Manprano Preaches: It Gets Better

Queen of Hearts Gregory Peebles tells it like it is. See it and share it.

Today On Bilerico: Dan Savage Tells Bullied Kids "It Gets Better"

Dan heard the tragic story of Billy Lucas from a reader and decided to do something to stop any more young suicides that result from bullying. He has started a YouTube channel to offer videos from adult LGBT people who tell the kids "it gets better." You can read about it here.

My Heart Is Breaking

A fifteen-year-old boy in Greensburg, Indiana killed himself last week because he was being bullied for being gay. The sub-header read that he was bullied for "being different," but the story quotes fellow students as saying he was teased mercilessly for being gay. There is no indication whether it was true or not, but it doesn't matter. After years of this kind of treatment, another student told him to go kill himself. And he did.

It was common knowledge among the student population that this was happening. Why did no one step up? What sort of culture has to exist to allow that kind of cruelty? Is it possible that not one adult knew? Having been in public education (as a student and a teacher), I have to think the evidence was there.

I remember seeing a young girl being teased when I was a student teacher. I asked my mentor teacher to please send her on an errand that would take some time. When she was gone, I ripped into the class. They had never seen me angry before, but there was no question how I felt about her treatment. I told them I could not wait for them to grow up and that this behavior would stop now. And you know what? It did stop. They were stunned at my tirade and took it to heart. She was never teased in my presence again. I don't know if it stopped altogether, but I did what I could.

We all must do what we can. We have to stop this behavior when we see it, no matter the age of the perpetrator. We have the power. We must have the conviction to use it.

Update: the Bilerico publisher asked me to write a post about Billy. It's here.

Today On Bilerico: Toward Life

I learned from PostSecret that this is National Suicide Prevention Week, and it reminded me of the post I wrote last summer. I think enough time has passed that I can tell it to the world. I posted a lightly edited version today on Bilerico. New readers can find it here.

Toward Life

I wrote this in July while I was in Florida and shortly after the phone conversation to which I allude. The recent campaign to encourage awareness of suicide and its prevention has made me decide to post it.

An online friend of mine named Al is a passionate and intelligent man who reached out to me at moment of deep grief. He has lost his best friend, who took his own life in a moment of surrender to despair. Al called me to talk because he knew of my own experience with my father’s suicide many years ago.

I was eighteen and Dad was fifty-five. He moved out of the house when I was nine. I saw him one weekend a month, but many of those days were filled with words unsaid. We didn’t have much time for those spontaneous conversations that fill in the jigsaw gaps of who we have become, but it was a gentle silence of mutual love. I knew without a doubt how much my father loved me.

When I learned of his suicide, the first thoughts of my young mind were—of course—of guilty ownership. Somehow I had contributed to his death. What could I have done to prevent it? My thoughts raced with all the what ifs. What if I hadn’t asked for help with college tuition? His death gave me the benefits that allowed me to stay in school. What if I had told him more how much I loved him? I wasn’t alone in that kind of thinking; I learned from his friends that my older brother was convinced that our father couldn’t live with the thought of a gay son. I’m willing to bet my two sisters had similar thoughts of their own responsibility.

Over time I have come to understand the folly of “what if.” We simply don’t have that kind of control over what other people do. Control of anything but our own actions is an illusion.

While I can accept now that I could not change the outcome, I still mourn briefly at moments I have not been able to share with my dad. And a few years ago when my husband and my daughter reached the same ages as in that tragic year, I looked at my daughter’s complete devotion to her father and imagined how she would be irrevocably damaged in similar circumstances. Perhaps for the first time I truly allowed my anger full expression. How could you do that to me? I was so young. I loved you so much. I needed you here.

The devastation of that act has repercussions even today, as I struggle every day to give the ones I love access to my heart. Having been burned to the ground by someone whose love was certain, it has been a long and difficult journey for me to give anyone the power to do so again; and in recent years I have succeeded in keeping the walls down. My husband wields his power gently, and it is a gift without measure.

Al’s best friend left behind similarly devastated loved ones, people who cannot fathom the depth of his despair. We who choose life will never fully understand. There comes a time when we must acknowledge that “I don’t know” is a sufficient answer. It is the first step to forgiveness.

Al and I talked for over an hour. I don’t know how much help anyone can provide for such grief, except to say, “I’m so sorry.” We connect over terrible pain and memories. It is what we must do, for ourselves and each other.

We come together in our vulnerability. It is our humanity that binds us. Our most difficult moments become our finest as we seek our commonalities, accept our differences, and forgive ourselves and each other. Can we seek those moments of reconciliation with purpose and without pain? Let us try. Let us all move toward life.

If you are young and gay or questioning and need to talk to someone about thoughts of suicide, call the Trevor Project at 866-4-U-TREVOR / 866-488-7386 any time day or night. They will listen.

Anyone can call 800-SUICIDE / 800-784-2433 any time. They will listen.