by Sarah Moon
You don’t eat. You need to eat.
I love you. Stop hurting yourself. Listen to me.
The truth is, people are ugly and they are ignorant. They are small and wooden-headed, they are rabid and savage and full of shit and bile, and I’m telling you straight up because I will not lie to you, you need to grow a skin because the world is full of them. Those kids you go to school with will most likely grow up and turn into their parents and have kids like them. They will become the cops, the bosses, the driving instructors, the other people in the world. They’re everywhere, and you have to pick through them to find your tribe. Did I mention yet that you are part of a tribe? Yes. You’re outnumbered, but that is okay. Yes, there are more of you. Yes, you’ll find each other. In the meantime, there is an art teacher you have. She pretends she doesn’t know you are cutting class and lets you stay in the ceramics studio for hours. She says nice things to you, tells you you are talented, gently tries to point out that maybe you are hanging out with the wrong people. She may be one of your tribe; do you think? She knows that the ceramics room is a safe house for you. She sees you. She’s a gift in a sea of crap. Learn to see the angels; there may be one or two more. If you don’t believe in angels, call them “hope.” Spots of okay-ness in a horrible minefield. Your days are hard. I want you to decide to survive it. Go out there and survive it, and eventually you’ll find yourself in Slightly Less Backwards Land, or maybe even Almost Right-Side Up Land. When you get there you will be scarred, and you will be strong. Stand up straight. You are part of a family and of a chain. You are our one and only youth. You. Keep. Going. You know, someday you are going to have to reach your hand back to some little you who feels just like the you right now. Your heart will throb. Words will fail you. You have to grab the next hand. Come here, feel this. It’s our heartbeat in the palm of my hand. Someone has to be there.
I love you. I am here.
I know. You don’t trust anyone but yourself. Monsters arrived arm-in-arm with your adolescence. A rush of hormones and chemicals that was too much to handle. Hormones that were new, and chemicals that weren’t right. It wasn’t your fault. Your little brain wasn’t right (it was a “mood disorder,” my love) and then the drugs and the drinking and the mental torture and what a mess, trying to stay upright with the weight of all the planets on your skinny little back.
It all started so young and now you’re pretty messed up, self-hammered into impossible shapes for so long. And my God, you still got up every day and endured your life. You’ve pulled together a little stick nest the best you could, and I give you a lot of credit for that. What I’m trying to make you know is that it changes. This moment right now … you’re not stuck in amber; your reality, it’s gonna change. You’ll finish school, you’ll get jobs, you’ll move, you’ll meet new people. Everything changes. If there is one thing I want you to remember it is that everything passes. When you feel you just cannot stand whatever it is for one more minute, remind yourself that it is temporary. I didn’t say the world is going to change much. It does and it doesn’t. It’s not easy for anyone, and honey, it’s even harder for you. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but every time you go through something difficult, you get stronger. Look how much you have already survived. You are coping! I know at your age everything feels like forever. But the gears will mesh, you’ll get some traction, and you’ll go. You will! There is so much waiting there.
You are awaited. So keep going!
What can I say when I know you can’t hardly hear me through the self-hatred and the high and you are too busy drawing nooses on your notebook? You are so wasted. Look at me. I love you for exactly all the reasons everybody else wants to burn you at the stake.
I love you because of the clothes. I love you because of what you Want. I love the broken mold you kicked away. I love you because you have Godzilla inside you. Read that again. Stick it on your chest. Tape it to your soul. Chew it up slowly, close your eyes, and swallow it.
And don’t you let anybody steal or stomp it out of you. You come here and I’m going to tell you a truth. The truth is, there is nothing wrong with you. There was never anything wrong with you.
I love you. Be here.
Diane
Hey Teenage Me:
First things first: Take out a huge loan right now and invest it all in two companies: Microsoft and Starbucks Coffee. After you become a multibillionaire, set a billion or so aside and invest it all the first time you hear of a company with the weird-sounding name of “Google.” Trust me on this.
Okay, now on to the important stuff.
Everyone always says there are three important “legs” under life: love, career, and family. I’d add a fourth: friends.
If you manage to get three out of these four things right, you’ll be way ahead of most people. And as chance would have it, you have a shot at all four. Which is great because then you have enough legs to support a whole dining room table, and that means you don’t have to eat on the floor.
Let’s start with love, because that’s the most fun. You’re going to end up with a really great guy — a phenomenally great guy. A guy who, when your friends complain about how rotten their boyfriends and girlfriends are, you’ll nod sympathetically, but secretly think to yourself, “Wow, I can’t relate.”
But the thing is, you won’t end up with him by playing it safe.
That’s partly Jay’s fault. Spoiler alert! Jay is the guy before the guy you end up with, and he’ll break your heart. Oh, God, will he break your heart! Just absolutely stomp on it, and then when he’s done stomping, he’ll take the Ginsu knives and just slice it all to smithereens.
And here’s the thing: After getting your heart broken by Jay, you’ll be really wary of getting into another relationship and of love in general. You’ll think, “Screw this! All this pain isn’t worth it!”
Yes, it is. First, keep in mind that, before the breakup, you and Jay will have a pretty great time, if you know what I mean. And you don’t want to miss Jay in a Speedo, trust me.
So there’s that.
But second, remember that love doesn’t always end like it does with Jay.
A lot of people think that being droll and bitter and cynical is somehow hip and edgy and cool, and maybe it is. But it’s also cowardly — and more than a little lonely. People act that way because they’re afraid of getting hurt.
Don’t be that guy. Be cautious with sex, but open to love. Weirdly, a lot of people get that exactly backward. But it’s one of life’s strange paradoxes that the only way to find true love is to be willing to risk being devastated by losing it.
Who knew love was so much like a Star Trek episode?
So … about your career.
The truth is we’ll make a lot of really, really stupid mistakes in our career. That play production in Los Angeles? What a fiasco! And you’ll listen to a lot of Hollywood producers spew a lot of Hollywood bullshit.
But there’s an old saying that you learn a lot more from failure than you do from success (although in success’s defense, it’s still a lot more fun!). What does it mean when a professional associate — an editor or an agent — supports you when you’re on the top of the world? That that editor or agent is not an idiot. It’s when things start to flag and someone still supports you — that’s how you know they’re the real deal. That’s how you know they believe in you.
Anyway, trust me on this: Just roll with all of it. Remember what I said about how important it is in love to be willing to take chances? That’s true in your career too. In other words, not only does this essay have a recurring theme, so does your life.
At one point, someone will say to you, “Would you be willing to teach in a college?” You’ll think they’re crazy — and you’ll be terrified that you’ll fall flat on your face. But if you’re willing to take a chance, it turns out you’ll be pretty good at it. And you’ll have a blast.
The weird thing is you’ll be pretty good at a lot of things you never even considered. But
the only way you’ll ever learn that is by being willing to risk looking like a complete idiot.
Which, um, you definitely will sometimes. I don’t want to sugarcoat things, so I should point out that as much as you might like to be, you’re never going to be an actor. Now, I’m not telling you not to audition for that play in college, just … write your lines from the top of the second act on your hand, okay? That’s all I’m sayin’.
Does failure suck? Does it hurt? Oh, it so does. But it doesn’t kill you. And as a philosopher you haven’t studied yet once said, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Seriously, it’s the people who never look like idiots who should be embarrassed, because that means they never took any risks. How pathetic is that?
What about your friends?
Here’s one thing you and I have a pretty good instinct for, and you’ll almost always get right: your friends. You’ll meet plenty of mean, arrogant, ignorant, bitchy, and/or full-of-it people. You can definitely ignore them. Just keep searching for the smart, thoughtful, considerate, kind, interesting ones. Sadly, it’s not always obvious which is which at first, so here’s the test: Just as with professional colleagues, it’s the ones who believe in you, the ones who stick around when times are bad. This is another reason why failure is so important: It shows you — loudly and clearly — exactly who your real friends are.
Oh, and the really great people? They don’t always look and act like you do, and aren’t necessarily even the same approximate age or race or weight as you. So completely disregard all that stuff.
Once you find your core circle of good friends — and there are only maybe ten truly fantastic ones in all — man, hold on to them for dear life. Be just as supportive and loyal to them as they are to you. And if ever in life, you start to think, “Oh, my God, I’m such a loser!” just open your eyes and look around you at all these terrific folks who love you.
You think these great people would hang around a loser? Not a chance.
We’re stupid, you and I, but it turns out we have a pretty good heart. Who knew?
Finally, we come to the last leg on the clunky metaphor of life’s dinner table: family. I could go into detail here, but I think you get the point: Stay open, take chances, risk failure, lather, rinse, repeat.
For what it’s worth, I know it seems scary, this life of ours. Truthfully? Sometimes you should be scared. Life can get pretty shitty — more than you know right now, actually.
But hey, it can also be pretty wonderful — also more than you know right now. And when all is said and done, the wonderful parts really do outweigh the shitty parts. And even the shitty parts, well, like I said, they’re there for a reason.
That’s all I have for now, but you and I really should get together sometime. Call me — we’ll do lunch! Do you love sushi yet? If not, I’ll introduce you to it and blow both our minds.
Brent Hartinger
P.S. No, I’m not going to tell you the name of the great guy you end up with! Would you really want to know? Come on — we both know we’re not the kind of person who reads the last chapter of a book first. But I can tell you he looks pretty smokin’ in a Speedo too.
Mayrita,
I hear you say, I want to die, and it tears at my soul that you’re only thirteen and ready to give up on life.
I wish you could have told me — your older self — what was happening and I’d have jumped to help:
A girl jammed a gun to my head and pulled my hair so hard my knees buckled. She hissed, “Disgusting tortillera. If you don’t change, I’ll kill you!” I knelt before her, begging, “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you want.”
That’s criminal! I’d have told you. It twists my heart to see you collapsed on your bed, writhing in pain, sobbing and trembling with fear. Hurry! Tell someone you trust so they find help.
I can’t. Three months ago I was kicked out of school for a love letter my girlfriend wrote me about our first time. It was snatched from my hand and read aloud by my teacher. It was so humiliating.
My best friend since first grade isn’t allowed to see me. Friends won’t let me sign their yearbooks. Bullies keep hounding me with, “Fags and dykes should be shot to death!” Everybody hates me. No one talks to me anymore.
Stop haters from tormenting and terrifying you. Call the cops, or it’ll take years of anguish, suffering, and struggles before you finally run.
The girl told me if I call the police she’ll blow my brains out. Bullies have some of my friends and neighbors behind them, cheering them on. Everyone thinks I deserve it. No one cares if I live or die. I can’t take it anymore. I know what to do for this pain to stop.
You’re going to kill yourself for idiots?
There’s no hope. Can’t you see? I’m cornered. I’m trapped. It’s not worth living so alone and hated by everybody. It’s too painful.
Shhh … I’m wrapping you now in your old baby blanket to see if it eases your pain.
It’s good that you’re crying. Go ahead. Let all the pain out. I’ll hold you in my arms and sing Mami’s sweet lullaby; it’ll soothe you. Duérmete mi niña, duérmete mi amor, duérmete pedazo de mi corazón. Sleep my little girl, sleep my little love, sleep little piece of my heart.
That makes me miss the time Mami loved me. She keeps getting anonymous letters from neighbors saying, “Leave our barrio! We don’t want lesbians or fags corrupting our children.”
Now we’ve got to move. Mami says it’s all my fault. I’ve ruined everyone’s life. I don’t want to live anymore. I’ve got to end it.
No! If you won’t get help or call the authorities, run away! Here’s money for a Greyhound bus ticket and the name of a civil rights attorney to look up in San Francisco. Get away from here. They’ll accept you with open arms and keep you safe.
I have no money and nowhere to stay. I’ll be homeless. Cops will drag me back. Mami will be even more upset. People are the same everywhere.
That’s not true. There are many gay kids, teachers, and nuns in your school who’ll secretly embrace you. Your fifth-period Spanish teacher, the one who wears a tight bun at the back of her head and laughs at your classroom antics, will understand.
J, the secretary forced to translate to your mom the letter your girlfriend wrote you, is a lesbo!
Mari C, the plump girl who sits at the back of the class with long bangs covering her pale, somber face? One day, you’ll meet her at a lesbian bar in Miami dancing with Anna, Lori, and C. She’ll be happy, laughing and talking, and so will you.
C — the witty, curly-haired, blonde tenth grader always tossing political jokes around — and you will be close friends for a while (if you know what I mean!). She’s now a lesbian attorney!
You could talk to any one of them. They’re just like you and won’t push you away.
And get this: The girl with the gun ended up having a drag-queen younger brother. Candela prances around wearing Spandex minidresses, glittering eyelids, screaming lipstick, and scandalous, ten-inch heels.
Stand up to those wretched nuns who won’t allow you back to school next year. Tell them what they’re doing is against the law. Many are frustrated lesbians. They only dream about loving the way you and your girlfriend do.
You’re lying to make me feel better. But it isn’t working. I feel like throwing up. I know what to do to make the pain stop for good. Maybe then they’ll all be sorry.
No! Don’t get back at everyone by dying. Get back at them by living and saving lives, starting with your own. Fight for your life! You’re wasting your precious time being plagued by fear. Don’t give tyrants the pleasure of seeing you lifeless in a coffin. The pain will end when you fight back! Start a Gay and Straight Alliance that raises awareness and shouts, LOVE not H8!
Are you nuts? I’m scared to walk down the street, much less stand up for my rights! You’re so naïve, for being older than me. It’s too late. There’s nothing to live for.
It’s people like you who’ve survived bullying
by standing up for their rights that have ended up changing laws. You kill yourself, and bullies win again. Then they’ll just terrorize more LGBTs.
This will be hard to believe, but Mami will one day accept you. She comes to love and understand you, no matter what.
You’ll have true, fun friends.
You’ll meet the love of your life who adores you (and you her!).
You’ll write books, and have thousands of LGBT and straight fans who’ll love and respect you! They’ll write you emails saying, “You’ve changed my life!”
Many who experienced the same horrors you’re going through now wanted to kill themselves too, until they read your first novel. They learned their lives could have meaning if they find support. You will literally save lives!
I will?
Yes! Take action and a whole new world will open up to you.
Life is a mystery where fantastic things can happen from one minute to the next, but only if you stay alive and fight for your life!
So go now — run!
Dear Benoit,
You’re gay. Hooray!
Your best friend, Daniel, isn’t. Unfortunately. The good news is that, before you know it, you will meet boys like Daniel who are gay. And they will love you the way Daniel cannot. And they will tell you so and show you so.