An open letter to Leelah
Jan. 5th, 2015 10:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdThere's been a lot of talk. And I'm not sure if my reactions are victim-blaming, or transphobic. But they are my reactions, based on my lived experience.
Sweetheart,
It was only a year. Maybe two.
I know that seems like forever when you are 17. I remember that age. I remember being so very careful to guard every word out of my mouth. I remember plotting my escape.
The little things helped. Theater. The college acceptance letter as early as October. A summer job 80 miles from home. I'm sorry you didn't have all these.
I'm not trans. I'm bisexual. I blended in a lot.
My mother died about the same time you did. And she died never officially knowing I like to kiss girls. I think she suspected. But I knew she hated lesbians, so I gave her plausible deniablity. For thirty years.
I'm not saying you should have stayed in the closet forever, or even for thirty years, only making the transition after a long and macho life of being special forces and a CIA agent as one lady of my acquaintance did. But if you had given yourself a year, a year to plan your escape, retaining the male disguise for that time, you might still be with us.
I know you wanted to be out and honest. I know you wanted to see if your parents could love their daughter rather than the son they thought they had. It may even have been a test to see if they loved you more than their version of God. But to quote one of the all-time great gay movies (and if you're like my 17, you grew up watching this), "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?"
A year, Leelah, maybe two. That's all you had to last through.
I'm sorry you weren't born into a family that could love you for who you are. I'm sorry that your parents will treat Leelah as their son's murderer. I'm sorry you were in so much pain that you saw no other option, but instead destroyed yourself, your family and an unknown person's livelihood. I'm sorry the same internet that gave you the knowledge to know yourself and to come out, failed to give you the resources you needed to live.
I'm sorry things won't get better for you.
Sweetheart,
It was only a year. Maybe two.
I know that seems like forever when you are 17. I remember that age. I remember being so very careful to guard every word out of my mouth. I remember plotting my escape.
The little things helped. Theater. The college acceptance letter as early as October. A summer job 80 miles from home. I'm sorry you didn't have all these.
I'm not trans. I'm bisexual. I blended in a lot.
My mother died about the same time you did. And she died never officially knowing I like to kiss girls. I think she suspected. But I knew she hated lesbians, so I gave her plausible deniablity. For thirty years.
I'm not saying you should have stayed in the closet forever, or even for thirty years, only making the transition after a long and macho life of being special forces and a CIA agent as one lady of my acquaintance did. But if you had given yourself a year, a year to plan your escape, retaining the male disguise for that time, you might still be with us.
I know you wanted to be out and honest. I know you wanted to see if your parents could love their daughter rather than the son they thought they had. It may even have been a test to see if they loved you more than their version of God. But to quote one of the all-time great gay movies (and if you're like my 17, you grew up watching this), "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?"
A year, Leelah, maybe two. That's all you had to last through.
I'm sorry you weren't born into a family that could love you for who you are. I'm sorry that your parents will treat Leelah as their son's murderer. I'm sorry you were in so much pain that you saw no other option, but instead destroyed yourself, your family and an unknown person's livelihood. I'm sorry the same internet that gave you the knowledge to know yourself and to come out, failed to give you the resources you needed to live.
I'm sorry things won't get better for you.
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no subject
Date: 2015-01-05 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-07 06:27 am (UTC)One of my dreams, should I ever strike rich, is to set up Mama Angel's House, a housing solution for QUILTBAG kids who have no place to go. It would serve as a temporary shelter, connecting them with families who would take them in and be supportive.