Walking Wounded

For some reason, the film Born on the 4^th of July came to mind today, and I began thinking of how some of our stories are, in a way, similar. I saw the film for the first time when it came out 25 years ago. I was still pretty young, and I still had a major crush on Tom Cruise, so, of course, I was eager to see it. The film made a big impression on me. I had read a couple of books about Vietnam, saw some documentaries and heard interviews of people who were there. I was a baby when the war was raging, but it was still a regular topic of conversation when I got older. By my mid twenties, I had already come to the conclusion that the war had been a mistake and that a lot of people died unnecessarily because of it. I knew that it caused a great deal of tension and hostility in families, especially between the older generation who made policy and the young people who had to fight or had their friends, boyfriends and brothers put in harms way. The film made it all seem much more personal in some way. Maybe because I understood Ron Kovic’s relationship with his family and how he eventually came to reject many of the ideas and beliefs that had been taught to him as a child.

Like young Kovic, many of us accepted what our parents taught us. Some may have even become more extreme. Maybe others simply didn’t know how to reject beliefs that seemed so central to the culture in which we were raised.

But then something happened. Those beliefs we were told to never question came up against something so real we couldn’t ignore it. And maybe we got hurt in the process. Maybe some of us will never be the same.

After going through this life-changing event, many of us discovered that our families didn’t understand. Some of them didn’t even want to understand. And maybe we were hurt again when we realized that these people whom we had tried so hard to please weren’t willing to give us one single inch. We may have been willing to deny who we really were for their benefit, but when we just couldn’t pretend anymore, and we went to them and asked them to consider things from our perspective for once, the door was shut in our faces.

When we gave up or nearly gave up on our families, we went out into the world looking for some understanding and some empathy. And there we were told to get over it, to stop dwelling on the past and to stop bothering people with our complaints.

Some might think it’s a stretch to compare our situation to someone who was paralyzed in a war and saw a number of people killed, but this is the year I turn 50, and I still have PTDS and extreme social phobia. I live alone and hardly ever leave the house. I’ve never driven a car or had a boyfriend. My small income is just enough for me to get by, and I fear I will end up homeless. I know many LGBT people are homeless for a time, especially when they’re young. Many experience all sorts of mental health problems, and a high percentage of us have committed or tried to commit suicide. Many of us remember when gay men were dying in large numbers from a mysterious disease and no one of authority seemed to want to do anything about it. We have lived in a society that dumps a huge amount of hate on us, hate that we are told is godly and righteous. Sometimes the hate comes from our own families. I think what we went through is like a war. Some of us didn’t survive. Others are among the walking wounded.