Finding a Voice in the dark

Who can honestly say that sidewalk construction in Dallas saved their life? I can, but my story starts long before that night after I left the Rose Room. So let’s start at the beginning.

Being openly gay in a town of less than 1,000 people in far North Texas is difficult enough.

But I was also a cheerleader, and there was no way for me to hide my flamboyant personality. Besides, even with the name-calling, I did not want to hide that part of myself.

But even though I tried not to let the bullying and the name-calling and the physical assaults get to me, over time they did.

I was at the end of my rope, and I thought the only way out was to end my own suffering by my own hand. I had planned it out for weeks; I had it down to a day, time and place.

I decided for my last night I would go into Dallas and out to the Rose Room at the Village Station (showing my age for sure with that). I thought I’d have a fun time out then go back to my hotel and take care of what I had so meticulously planned for weeks.

As I walked up the narrow staircase to the Rose Room for the first time ever, I remember thinking to myself: “I wonder what will it be like in here? Would I find friends? Like-minded guys or gals like myself who grew up sheltered in a small town?”

I’ll never forget hearing the music and seeing the lights for the first time. I thought to myself, “Tonight really is ending on a high note!” At least I was planning on going out on my own terms and not at the hands of some bigot in my small hometown.

As I watched Krystal Summers and the other performers on stage and all the groups of gays gossiping, I wondered why I could never seem to have that or locate my “tribe”?

I heard the bartender say, “Last Call” (this was when you could still get into the bar/club at 18 years old). And I knew in my heart what I was going to do, what I felt like I HAD to do. Seeing all the smiling faces — seeing so many people like me — made my heart full, but still, I had planned on this night being my last night on earth.

As I was walking back to my hotel, I noticed they were doing construction, so the sidewalk was blocked off with that tacky orange plastic stuff with all the holes along with what seemed like 500 safety cones. I knew I couldn’t go that way, so I turned and headed down what looked like an alley to find another way to my hotel.

But as I turned into the alley, I saw a bench on which was laying a copy of Dallas Voice, just sitting there staring at me with what looked like some cartoon drawing on the cover. It felt like my guardian angel was watching over me closely that night.

I picked up the publication and began to walk and read. Before I knew it, I was in tears from reading an article that seemed to mirror my own life and struggles. But that story ended on a happy note with lots of love from their friends.

At that moment, all thought of ending my own life vanished. I knew if this stranger I was reading about could overcome all their obstacles, then so could I. I felt like that writer and I were old friends and that the article was written just for me.

I cried the entire 20-25-minute walk back to my hotel, reading that newspaper for the second time. And when I got back to my hotel, I knew my life was changed forever. I knew that if my new “friend” who wrote the article I just read — and reread again and again — could find the strength to go on and thrive, then so could I.

I found a therapist who specialized in LGBTQ issues the next day. Today I feel like a new person, and I hope my story can reach someone and touch them, just as that story touched me.

Just think: Had there not been sidewalk construction that night, I probably would not be here to share my story. I’ve had ups and downs since then, but my downs are nowhere near as depressing as they were before I read that article on that cold walk from The Village to my cheap hotel in Dallas.

Thank you Dallas Voice for saving my life and the lives of so many others. Thank you for giving us voiceless a voice.