When I was born the only net was in a yabby net and the only tubes were the ones in my body for most of my childhood. The doctors struggled to get my convulsions under control and work out what kind of epilepsy I had.
No one was telling gays it got better, because if you were Gay and people found out, the least you were punished was to be beaten within an inch of your life and run out of town. The worst, short of death, was serious time in prison.
It never got better for me. Not for a few decades anyway. As I turned about 4 they had a name and pill for my epilepsy but not for my parents’ divorce. Once the divorce was happening it still wasn’t great because a member of my family worked out what rape and molestation was and I was his test case. It kept up for the next decade.
When the decade long abuse finished, did it get better? Hell no, because once the sexual urges of my molester started encouraging him to move onto younger victims, mine mind was questioning who and what I was.
The answer was gay. No it was transgender. My solution was, at least for about 20 years, to play it straight or stop breathing. You see in my family you drowned rabid dogs and queers.
So I got physical. I got tough and I got high and I got drunk. My 20’s were a blur. Did it get better? Not that I remember, but remembering was hard unless it was written on the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle. I married and I had children. I loved them and was a good parent. The children were taken and I got divorced. Did it get better? Hell no, but I got sober. At least for about a decade. I got free and I got Gay. I could finally be me and I thought I could live with my freedom and then it became obvious the only time I could live with the pain of my life was blowing a bong, draining a quart of Jack or my new friend snorting a gram of pure speed.
Did it bet better ? Well for about 72 hours at a time. All courtesy of the best pink champagne meth amphetamine the Queensland’s Gold Coast. I was lost in a blur for a few years. Until one day a smart mouthed beautiful drug counselor convinced me life would get better; it always does when you remember it, she kept reminding me. So my new sobriety started one minute at a time. Four months after I got sober life did really get better because I met Ella. I followed her to New York to love and to 13 years of marriage. This 17th of April. 14 years with her, 14 years of sobriety, after 10 years of molestation and 10 years of hard drinking and 3 years of speed up my nose and 2 suicide attempts with stolen children but I am still here. It did get better. I had to just be more patient that my demons.
If you’re reading this in Australia it’s my birthday, 15th of April and I am still here because these days I live and love. I know love and I hope to stay in love with my Ella for the rest of my life.
I am not saying every day is wonderful. I a in a wheelchair these days and will be for life, but I have seen more of the world, eaten more wonderful food and learned to speak more wonderful languages and seen more amazing sunrises, than I ever imagined I would or could. I have lived this life because I didn’t wait for someone to make it better. I just kept putting one foot in front of another, one wheel push after another, till it did get better.
I never thought I would make 14. I never thought I would make 30 and here I am 53. Hang in there it does get better