Wicked Gay: An Aberration Story

Just because we are different does not mean we are worth less. It could be just the opposite.

Some people are born green, and I don't mean environmentally conscientious. I mean green as in strange, different, odd, deviant, and scary. Just like Elphaba. Well, maybe it's time we all took off those spectacles we so graciously accepted from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz who parented, molded, or preached to us. Who has really been to Oz, anyway? Who are these people who claim to know all the answers, and pass out free glasses in a needy, lonely world when all we really need is love?

Newsflash: Love is patient! Love is kind! Love does not wear green glasses!

Last weekend I saw the play Wicked for the first time. What struck me most was the simple yet powerful way the story demonstrates how a well-meaning crowd of ignorant, mislead people can drive both cultural and individual destiny. The person who is different, who has a unique understanding or perception of the world--who is green--cannot easily find a place in such a society. Well, sometimes life sucks, so this may be the reality.

But does it have to be?

Kenneth was born green, or at least he looked that way to all the unsuspecting folks who wear those asinine glasses. He is a gay man who grew up in the deep South. Kenneth and I graduated from the same high school class. In fact, it was he and I who choose to leave high school early, each seeking to escape what plagued us. We both had flying monkeys at our backs and green burning holes in our eyes. I'll always remember seeing Kenneth in the school office on what was the last day of school for both of us ... only us. At seventeen, looking into Kenneth's eyes, I knew that he felt green, and because I was green, too, in my own way, I felt a bond form between us that I still feel today.

Since then, both Kenneth and I have burned those silly glasses. We have fully recognized them strapped over the eyes of family, friends, co-workers, and strangers alike. I say it's time for a bonfire! Perhaps no one mourns the wicked, but does anyone out there understand us? In the end, despite what makes us green, we are exactly like you. The irony is that our differences are our common bond.

As a gay man who grew up in the deep south during the 1970s and 80s, it was particularly challenging to fit in, particularly as a teenager. Can you clue us in as to what you went through?

Well, just growing up in the South and surviving is an accomplishment. Being gay, trying to grow up and get out is another story. You have to hide who you are. You are told that people "like that" are shameful and going to hell. They are possessed. I can see how gay and lesbians would run like hell to get out to the east or west coast as soon as they can. Think of the wide use of alcohol and drugs in the gay community ... thanks to all the preachers and such who told us we were doomed for hell.

When did you realize that you were gay, and how did you cope as a young man?

I knew early on ... by the time I was in the 9th grade. How did I cope? I decided that I would hide in the church and school activities. This worked most of the time.

People our age who believe they weren't impacted by prejudice in the deep south during the 70s and 80s must have stayed indoors a lot. How did you ultimately overcome the stigma of being gay at a time and place when African-Americans were still struggling for equality? Do you feel that things have changed for the better now?

I didn't overcome the stigma--I just learned to live around it. My father was not the most kind of men to deal with, so I took shelter, let's say, from my mother. She was a great friend and protector. Things really haven't changed. People just don't talk about it as much. We are still the butt of jokes, and a topic that gets some of the Baptist, Pentecostal, and Non-Denominational ministers all worked up.

You're planning to attend our 25th high school reunion this summer. Will that be an easy step for you? How did your high school experience influence how you view yourself as a gay man?

The reunion will be a great step for me. All those who talked about me, made fun of me, etc. are now having to deal with life in ways they couldn't imagine back in high school. How could they? I have a feeling most are now overweight, have kids to support, are unhappy with jobs or life situations. Now look at me. I love the partner I'm with; love the work that I do; go on great trips; always learning how to do something new; look forward to getting up each day. Pretty nice I think.

I have an abiding appreciation for all the wonderful things about the South; however, I also realize that the culture is sometimes unable to easily accept difference. Many people don't realize how they mentally and emotionally separate people into categories, which influences their words and actions. They are a product of years and years of cultural influence. (For more on this, read Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell.) At church we sang. "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight" ... but all around, people failed to live by that code. We were bombarded by mixed messages. Should we forgive those people?

Try to educate them? Ignore them? It's hard to ignore your upbringing and your family. Forgive them for what ... doing as they were told??? You also need to look at it this way ... the south is joked about all the time for being backward thinking, talking odd, dressing funny, and eating all the wrong foods. They have enough to deal with including cleaning their Francis I silver patterns. (By the way, according to the Southern Primer, if a southern lady has that pattern, she's a bitch ... my phrasing).

Being teased and bullied can be extremely painful to children and teenagers, and leave life-long scars. When my daughter was six, she got a "Bully Note" sent home because she hit a boy in the stomach out of silliness. It seems that, at least in my neck of the woods, the schools are trying to stamp out this behavior at a young age. Do you feel that enough is being done in the US school system to combat serious physical and emotional bullying?

NO! I hear on the news all the time of some kind of injury or fatal action by teens in schools. There is even churches in this country that do nothing more than motivate kids to act in violence against those who are not just like they are. We have a long way to go before this behavior is away from the kids and schools.

I think some understanding parents are still uncomfortable discussing issues such as "being gay" with their kids, while some parents propagate their intolerance in the home. Were there any kids or adults who helped you cope? What can we do as parents to help our children be more accepting of kids who are different than them, regardless of what that difference may be?

No one was there to help me. I tried my best to be secure in the protective walls I built around myself. Parents need to really stress to their children that all people are different, be it the color of the skin; the accent they have; gay or straight; wealthy or not. We need to get them to understand that different is not bad, but a new adventure for learning. We need to get them to understand that being different is what they are to those who are different from them.

After all these years, do you believe that your earlier struggles helped build your character? Have you been able to discern positive outcomes as you settled into your adult life?

That is a yes and no kind of question. Yes, I have been able to overcome the struggles, and stand on my own feet and fight the battles that I choose and need to fight. Pray that God, Budda, Goddess or whomever you choose, help you when you go into battle against me. I'm armed with knowledge and words that will slice you in two (figuratively). Yes, having to grow up as I did does make you confident, strong, and accepting.

If you could say anything to the world about growing up gay in a hostile environment, what would that be?

Hummm ... let's see ... You shake your heads at the amount of suicides, drug use, rapes, murders, etc, but then continue raising your offspring to be haters of man and the world. If you want change, then first, change yourself. Teach yourself about the advantages of those who are different. We all have something to offer in this world. Take the time to learn what the something is. You'll find out that you're in the middle of a wonderful world with fascinating adventures just by befriending someone who is from India, working close with someone on a project who is a gay man/woman.

Just because we are different does not mean we are worth less. It could be just the opposite.

Review, Interview, and Giveaway--Oh My!

"Fast-paced and profound, Aberrations reminds us to celebrate what makes us individuals and grow in the process."

Visit Bibliolatry to read the latest 5-star review of Aberrations and an author interview. This great book blogger is also giving away a copy of Aberrations. This "bibliolatrist" blogger believes reading is essential to living a good life. On her blog, she aims to share her favorite (and not so favorite) works.

Check it out!

Coming this week to Aberration Nation: Penelope's latest painting, Banded and Broken in a Complex World, and growing up gay in the the deep south.

Psychotic Break: An Aberration Story

I have more empathy for the suffering of others and for the mentally ill, who are not bad or scary people ...

Are you depressed today? Did someone stab you in the back? OMG, are you addicted to coffee? So ... if you don't get a break, or have a vacation soon, you're going to lose your @#$!x& mind, right?

Wrong!

Norman Vincent Peale's book, The Power of Positive Thinking, written in 1952, was the first to teach me a thing or two about the power of positive thinking. I read it in the 80's. In the 90's, Tony Robbins emerged, saying that the way we communicate with others and with ourselves ultimately determines the quality of our lives. Using strong words out of context can create an unintended, negative mindset. This insidious drama queen language, in itself, can be damaging. And now we have Rhonda Byrne's The Secret! When are we all finally going to get it?

Lost in both our blatant and more subtle negativity, we often forget that there are people out there who actually have a real disease called depression, and are in jeopardy of losing their minds on any given day. Heck, some people actually grew up in neighborhoods where people were stabbed every now and then. When we take their words are we downplaying the seriousness of their history and/or ongoing struggle? Does it make their experiences somehow less severe, and therefore worth a bit less attention from those of us lucky enough to simply be a little down from time to time?

And it's not about political correctness. It's about language, and the powerful messages we feed ourselves--mental loops that influence our emotional programming.

I often wonder who those truly depressed, mind-losing, struggling people are. Surely they aren't my neighbor, the soccer mom with the fake nails in line at the grocery store, or my co-worker who just got promoted. They must be tucked away somewhere having problems or trying to recover.

Wrong again ...

The more I come to appreciate that normal is a farce, I realize that these people are all around me, at times weaving in and out of my life on a daily basis. Maybe you are one of them. If not, are they listening to you talk about your so-called depression, and your emotional stab wounds, wondering if you actually know what those words mean? If you have experienced some of these serious issues, hopefully you've come to appreciate the words you use to describe your life, being careful to avoid those that should be reserved for the emergence or re-emergence of those heart-wrenching challenges you manage to keep at bay.

Liimu does just that. She's a young consultant with a bright smile and quick wit. If you met her for coffee, or crossed her path at the grocery store with her three young children, you'd never guess that she once dropped acid and lost her #$#%x@ mind. She has joined the Aberration Nation. Her name is Liimu and she's an alcoholic ... she's also your neighbor.

Your past includes a psychotic break and time spent institutionalized. Can you tell us what happened?

I was 24, and was finishing up my final year of college. Over the Christmas break, I went to see my boyfriend in New Mexico. We met in Las Vegas, and then for some reason, he thought it would be a good idea for us to drop acid before we made the 17 hour drive back to New Mexico.

Flash forward two months: I wake up hearing voices. I swear I can communicate with my cat without opening my mouth. I can think “come here” and he come s prancing into the room. I start writing letters like crazy, all the while showing up wherever, whenever I please. I miss appointments I've had for months and sit for exams without opening a single book. When my mom finally comes looking for me, she tells me we were going to see a doctor. We go to the mental health clinic on campus. They lock me in the ward, only releasing me to have an occasional cigarette.

When I was locked up, my mom visited daily. Every time she came, I had my bags packed and ready by the door. Every day, I was told I could not leave; they didn’t know when I’d be released. What was supposed to be a couple days’ stay turned into a five weeks of lock down. I finally agreed to go to rehab, and was released. I found out later that if I hadn’t agreed to the rehab program, they would have sent me to a long-term facility where my chances of getting out would have been slim to none.

Like myself, you were raised in a dysfunctional home. How did that environment bear out on your mental health as a teenager and young adult?

There were so many ways that have a dysfunctional home played out for me, the most impact probably being that I was raised in an alcoholic home. I didn’t learn any real coping mechanisms, and certainly didn’t learn that it was okay to be different, or to have feelings, or to be scared or sad. You just put on a good, strong front and muscled through, or you gave in entirely and were a complete loser drunk. So, although I finally realized I was a drunk and had to get sober, I put on a brave face for many years. It was that pressure, in part, that led to my breakdown. I have to be careful about that to this day.

You’ve said that being institutionalized changes a person forever. How so?

When someone else says, “If I don’t get a vacation soon, I’m gonna have a breakdown,” they don’t really mean it. For me, it's truly a deep-rooted fear. In the same way that a person is changed forever by the experience of seeing a violent crime or losing a loved one or becoming a parent, a person is changed forever by losing his or her mind. Suddenly, the idea that the mind is a thing that can be lost takes on new meaning. I'm always aware now of where that line is and how close I am to it. I know what lies on the other side of sanity.

Can you describe your mental break?

I was completely removed from reality. Until I entered the mental institution, it wasn’t scary at all. I had this overwhelming sense of calm, actually. Like I was completely in tune with the energy of the Universe. But, once I got locked up, it was a whole different story. If you’ve ever seen one of those movies from the 1950's where they show a funhouse with scary looking faces flying in and out of the camera, and people laughing and screaming at the same time while the room is spinning around and around--it was sort of like that, only scarier. I remember at one point (during a drug-induced, fitful sleep), dreaming that I was literally standing at the gates of Hell, facing the Devil Himself. When I woke, I felt like I had very narrowly escaped Hell.

You recovered from your psychotic episode, and went on to finish college and begin a successful career. How were you able to walk away from such deep pain and mental disarray? How are you now?

For me, it was a simple process of recovery--not easy, but simple. I surrendered to my alcoholism and addiction, and began to work the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). Soon after, I developed my own understanding of a Higher Power and since then, it has been easy.

Were there any particular individuals who influenced your recovery, or was it ultimately a case of, “I will survive?” Did it take a combination?

Each person is unique. What are the key success factors in your ongoing mental health? My sponsors, my mother, my therapist, my husband, and my female friends have all been instrumental. The key success factor in my ongoing mental health is my commitment to recovery--in all the ways it manifests in my life, whether it's workshops, recovery programs, friendships, therapy, exercise, etc. My commitment is to improving myself, and improving my relationship with God. As long as what I do is fundamentally based on one or both of those priorities, I’m doing fine.

Having grown up in the shadow of mental illness, how much of your own issues do you attribute to nature versus nurture? How does one stop the vicious cycle of familial dysfunction? Is it possible?

I definitely believe that it's possible to break the cycle, though for me it's impossible to deny that I had it in my blood (my father and mother were both alcoholics). What I hope to pass on to my children is how to recover, so that if they are afflicted with the disease of alcoholism, they will know there is a solution. I also think there is a line between teetering-on-the-edge-of and full-blown addiction, and for some people, that is where environment plays a role. In my case, I've had an addictive personality from as far back as I can remember.

Looking back, can you tell us if and how your experience being institutionalized, and the associated struggles, have changed you for the better? What are the positives you’ve found in yourself and in others as a result of your unique life?

I don’t take anything for granted. My commitment to recovery is strengthened by how much is at stake for me. I have more empathy for the suffering of others and for the mentally ill, who are not bad or scary people, they are just ill and need help. I have a complete awe and love for my Higher Power for having taken me to the depths and brought me back again. That’s what it took for me to fully accept my alcoholism and recover. And ever since then, I have been committed to serving God and others.

When I start to feel sorry for myself, I immediately look for ways to be of service to others. That’s the quickest way to get over anything that is causing me pain.

For more on Liimu, visit here and here.

Stillborn: An Aberration Story

"Many people just avoided me altogether ..."

This week I've been reading 25 random facts about all kinds of folks on Facebook. One particular fact pops up over and over. Every parent mentions how much their kids mean to them. "My kids are my life." "I can't imagine being without my children." "My kids changed me forever," and so on and so forth. Being a parent is one of those timeless, instinctual rites of passage that most people hope to experience. No one needs to tell you that.

My first pregnancy was unplanned, stressful, and emotionally challenging. But when that tiny person emerged, making me a mother, it took its place as the single most fantastical, magical moment of my life. Like the Grinch, my heart grew at least three sizes that day. I can't fathom how it would feel to anticipate that moment for nine months only to be faced with death. Newsweek ran a touching article this week on a growing trend in which parents of stillborn infants have professional photographs taken to commemorate their experience. Apparently, it's becoming a unique avenue to capture the beauty that is hidden within their heartache, a way to hold on--in a healthy way--to what they cannot have. And according to Newsweek, it's provided the first glimpse of healing for many. The beautiful photographs remind them year after year that their child was real, and that their hearts did grow despite the silence of those tiny feet.

Several years ago, Vikki, a single, highly-educated professional lived through the challenge of an unplanned pregnancy only to have it end in heartache. Vikki hasn't talked openly about her ordeal with many, and suspected that writing about it might be a good first step for her. Her experience and insight gives us all a more realistic understanding of this particular tragic aberration. For those who have lived through it, Vikki's story relays that you are not alone. And for the rest of us, it provides insight into how we might, once again, become a better friend.

You experienced and survived every pregnant woman's and parent's nightmare. Can you tell us what happened?

I lost my baby about a week before he was due to be born.

I found out that I was pregnant at work. I remember feeling this incredible urge to find out and so I left work to run to the drugstore to pick up a pregnancy test. I came back and went to the ladies room where I held my breath, peed on the stick, and waited for three minutes. Sure enough, I was 28 years old and pregnant. My very first thought was abortion, which haunts me because I am and have always been very much against abortion. After that initial thought, I remember thinking, "Well, I'll be in my 20’s when I have a baby and that will be nice." When I walked out of the restroom, I saw a colleague, who was this tiny sweet woman whom I loved dearly. I practically fell on top of her and started crying. The poor woman had no idea what was going on.

My thoughts ran to the father, with whom I had been in a relationship. I met him when I was 26. I knew he would be a good dad. I knew the exact moment of conception. We were on shaky ground, but I knew he loved me and that he would be happy. I told him and he asked me to marry him almost immediately.

I remember the stress of telling my parents. I waited until after Christmas because I wanted to keep the illusion of normalcy during the holidays--interesting how I felt that way at the time. When I finally told them, it was in my parent’s living room. I sat in a chair across from the sofa, where my parents sat, holding hands. They were supportive and loving. They knew I had not planned for this and their reaction soothed me.

My boyfriend and I purchased a house together. The move in date was right around the time the baby would be born, which was stressful because I wanted to have a nice nursery in place. I had everything ready to go when we moved in--the theme was “Winnie the Pooh.” I had four baby showers! I had everything I would need for the baby’s first six months, and I started to fall in love with him. I loved feeling his kicks. I read all the books.

I did everything right.

The week before the due date, my boyfriend and I went to a local hospital to take birthing classes. The next morning, we both noticed a lack of movement. I wasn't too concerned because I had read that the movement is not as pronounced in the third trimester. Nevertheless, I went to the hospital to have an ultrasound. I remember the nurse looking stoic. She was normally so warm so I knew something was wrong. I said, “Is something wrong?" and she said, “Well, let’s just wait for the doctor." She wheeled me back to a hospital room and left me there to wonder. The doctor came in, looked at me, then at her, and said, “Did you tell her yet?" I looked at her. She looked back at the doctor, and then he said to me, “Your baby has died."

We all experience and express grief differently. How did you initially cope and how did that change over time?

I had to wait at the hospital to have the baby. I had to be induced. I sat there for a week, knowing that I was carrying around my baby, who had been strangled by the umbilical cord. I kept thinking--the baby was alive last week! If only I had had a C-section, he would be alive today. I went into my own head and turned away all visitors. I called my best friend and asked her to tell people because I couldn’t. I told the nurses that I didn’t want to see anyone, except for my parents and my boyfriend. My boyfriend stayed with me. When I finally went into labor, he rubbed my legs. I was in pain and I was so mad that I was in pain--how dare there be more pain after this! I wanted them to give me any drugs necessary. I remember one annoying nurse getting in my face and telling me that I had to be patient. I was anything but patient. I was so mad at everyone.

When I finally came home, we had to move the next day--into the house we purchased--without Curran, our baby. Hardly anything was packed. We were all so distracted by Curran’s absence. I kept getting flowers. I gave them all to my mom. I was trying to pack. I remember my parents putting plates in newspaper and then putting them in boxes. I still looked pregnant. I was useless. I carried boxes, but I was in a different place. Everybody told me to relax. We dragged the mattress into the new living room and slept in there that night, by the fireplace under the skylights. For weeks I sat on the new deck and looked out into the woods behind my house. I got all kind of cards and letters. They sit unopened in a box, still to this day. All of the baby’s things were stored in my boyfriend’s parent’s attic.

That was when I decided to take the remaining five courses to get my bachelor's degree. I took them all in one semester while working full time. I threw myself into work and school.

How did the support you received from others impact the situation? What were the most helpful or useful gestures made by others?

People were so supportive and I leaned on them and felt their love. My boyfriend’s parents arranged for a funeral with a tiny coffin. My aunt brought me a painting and said that it reminded her of Curran. It still hangs in what would have been his room. My mom’s friend made us all dinner and didn't stay because she knew we needed time to heal. My boyfriend’s sister lost a little girl herself (in the sixth month of pregnancy), and she was totally there for me (and still is). Some of the things that stick in my mind are how my boyfriend stayed with me through everything, how my parents were there for me, how my colleagues took up a collection and sent me a check. They invited me to lunch a week before I had to go back to work so that I could ease back in. One of my friends invited me to the jersey shore for a weekend. We sat on the beach and she told me that the dolphins reminded her of Curran. At that moment we saw a big school of dolphins swim by. We cried together. We wondered if Curran was making his presence known. She later gave me a necklace with a silver dolphin. Also, my mom had a dream that her father, who had passed, was holding Curran and saying that everything would be okay--Curran was at peace. She said that there were all kinds of strange and new colors in the dream and it had to be heaven.

I believe time heals all wounds but that some heartbreak never completely goes away. The most positive thing we can do is find a positive and/or rewarding place for the scars of our past by focusing on the growth they can bring. Of course, it's not an easy thing to do. Do you believe that time heals all wounds? What role has time played for you?

Time helps but I agree, the pain is always there. This is the first time I have written about this experience and it's all coming back to me. Frankly, I tend to push it away. Talking about it so intimately is harder than I expected it to be. I have grown since losing Curran, but it makes me feel selfish to think about his contribution to my growth. What did I do for him?

I often wonder how we fully share ourselves with others, aberrations, warts, and all. I questions whether I should share my painful past, or if it's best to hold some things back and pretend they never happened. Do you find it in any way difficult to relate to your peers who haven't experience such a tragedy? Do you reserve this huge aberration for yourself, or have you been able to share it with others?

I can share with others but as it's so personal, I pick and choose the parts to share. Frankly, I think people are uncomfortable talking about it with me. After I went back to work, I remember seeing a friend and co-worker who was pregnant at the same time I was. She had her baby. I asked her where the pictures were and she pulled them out of a drawer, telling me that someone recommended that she hide them. I told her that she should display them everywhere--our situations were entirely different and I was so happy for her. Many people just avoided me altogether, and I sympathized. What could they say?

Now that several years passed, can you yet begin to see how your experience has impacted your life or the person you are today? Do you think it will continue to have an impact?

It will always be there. It shaped who I am in so many ways. The relationship with my boyfriend ended eventually. I couldn't handle the fact that he tried to push me into marrying him (we never married), and I always blamed him for being pregnant in the first place. I blamed him for giving me a baby that I loved and lost. I blamed him for being the source of my pain. I gave him a check for his portion of the house, and I still live here today. It was unfair.

Once I got my degree, I applied to a Master’s program at the University of Pennsylvania. After being accepted, I asked what it was that got me into the program, as it's was highly competitive. They told me they were impressed by the fact that I was able to carry a full course load with a full time job. They said that I must be dedicated to achieve such an accomplishment. The truth is that I loved school, but I would not have thrown myself into it to that extent if it wasn’t for Curran. Curran made many things possible for me.

What are the top three things we can do for someone who has lost a child?

1. I was comforted by the following quote: “Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.” I think that it is important to share things that have comforted us with others who have been through similar heartache.

2. Everyone is different and handles grief in his or her own way. Be patient. Just be available. Let the person experiencing grief lean on you. He or she needs you now, more than ever, even if they don’t say they need you.

3. Don’t forget about dad. He is suffering, too. A friend at work recently said that she lost a baby, and nobody asked her husband how he was. They only asked him how she was doing. The same goes for other family members, friends. They are all experiencing a loss.

If you could say anything to the world about your child, what would it be?

I would have given Curran my whole heart. He would have been cherished by so many and would have grown to be a great man. There is no doubt in my mind that Curran was exceptional. It is sad for all of us that we never really got to know him.

“If Tears Could Build a Stairway and Memories a Lane, I'd Walk Right up to Heaven, and Bring You Home Again”. Curran M Passed Away: July 23, 2002

Mommy and Daddy Will Never Forget Our Little Angel