A Chance to Help

I'm big on helping others, and ever since April Winchell over at Regretsy helped my shop sell out two months ago, my drive to pay it forward is even stronger. I joined a fabulous Etsy team called April's Army, a group of dynamic and amazing artists from the Regretsy sphere who are gathered together in solidarity to pool their resources in an effort to provide funds for people in need.

The last week of every month, April's Army will open a shop filled to the brim with items donated by team members - some of them gorgeous, some of them snarky, some of them just plain fun - and all proceeds from sales in the shop go to a different recipient each month.

The inaugural recipient for all proceeds from this month's April's Army shop is Jason Williams. Jason is a young man from Alabama who, with the help of his fiancee, Robin Lynne, is fighting pancreatic cancer. Jason is enrolled in a promising clinical trial at Johns Hopkins but he needs help to pay for his expenses. All profits from April's sale will go to Jason for his treatment.

Here's how you can put some good back into the world and help out someone in need:

Robin, Jason's fiancee, is raising money through her For Jason Etsy shop. To make a direct donation or to meet Jason and read about his progress, check out his blog. Or, you can click over to April's Army Shop and purchase something fabulous. I bought this April Winchell Lego minifig keychain, because, well, HELLO:

The shop has been open for a scant few days and already there are 116 sales and counting. There are still some items available for purchase, but the response from the Regretsy/Etsy community has been overwhelming. Join the April's Army Facebook page today to receive word each month when the shop goes live with all new items - there is always someone in need, and this shop will be there to help. There is way more love in this world than we all think, and no one said we can't have a bit of fun while spreading it around. Please help if you can, or at the very least, share this link. I call this "Click-tivism" and it costs you absolutely nothing but a few taps on your mouse.

30 DoP #23 - "It Gets Better"

Same Sex Wedding Cake Toppers

A week ago, I received this message on Facebook from my very first boyfriend (the only ex that I still consider alive):

"A friend of mine has a 14 year old son who just came out. He's going through a really rough time right now at school with bullies. His mother has mentioned that all the bullying and name calling is starting to take a toll on his health and well being.
The cast I am currently working with is putting together an "It Gets Better" care package filled with encouragement, and our own personal stories to help him though this tough time. If you'd like to share your story or provide words of encouragement, please email them to me or send them in a Facebook message. I will print out your story and send it with our package. We are going to get everything ready to be mailed by this Wednesday Feb. 9th! I would love to send as much as I can to help him out.

His name is Kurtie."

Dan Savage's "It Gets Better" campaign is something the world has needed for a long time. I've always been an advocate of the "old" teaching the "young". Experience, being unique, is always the best teacher, wouldn't you agree? Shared experience is equally strong, and "It Gets Better" fosters that shared experience. It brings together the people of the LGBT community, and not just in an effort to stop bullying. When we share our stories, we're tapping into something primal to the human experience, and there's beauty and strength in that. So I woke up early this morning and sat to pen my contribution to Kurtie's care package, and found some catharsis. I found myself wishing this kind of global community existed for me when I was going through hell as a kid. I'd like to share my entry, even if it's a bit of an overshare. Perhaps in posting it here, someone like Kurtie will see it and find hope.

With Love, to Kurtie:

I had big glasses. My hair was always a mess – curls on the sides and straight as a pin down the middle. I played with the girls. Theatre, drama club, main tenor in chorus, an artist to my core. Something was different about me from my first memories, and because it was encoded into my genes, it exhibited its fabulous tendencies in my body, my movement, my pattern of speech. I was gay, and I was mocked.

It was scary growing up in rural Illinois. The town I was raised in was surrounded by corn and emptiness – no bright city lights for this one. It was all stock car races, county fairs, and football. Machismo was the name of the game, and because I was more interested in pretending to be a wizard, playing with Barbies, painting, and reading fantasy novels, I was picked on relentlessly. I remember the name of every person who called me a “fag” in school. I can recall their sneers and barking laughter in locker rooms and on gymnasium floors when I was asked over and over again, “Pike – are you gay?!” It was an exercise in torture and humiliation for me to attend classes every day, and though I had my strong contingent of family and freaks and geeks to bolster me, protection from the mental and emotional abuse a dorky gay kid in rural America was limited at best. I grew up feeling “less than”. I grew up being “other” I grew up under a magnifying glass.

Bully is the wrong word for what I went through. I was abused by my peers in every sense of the word – emotional, physical, mental, and verbal. They were abusers. They didn’t let me love me.

But it got better.

I grew into my big ears and long limbs. My muscles toned to fit my body, I got contact lenses, and by senior year – the year when people in my graduating class seemed to really realize the end of something was imminent – I had decided enough was enough. I wouldn’t hide any longer. People seemed to leave me to my devices more as I stood up for myself and my friends, and though the abuse didn’t cease, I ceased allowing it to define my existence. It wasn’t easy, nor was it sudden. Perhaps my confidence developed as my body finally developed; maybe the threshold had been reached. If anything, a switch had been flipped. I came out reluctantly, though it was more for my own understanding than to tell people some hidden fact that were unaware of. Small town politics and small-mindedness were still all around me, but I tried to carve out a niche in which I was able to at least survive quietly.

It got better.

I met my first boyfriend while waiting tables at a Cracker Barrel (an establishment famous for their “no gays” policies, if you enjoy irony as much as I do). I got bold and left my number on his table one afternoon. Call it another step in throwing a wrench in the mean gearwork of the region I lived in. I was nothing if not bold. By some odd and hilarious twist of fate, he also worked at that Cracker Barrel in off-times from college, and we started dating. It was butterflies in the stomach, it was exciting, it was…well, bold. I fell into the best kind of love with him. He taught me a lot of extremely important things about myself – that I was beautiful; I was interesting; I deserved love like everyone else. I remember taking lots of long naps that summer with him, meeting his family (though I’m sure we were both terrified), and kissing him. Kissing him, for as cliche and ridiculous as it might sound, solidified my knowledge of myself as a gay person, and it turned out it wasn’t as scary as I once thought. I wasn't the only one out there. My love for him turned a fresh page and began a new chapter in my life. It let me love myself, FINALLY.

That boyfriend was our mutual friend, Shain. I’m not surprised he’s put this all together for you, Kurtie. He’s the best kind of person.

He holds a place in my heart that's unalienable. He was a link in a long chain of love in my life - not just romantic love, but a respectful love that we all need in our lives, especially as gay people. Shain and I allowed our lives to take their respective directions, and before I knew it I had left that town for college. Those four years allowed me to reinvent myself as a more genuine version of me. I studied Theatre, met people who had no knowledge of the abuse I suffered as a dorky kid in the cornfields of Illinois, and crystallized into a more honest person, both in regards to myself and my emotions, but to the world at large as well. Doors opened. I was an artist, and it was a GOOD thing there. Encouraged by a professor whose love was only matched by the size of his personality, my life blossomed further. He’s still an extremely close friend, and growing through our lives, both gay men, has been the pinnacle of education. I know you’ll find people like that, too. Look forward to it!

It got still better.

Left college. Began a short-lived career as a Costume Designer. Traveled. Loved, with all its requisite ups and downs. Learned. Made art. Eventually found myself in Chicago, a National Makeup Artist for Sephora, the first of my kind. I spent a few years all over the map nurturing a new art and a new facet of myself. I met my current partner, whose patience and care has proved that all my frustration in love and life was worth every single second. I have huge legions of friends who are all examples of the good things the world can produce out of adversity. My family loves me (you and I share that). As a twenty-something, I’m as fantastic as I’ve ever been. I made another bold move, leaving a horrible job and beginning my own jewelry line which thrives today and is a constant reminder that I was right all along – I’m a hundred times more artistic and creative, interesting, beautiful, intelligent, successful, and bold than those abusers in school ever allowed me to believe. They were wrong.

It got better.

It keeps getting better.

You have that to look forward to. Keep your eyes on the horizon. Love your friends. Be thankful for your family. Make bold strides. Don’t be scared to be scared, but move through it and take notes. You’ll need them later when your life coalesces into a unique and gorgeous thing that only YOU can take credit for. It’ll happen, trust me. Self-confidence and self-love are vital survival tools. You’re a perfect version of yourself, and you owe it to yourself and the people you love to perfect that perfection. Above all things, love yourself as openly and beautifully as you can possible stand it. Love yourself so much it hurts.

We love you, Kurtie. We’re all in this together!

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