It Gets Better (32 page)

KALAHEO, HI

 

 

 

 

I
n 1998, Matthew Shepard was brutally murdered in Wyoming. His death weighed heavily on my heart. I knew that I had something in common with him.

That same year I started at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. I was fourteen, and freshman year was already difficult. It is for many teenagers, but I also had a secret. My church taught that homosexuality was a sin, so I thought that some demon was growing inside of me tearing me away from God. I struggled with these thoughts, and finally confided in a friend at school about my sexuality.

That same day that I talked with this person about my deep, dark secret, my best friend, Dan Rohrbough, was killed in the shooting at my school.

On April 20, 1999, after making my “confession,” another friend invited me off-campus for lunch. I
always
spent the lunch hour in the library doing homework. That way, I could keep my lunch money for a new CD and eat at home later. By the time we'd gotten our food and headed back to school, the campus was in chaos. Police cars were everywhere and we weren't allowed anywhere near the property. After being directed to a nearby neighborhood, a news broadcast interrupted the radio program to announce that there was a shooting in progress at Columbine High School. We had no idea the gravity of the situation until a few minutes later when we turned on the television at a friend's house. What we saw was indescribable.

The fact that I was out of the building during the time of the shooting was a miracle. I missed death by mere minutes. By the time our car was pulling out of the parking lot to lunch, the two killers were already on their way toward the building, guns fully loaded.

Later that day I ended up at a local elementary school where survivors were gathering. I ran into Dan's parents, who asked me if I had seen him. We had second-period science together and were lab partners so, of course, I had seen him, but not since lunch. I figured he was probably fine, that maybe he just couldn't get in touch with anyone. No one, yet, knew anything about anyone for sure. Our suburban community had erupted with kids running everywhere, parents abandoning their cars in the middle of the street in search for their children, and the police trying to get victims to safety.

I eventually made it home that evening with no new information on Dan's whereabouts. My mom, on business in Florida, was on the next plane home. My brother, a senior that year, was lucky to make it out of the school in one piece. Late that night, our family was reunited. My mom walked into the house and hugged me and my brother so tight, afraid if she let us go, her sons would disappear forever. She held us for what seemed like days and just cried.

The next morning my dad arrived with the newspaper in hand. I opened it, and right there on the second page, large and in color, was a photograph of Dan's lifeless body lying on the ground outside the cafeteria. I ran upstairs to my room, crying so hard that it hurt. I immediately opened up my middle school yearbook. I needed to see a picture of his smiling face, instead of what I had just seen in the paper.

Dan was one of twelve students and one teacher who were murdered that day. It was the largest school shooting in history. I went into shock. When the day had started, I was as a frightened teenager in fear of my own sexuality, and hours later I was a survivor of a shocking massacre that took my best friend's life away. Coming out had gone to the back of my mind. I was now in mourning.

Even before Columbine, I remember being scared and in the closet and not knowing if life was worth it. Coming out was the scariest thing that I could have imagined. I remember thinking it was the end of the world. And then, after the shooting, my perspective changed. I suddenly realized how vulnerable we all were. All my fourteen-year-old concerns about adolescence, awkward puberty, and popularity meant little in the scheme of things.

Columbine made me grow up fast. It taught me not to take for granted my relationships, and to forget petty arguments and disagreements and move on. It taught me that if I said good-bye to someone, I couldn't assume I would see them again. It taught me that life was precious and could all be over in the blink of an eye!

In the days that followed, I had to go back to school. I had to return to class and try to live a normal life in the same building where it had all taken place. Every day was a struggle. Every day I walked past the spot Dan was murdered. I knew there was a plan for my life, I just didn't know what that was, and I was scared. I still hadn't really dealt with my feelings of my sexuality and I hadn't talked again to that friend I had confided in.

By senior year, I was a peer counselor and learned a lot of ways to be there for other students going through hard times. I took these lessons to heart and was slowly learning to love myself for who I was. I don't know where it came from or how, but this courage started growing inside me. I had planned to wait for college to come out. That way I could gain new experiences, meet new friends, and hopefully have a new life free of that fear.

In the end, I couldn't wait. I had to talk to somebody quick. I chose a friend named Julie who had already graduated. She wasn't in my direct circle of friend and didn't go to my church. Most importantly, I trusted her. She was so accepting, encouraging, loving, and nonjudgmental. She told me that she loved me no matter what. Her continuing support has given me the courage to open up to my family and other friends throughout the years. I have been so lucky to have the most amazing and supportive parents and brother.

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!

BROOKLYN, NY

“Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.”

 

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.

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.