff written on my locker. Not queer, or lesbo, or that kind of thing, because I insisted I wasn’t gay. Not that I thought that being gay was wrong, it’s just I didn’t like being labeled something I wasn’t. Instead, I told them that I was bi. Apparently “bi” means whore or slut in seventeen-year-old-girl lingo.
In the end, the thing I came to realize is that high school isn’t good for anybody. It was a miserable place for me and it was a miserable place for most of the people tormenting me. It was full of a lot of pain and a lot of ruined expectations. It was a place where a lot of them realized all the things that they wanted to do but couldn’t. And more often than not, they were more influenced by what their parents thought they should think than they were by what they thought they should think.
I really wish that I could t
ell you that it was easy to turn the other cheek, but it wasn’t. I got in my fair share of fights. The best thing I can offer is that it does go away. My life has changed quite a bit since I moved on from high school. I am in a better place—in a world where what you do and who you are and what happened in high school just doesn’t matter all that much. High school is this weird microcosm where people care about how expensive your shoes are and who you’re dating and if you’re gay or straight or bi. I found that once I got out of school most people were more worried about whether I could make deadlines, or type fast enough, or knew how to use Photoshop.
So it does get better. People stop caring so much and that’s really the best we can ask for in some ways. They say that the real homosexual agenda amounts to us wanting to be left alone and having a normal life. Nefarious, isn’t it? The thing is, once you get out of that place—that heinously, socially incestuous place where everybody knows everybody, and everybody has secrets that they’re all telling each other behind their backs—once you get out of there, it just really doesn’t matter anymore.
Michelle Faid is a twenty-nine-year-old bisexual woman living in New Hampshire. She has two cats, a love of knitting and crafts, and a fondness for blogging, which led her to the It Gets Better Project. An avid creator, she is active in singing, medieval reenactment, and runs an Etsy store. She runs Cooter Space, a blog for awareness on many issues, particularly gay rights and feminist perspectives: www.cooterspace.blogspot.com.
