It Gets Better (12 page)

WAUKESHA, WI

 

 

 

Erika:
I grew up in a small Wisconsin town—largely conservative. And, while my immediate family wasn't particularly anti-gay or homophobic in any way, certain members of my extended family were. Many times at Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter I would have to endure anti-gay comments, and I just knew that it wasn't going to be okay with some of my family to be who I was. And that was really hard.

 

Jenn:
I grew up in a different small town, also in Wisconsin. Some of my high school classmates had decided—even though I didn't know yet, had no idea—that I was gay. So they'd leave notes on my locker or shout out “lezzy” and “dyke” when I was just walking down the hall. This would happen every day. It was tough. It was especially hard to endure because you have to go to school every day. But then high school thankfully ended and I went to college, where nobody knew me. And I don't think I realized until I got there I could be whoever I wanted at college. Whoever I wanted to be. College is different from high school. It's more diverse. It's more open-minded. So, it got better right away.

 

Erika:
When you go to college, or when you go to work, or whatever you do after high school, you have more opportunities to be yourself.

You're not in this little box where everyone's trying to label you and define you. When I started college, I didn't even really understand that I was gay. I knew that I had these intense female friendships but I didn't really know what that was. And then I met my very good friend, Rachel, who became an ally by just letting me be who I was. She was super-supportive of me and just let me figure it out. Soon, I met more people like her, and the more people I met, the more I could become who I was meant to be, the better it got.

 

Jenn:
Our paths crossed for the first time about six years ago.

 

Erika:
We've been together ever since. And in 2007, we had our big fat gay wedding in Wisconsin.

 

Jenn:
We wore beautiful white gowns. And had bridesmaids, we called them bride guys, since we didn't have any grooms. A lot of people told us it was one of the best weddings they'd ever been to. I don't mean to brag, but it was.

 

Erika:
It totally was.

 

Jenn:
Early in our relationship, we talked about wanting to build our family through adoption. In early 2010, we got the call. Two girls—sisters—one tiny, tiny baby and the other about a year and a half old arrived on our doorstep. We've had them now for eight months now.

 

Erika:
They changed our lives forever. I've never been as stressed as I have the last eight months but I have never been happier either because I have everything that I've always wanted.

 

Jenn:
We have a house, two children, and even a minivan. Now we just need the white picket fence. The funny thing, the ironic thing, is that we're not so different from those kids from high school who used to harass us and pick on us for being different. I'm not so different from them anymore. I have my family. I have my life. I get up and go to work every morning. And so, even though you feel so different, you feel like a freak, you feel like there's something wrong with you, there's nothing wrong with you, you're fine. You're fine. You're probably more like everybody else than you realize.

 

Erika:
Be yourself. Be true to who you are and tune out the noise as much as you can. You're going to meet people who support you. You're going to meet people who love you. You're going to meet people who celebrate you. And someday, if this is your choice, you'll get to marry your best friend.

ANCHORAGE, AK

 

 

 

 

 

G
rowing up I used to think that everyone was like me, that everyone was interested in and attracted to people of the same sex. But over time I saw that wasn't true; it wasn't like that. I was different. It was then I felt like I had a secret to keep. I felt trapped inside myself; unsure of who I was.

I lost my hearing when I was nine years old. We don't know exactly how it happened, maybe nerve damage, but it did, like it was meant to be. It turned out to be more of a gain than a loss because it introduced me to the extraordinary life I live today.

Soon after, I moved to a deaf school that was located an hour away from my hometown. It was a very difficult transition, especially at a young age. I was mad at the world and didn't want to exist anymore. I felt like I was the only deaf person in the world and that there was no point in continuing my life.

The school was small, but it was like any other place with cliques, peer pressure, labeling, and all the other obstacles kids experience.

In middle school, and the first few years of high school, I went out with many different girls. It was fun but I only dated them to hide who I really was, to be someone else. I never felt happy or complete because I was not being true to myself. I didn't think I could share my secret with anyone then. There was simply no one I felt I could to talk to.

My family was conservative and religious. Going against the Bible would only mean I was a sinner. My parents were divorced and my two older brothers treated me like an insignificant part of the family—the life of the youngest, I guess. Still, I felt close to everyone in my family; they were loving, caring, supportive, and gave me everything I needed. I just didn't feel courageous enough to tell them the truth.

During my junior year I met someone, and that experience gave me the strength to be more honest because I was so happy, everything felt so right. I felt complete and whole for the first time in a long time. I knew I wanted to feel that way forever so I came out to my friends and the people in my community. Fortunately, everyone was positive and very supportive. I felt great, great enough to tell my mom.

To be honest, I was pretty much forced to tell her. I got suspended from school for participating in sexual activities with another male. She questioned me about it and I told her it was with one of my girlfriends. Mothers seem to know when you are not telling the truth so I ended up confessing to her. She said it was fine and that she loved me but I could tell she was not happy.

About a year later, she asked, “Are you sure you are gay?”

“Yes, I am very sure,” I said, and from that day on, it got better. She's been there for me.

I decided to tell my brothers, too. They were both okay with it. Unfortunately, I have not found the strength to tell my dad or my grandparents yet, but I think I'm ready. The next time I see them I will go ahead and come out—because I know it will only get better if I do.

So for those of you who feel confused, or lost, or alone, know that you're not alone. I was there. I was picked on; people called me names and put me down. I experienced this all before I even came out. I was a target just because I did things differently from everyone else, even though what I was doing was good—good for me and good for those around me. But at that age, doing good was not cool, and they made sure I knew it. I know what it's like to feel hopeless and to think there is no future for you. I also know from experience that the future is a great place but you have to want to be there to see it. If you stand strong, be who you are, and know that even though people might not support you now, the days only get brighter if you believe in yourself. It gets better, it really does.

HILLSBORO BEACH, FL

 

 

 

I
've spent my entire life—and I'm sixty years of age right now—I've spent my entire life being gay, being a lesbian woman. And back then—back in the '50s—when I was born (I knew I was gay from day one) there wasn't anybody to talk about it with. Still, it did get better.

In the '60s, when the movement first started to happen, and one by one we started to talk to one another, I had a conversation about my life with somebody who understood my life. And it got better. And as every day passed, with everything that I did, I knew that if I was just willing to be who I am, that the world would eventually change and accept people like me. And look at me now.

So my message to you is this, just stick with us. People are listening to you, people are supporting you. People want you to be who you are. And if you could just have faith that things will change, and stick in there, I promise you it will get better.

Is it going to be easy? No. Nothing in life is. Is it worth the struggle? It is. There is nothing greater in life than to be able to be who you are. Tell the world who you are, to not be ashamed of who you are. I am proud that I am a lesbian. I am proud that I'm the personal-finance expert of the world. I am proud of my accomplishments. I am proud that I can stand in my truth, unafraid to tell anybody who I am. Because, it does get better. But it only gets better when you're willing to be honest—when you're willing to fight to be able to be who you are. Fight for your own right to stand up and say, “I'm proud. I'm gay. Maybe I'm different, but I am still
who I am
.” It gets better. I ask you to hang in there. I ask you to accept our support. And I ask you to just give it time. Because, in the end, it really does get better.

CHICAGO, IL

 

 

Lenox:
Yo, I'm Lenox.

 

Rannon:
I'm Rannon.

 

David:
I'm David.

 

Rannon:
And we want you to know that it does get better.

 

Kean:
It gets way better. Extremely better. All-the-time better. Especially with your friends.

 

Lenox:
Yes. It does.

 

Kean:
First of all, let me tell you about my story and how it got better for me. I'm thirty years old. But at the time, I was around seventeen or eighteen, I had just started discovering myself, who I was, and I wanted to come out of the closet. It was very traumatic time for me because my family is very anti-gay. Very homophobic. I come from a family of women who believe the main thing homosexuals want to do is molest children. The ironic thing is that my father was bisexual. So clearly my mom's a bit fucked up.

 

David:
Can you say that?

 

Kean:
Of course I can say that. I love my mom but she got fucked up from that experience. Whatever the case, during that time I was really worried about what my mother would think about me and what my grandmother would think about me because I was living with her at the time. And what my brothers would think about me because I am the oldest of six boys. And then what my friends would think about me. I was in high school and I had a lot going on. I was popular. It was that “TV” scenario where I thought at the time I had a lot to lose. So I tried to commit suicide. I took three hundred aspirin, maybe it was six hundred. It was one of those big, bulky bottles you get at Sam's Club. I swallowed all of them and went to sleep, figuring I'm going to have a peaceful death. Grandmother walked in, saw me passed out, saw the aspirin bottle—very dramatic scene—called the ambulance. Having my stomach pumped was worse than trying to commit suicide. I had to drink liquid charcoal and they forced this big, long tube down my throat and forced me to throw up. It was the worst thing I had experienced in my life. I had to stay in the ER for a week on different IVs. They said that had my grandmother not come—fifteen or twenty minutes later—I probably would have been on dialysis for the rest of my life.

After that I had to seek counseling. That's when it hit me. During the transition from eighteen to nineteen, I said to myself, “Forget everybody. I should live for myself.” I was going away to college and made a big 180 on worrying about what other people thought or felt about me. I knew I needed to be there for my brothers, because like I said, I'm the oldest of six.

So I went away to college and started living my life for myself. Then my brothers came to live with me. I became their caretaker. And I really couldn't think about what anybody thought about me because, at that time, I had to raise my two brothers. I had to make sure that they finished school; one was still in grammar school and one was in high school, and I was still trying to finish my studies at Northern Illinois University. It was a very hard time but it made me a strong person because I know that no one can tell me what to do. All of my friends can tell you that I don't take any crap from anybody, not even my mom. Everybody knows who I am. I say what's on my mind and if you ask me my opinion, I'll tell you how it is, and I leave it like that.