A New Hope

Growing up I had a pretty bleak view of my future as a gay man. The world, as I saw it, was one filled with hate, intolerance and death. For those in the LGBT community, these three things seemed to me, to be not only inevitable, but also certain. Despite my large and supportive group of friends and the high marks I received in school, I thought that no one (especially not my family) would ever accept or love me once they knew who I was.

How very wrong I was.

Coming out for me was one of the most loving and incredible experiences of my life and in what seemed like no time at all, I had almost all of my friends and family standing strong by my side. This love gave me an incredible strength and confidence to face the world outside of the one I knew; the one that glitters and dazzles, the ‘gay’ world. Completely out of my comfort zone, I threw myself into every event, club and march possible, desperate to understand and experience a part of myself I had hidden and denied for so long. However, as the novelty of this new world slowly began to fade I found myself longing for more.

Once again my education became my focus and with my renewed passion for the LGBT community I began the second year of my degree in education as an out and proud gay man, determined to make a difference in the lives of LGBT teachers and youth. Unlike my first time coming out, I found the academic community lacking in support and an absence of LGBT peers, who like me strived to make the world a better place. Once again, I felt alone and the hope I once felt for not only my own future, but also others like me slowly began to dissipate.

Now that I have found The Pinnacle Foundation and met my fellow scholars that hope has come back with a force that I haven’t felt since my 80 year old Nanna, held my hand, looked me in my eyes and said (in her very broken English) that she would always love me, no matter who I chose to love. To the foundation I say thank you for your incredibly kind support and unwavering passion for education. To my fellow scholars I say thank you for giving me back my hope for not only my future but for the future of all kids, whether they be LGBT or not. If your passion, commitment and dedication to your careers are any indication for the future of equality in all areas of this country, there is no reason for I or any other LGBT youth to ever feel hopeless again.

By Matt Russo

Hospital Discriminates and Fighting Back

I go back to study next week. Unfortunately I haven’t had my hysterectomy yet, despite being on the public waiting list for over 90 days. My abnormal medical condition has gotten worse over the last year. It was irregular heavy bleeding and when I say irregular I mean it could be bleeding weekly to every few months ranging from a few hours of bleeding to even 3 months of constant bleeding.

That is still happening except the bleeding has become heavier over time. This year I am now getting severe abdominal pain which has required several emergency department admissions and strong prescription medication such as panadine forte and endone. I don’t like these medications as they make me confused, dizzy and sleepy which interferes with daily activities that I need to concentrate on as well as have balance for activities such as study, driving and going to the gym.

There is not only the physical pain that I have been through but also emotional torment by being a man with such a humiliating medical condition involving female reproductive organs. It has been very embarrassing having to out myself as trans* in such a way in emergency departments in front of confused triage nurses and members of the general public listening in.

The good news is that I am on the waiting list to have a hysterectomy done publically to fix my pain and bleeding. I am also perusing my options into suing a hospital who refused to help me because I have transitioned from female to male (which I have in writing).

My doctor who has exhausted all non-surgical options to treat my condition for over five years was furious that his medical recommendations were ignored by a senior management who haven’t even met me and refuse to name themselves. He was shocked that the senior management went against the medical professionals who recommended this procedure and that they are fine with letting me suffer in pain and lose large amounts of blood just because I am transsexual.

The fact that I have legal options means not only a lot to me but also to the trans* and trans ally community. In fighting back against this hospital we are saying that discrimination is no excuse to refuse medical treatment. I want them to know that there are costly consequences for discrimination in hope that policy will change so this does not happen to others. We are standing up for ourselves and refusing to be oppressed.

Day One

As I begin to look forward to starting the second semester of my first year at Uni I am filled with feelings of excitement and anticipation. It makes me look back to the beginning of the year when I had my first ever class after not studying for something like 6 years. I was an emotional wreck. If only I knew then, what I know now…

University Day 1, February 2012:
I walk into possibly the most frightening area I have ever stepped foot, an area so richly drenched in the scent of academia that I can hardly breathe. I couldn’t feel more out of place. I move awkwardly amongst the crowd trying not to be noticed, desperately avoiding anyone who looks as though they might disrupt my strategically planned route to my first ever University tutorial. This environment is so foreign yet at the same time appears strangely familiar. It has aspects which remind me of high school and for a second I feel as though I have reverted to my high school self. I clutch my shoulder bag as if it were my life force, or my safety blanket. My only objective is survival, if I last the distance from the entrance gate to my classroom I will consider it my first achievement. The first of many I hope. 

As I dash in and out of the crowd with a panicked expression I suddenly realise how ridiculous I must look and try to steady myself. It doesn’t work and I somehow manage to make things worse by cutting off other students whose irritation is vividly stretched across their faces. I spot the nearest open space and move towards it, as I try to regain my composure I notice a sign outside a building that reads, “Electrical Engineering.” HOORAY! This is exactly the building which houses the classroom for my first tutorial. I can’t believe my luck! By my (obviously ill-informed) calculations I shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Most would call it coincidence, but I’m going with intuition! Maybe I’m not such a fish out of water after all. As I scour the halls searching for my assigned room I begin to feel my anxieties rise once again, “What if nobody likes me? What if it’s all too much for me?” I find my room and enter it with apprehension only to be met with smiling faces and a polite “Welcome” from my tutor. I realise immediately how silly I’ve been and find a chair to call my own. As my neighbour engages me in conversation I start to feel a new sense of pride rise from within me. It comes from the depths of my soul and engulfs me with such force I can hardly contain it. I’ve made it to the beginning of my future and I can’t wait to get started.

By Steven Walker

Breathe Through Your Nose

Imagine. You’re perfectly healthy. You have your good days and bad days, like most people. Only thing is, your bad days are far worse and far more frequent than most people. Sometimes things get so bad that you can barely breathe. It affects your quality of life. The worst part is that your illness is not easy to talk about. You don’t (usually) look sick.

Sometimes it strikes you in public. You’re having a bad day, something sets you off and one thing leads to another. The next minute you’re in a foetal position struggling to remember the breathing exercises your Psychiatrist taught you. Something about breathing through your nose. You’re crying and you’re not entirely sure why. Your chest feels ready to explode. If you survive this you might make it to work/uni/the party on time, right now you don’t care. You just want the world to stop for a minute so you can catch your breath.

I learned when I was diagnosed with this Anxiety Disorder that people can be cruel. They’ll sympathize with the kid who broke his leg or the girl who has severe diabetes. But when it comes to mental illness it’s out of sight out of mind. Don’t talk about it or you will suffer both the illness and peoples’ reactions to it, and stigma hurts. If people ask you why you’ve gained weight or vomit a lot or miss days off school or work, tell them you’ve got a virus. Don’t explain. They don’t want to know that your medication makes you ill or your anxiety is so bad that you can barely get out of bed, let alone leave the house. You’ll have a lot of viruses as a result.

They do care about you. But mental illness scares them, in part because they can’t see obvious physical signs of it. Seeing is believing in Western culture and as a result mental illness isn’t seen as real, except when you self-harm or your physical health suffers.

Well, after a decade of this, I’m pretty tired. Being tired at the age of 19 is not fun. I’ve been sick, made myself sick, missed school, failed classes, been physically and verbally assaulted, self-harmed, have scars, survived suicidal episodes, bad medication side effects (some of which are too graphic to write about here), last year I lived through the suicide of a family member, despair and the constant question: ‘when do I get better?’

I decided on my 18th birthday I wasn’t going to uphold the status quo by being quiet about my Anxiety Disorder. It wouldn’t be fair to me or the other people I know with mental illnesses, many of whom are LGBT. I’d like to think that honesty is the best policy and that it might help someone, somewhere. I know it helps me.

I’m not going to lie to you: I still struggle. I’m not depressed any more but the anxiety remains. There are days when I would rather eat my shoes than put them on and leave the house. Days like those I breathe deeply and remember that my phone has a lot of numbers in it. I can press a button and instantly be connected to someone who will listen. Honesty has allowed me to connect with people who can both support me and need my support. I feel loved.

I know that I am a strong, resilient person and that my struggle to get healthy is not in vain. I also know that mental health problems are extremely common amongst gay, lesbian, queer and trans* people. If we break the silence and support each other more, we can only get stronger as a community. And I know I love my community.

By Isobel Connell