October 18, 2010 3 Comments
I’ve meant to write about all of the recent suicides of LGBT teenagers. I’d been waiting to find the right words. Then I found out about the Anoka-Hennepin School District, and my heart broke, and I can’t not write about it. THREE suicides of gay students, in one high school, in one year? What the hell is going on at that school?
Perhaps later, I’ll be able to write something more substantial. All I can do now, is pour the inside of my broken heart onto the page. People are dying! Teenagers are dying! Their hearts are being broken, their souls are being crushed, and all these schools can say about it is that bullying is bad, and they’re against it, and since they’re obviously failing, they’ll add some more meaningless training?
That’s not enough.
Dig your hearts out of the back of your freezer! What is wrong with you? How can anyone stand by while someone is suffering so? I can’t fathom it. I just can’t fathom it.
Words are so powerful. A kind word is strong, but a sole kind word in the midst of so much cruelty can save a life. Is that not worth the effort?
I don’t care about your meaningless training. I want to know how you could have let it happen in the first place. Reaction means little to me right now. I cannot fathom the amount of self-absorption, self-righteousness, cruelty, lack of empathy, and the loads of back-turning it takes to ignore what was going on in that school, to let it escalate, to the point of three young people dying in one year at one school.
Ah, I wish I could have given each one of them a hug. I wish I could have been there, let them pour all their hurt and frustration and hopelessness out, and cried with them. I know what that pain feels like, and I know that just one person giving a damn would have made all the difference. Just one person, giving a real, sincere, heartfelt damn.
I know what that pain feels like, and no one, no one, deserves that kind of pain. Not ever.
I’m sorry. I hate that anyone has had to feel that pain. I hate that you feel that pain. I’m sorry I didn’t do everything I could to prevent it. I’m sorry that you were so desperate to be free of it that death was your only option. I failed you. We all have failed you. I haven’t forgotten you. I won’t, ever. And I know that’s meaningless, because what can I do now? You’re gone. The only thing I can do now is love more, see more, be more. And never, ever forget.