Breaking the Surface (39 page)

I held it together until the final scene, which was always a difficult one. That’s when Darius comes back as an angel and asks Jeffrey to look after his lover, Sterling. Darius says, “Be nice to Sterling.” Peter Bartlett, the actor who played Sterling, looked down at the floor, because he knew if he looked at me he would lose it, too.

The curtain call was terribly emotional. I had tears streaming down my face. The audience didn’t know that this was my last performance, so they were probably wondering what was wrong with me. The whole experience had been so emotional for me that I had no energy left to keep up the happy face. I went to my dressing room, packed up my things, and headed home.

The experience of performing in
Jeffrey
really opened up my life. It gave me new hope and it also gave me a hint that maybe I could still make a difference in this lifetime. That renewed hope gave me just what I needed to make a couple of big decisions, both of which I made in November of 1993, toward the end of my run in
Jeffrey
. One was to get off the painkillers I depended on to get me through the day.

The other was getting started on this autobiography.

I
F
I
WAS GOING
to take an honest look back at my life, which I had to do in order to tell my story, my mind had to be clear. I decided to get sober. I had to face my emotional pain, not deaden it. But that wasn’t the only incentive to stop taking the painkillers. I was ashamed that I was dependent on drugs, and I didn’t want that hanging over me anymore.

By the time I decided to quit, Tylenol with codeine was no longer my drug of choice. When I was in the hospital being treated for the fungal infection, my doctor prescribed Percocet for the severe abdominal pain I was experiencing. I was only supposed to take the Percocet for a short time, but I quickly grew dependent on it and went right on taking it.

Getting off Percocet was the most uncomfortable thing I’d ever experienced. I had to wean myself off, because I didn’t know how functional I’d be if I tried to quit cold turkey. I was onstage every night, so I had to be functional. First, I cut back to half a tablet a day. That was okay. Then I did quarters, which also didn’t seem to be a problem. But when I tried to go off it entirely for a day or two, my skin felt itchy to the core and I couldn’t sleep.

With that kind of reaction, there was no way I could stop the Percocet entirely while I was still performing. I decided to finish up the prescription on quarter-doses, which I figured would last me until I went home to California for Thanksgiving. I hoped the long weekend would be enough time to get over the withdrawal symptoms. I also thought that if I had to, I’d check myself into the hospital and delay my return to New York.

The first three days at home were pretty bad. Between the itchy, crawling skin, not being able to sleep, and terrible anxiety, I was miserable the whole time. It wasn’t as if I could tell anyone what I was going through. No one knew that I’d been taking the pills, not even Steven. By the end of the holiday, the symptoms began to subside, and knowing that I was going back to New York to start work again gave me something to focus on other than how rotten I was feeling.

I’m still embarrassed and ashamed that I depended on drugs to get me through some rough times. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have choices. I could have gone to a counselor, which I did briefly, but I didn’t stay with it. Killing the pain just seemed so much easier than dealing with it.

Once I was off the Percocet, I began thinking more seriously about doing my autobiography. I realized that the bottom-line reason I wanted to do it was because I didn’t know how much longer I had to live, and I wanted to tell my story in my own words while I was still alive. I’d had a pretty good scare over the summer, and I didn’t want to wind up like Rock Hudson or Liberace. Rock Hudson only came forward with the truth at the very end of his life, long after he was in a position to tell the public himself. Liberace died hoping to take his secret with him. I want to be able to do this with dignity, to stand up with a sense of pride in who I am, to say, “This is who I am and this is what I have and this is what I’ve done.”

Part of the motivation behind doing this book was the sense that maybe my story could make a difference in other people’s lives. I knew it would make a big difference in my life by letting me get out from under all the lies and half truths. Of course, I didn’t need to write a book to do that. I could have held a press conference or arranged for an in-depth interview with a magazine or gone on a television talk show. But at the time I decided to do the book, I didn’t have nearly the confidence to do that. I wasn’t at all sure of myself when it came to talking about everyday things, let alone subjects as complex and emotional as homosexuality and HIV. Also, I wanted to put my sexual orientation and my HIV diagnosis in the context of my entire life. I thought the best way to do that was in a book.

I didn’t really know where to start when it came to figuring out how I’d do my autobiography. I knew nothing about the publishing business, so I started talking to some of the new acquaintances I’d met since coming to New York for
Jeffrey
. One of those people, Robby Browne, who is also a diver—and a four-time gold medalist in the Gay Games—put me in touch with my coauthor, and within several weeks we had a proposal, an agent, and a contract. That turned out to be the easy part. Going through my life was even more painful than I’d imagined it would be.

From the very first day that I sat down with my coauthor it was an emotional roller coaster. Without the Percocet to blunt the bad feelings, I had a really hard time. The more we talked, the more depressed I got. It was clear that I needed to get professional help. I asked around and got a referral to a psychologist, and after procrastinating for several weeks, I called and made an appointment. What a blessing that turned out to be. How could I have waited so long?

After the first several sessions with the psychologist, and in consultation with a psychiatrist, I was put on an antidepressant. I’ve suffered from depression all my life, and I’ve always assumed it was something I had to battle. After a few weeks, the depression began to lift. It wasn’t like taking a painkiller, which only took the edge off and left me feeling like I was in a fog. This time, I started feeling normal for the first time in my life. Not that life was perfect. There was—and is—plenty to deal with in therapy, but at least I’m no longer overwhelmed by incredibly dark and paralyzing moods.

Many of the people closest to me were not that supportive of my decision to do my autobiography. Several friends and family members were very concerned about the impact telling the truth would have. Even Steven, whom I’d been with for nearly four years by this point, was against the book. His objection to the project contributed in a big way to my decision to end our relationship. I also came to realize that I got involved with Steven in the first place because I thought he wouldn’t hurt me, not because I thought we had a lot to offer each other. We’ve gone our separate ways, and for a change, I didn’t have to pack my things and move.

Those who objected to the book had a hard time understanding why I didn’t want to just go on living the way I had been. They didn’t understand that hiding out in semiretirement in Malibu wasn’t living. Unless you’re living in the kind of isolation I was, having to keep secret something as profound as an HIV diagnosis, it’s hard to understand how crushing that can be. It’s like you’re on an island all by yourself. I had to get off that island, and working on the book was my way of doing it. I didn’t see where I had a lot to lose by telling my story. I thought I had a lot to gain.

My original plan had been to wait until after the book’s publication to talk about being both gay and HIV-positive. But a number of things happened that led me to step forward a little earlier than I expected to talk about being gay.

Soon after I started working on the book, it became clear that the whole gay issue might not be nearly as big a deal as I had once thought it was. The first time I got that sense was when Liz Smith, the gossip columnist, published an item about my signing to do the book with Random House. The item mentioned that I would be talking about my homosexuality in the book. Strange as it may seem, that was the first time it was ever stated in the press that I was gay. I held my breath for a few days after that, but nothing much happened other than phone calls from talkshow producers who wanted me to appear as a guest. The sky didn’t fall. I didn’t get any hate mail. The lack of reaction was almost disappointing.

A month later, I was visiting with Ron and Mary Jane in Fort Lauderdale. I was at the Swimming Hall of Fame pool doing some practice dives, and this guy kept coming over to ask me questions, which was annoying. Finally, he asked something about my acting, and I told him that I’d recently been in an Off Broadway play called
Jeffrey,
which was about gay dating in the nineties. I thought that would scare him away. But I was wrong. He wasn’t at all put off.

I was pleased with myself that I’d been that bold—even if my intentions were less than honorable—and I learned an important lesson. The whole gay issue might be much larger in my head than it was in the minds of the general public. Maybe it wasn’t so shocking after all. That helped me feel a little more comfortable being myself and speaking honestly.

At the same time, Robby Browne started encouraging me to think about getting involved in Gay Games IV, which was scheduled to take place in June 1994 in New York City. The Gay Games is an Olympic-style event that brings together mostly gay and lesbian athletes from around the world. More than ten thousand athletes were expected to attend, a larger number than came to the ’88 Olympics. At first I was a little hesitant, because that would be very public. I didn’t know if I was ready. But after thinking about it, I eventually decided that I’d participate in the opening ceremonies and do at least one diving exhibition prior to the diving competition.

I got to New York the Thursday before the opening ceremonies of the Gay Games to join the other gay and lesbian divers at practice. Everyone was wonderfully supportive and welcoming. I don’t know exactly what I expected, but I had no trouble fitting in. In the diving world, I’d always been something of an outsider because I was gay. Now here I was with a group of divers who were gay and I didn’t have to feel at all self-conscious. I could be myself and not worry about being judged. That was incredibly liberating.

Because of a schedule conflict, I couldn’t be at the opening ceremonies, which were set for Saturday, so they arranged for me to tape a video. I figured that would be easier than actually speaking in front of a large crowd. I was also a little worried about how I’d be received by the fifteen thousand mostly gay and lesbian people in the audience. Over the years I’d gotten an occasional note from gay people who knew I was gay but were disappointed that I hadn’t been more public about my sexual orientation. I wasn’t sure if this was a widespread feeling or not, but it did make me wonder about how welcome I’d be.

The script for my videotaped welcome was very simple. This would be the first time I publicly acknowledged being gay. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. The video starts with me doing a dive, and then I swim to the side of the pool and say:

   Hi! I’m Greg Louganis. Sorry I’m not with you tonight in person to celebrate the start of Gay Games IV, but I’ll be there in a couple of days, back on the diving board joining other gay and lesbian athletes from around the world.

   I’m real excited to be part of an event that’s all about true Olympic ideals. This is our chance to show ourselves
and
the world how strong we are as individuals and as a community.

   Welcome to the Games! It’s great to be out and proud.

I wish I could have been in the stadium to hear the reaction when the video was shown, but several people called to tell me that the audience erupted in cheers as soon as my video was introduced, and everyone went wild when I said that final sentence. I said it so casually that you would never guess what it took to get to the point in my life where I felt comfortable enough to publicly acknowledge something so fundamental about myself.

As promised, I got back to New York a couple of days later, in time to do an exhibition between rounds in the diving competition. I just about melted from the way I was welcomed. The audience gave me a standing ovation when I was introduced for my exhibition. They cheered and cheered. In that moment, I knew everything would be okay. With that kind of support from gay and lesbian people, I figured I could handle any kind of criticism I got for coming forward. I’ve never felt so warmly embraced in my life, and for the first time, I felt like a complete person.

I had such a good time being at the diving event that I volunteered to do the announcing. I came back a couple of days later for the second night of the diving competition to do the announcing again and to do another exhibition. On that second night, I also got to present a gold medal to Robby Browne. I placed the medal around his neck and I gave him a big kiss and a hug. Later that evening, I was in a cab with Robby and I said, “I wonder where that kiss will wind up?” The place had been filled with television cameras and photographers. Robby said, “What kiss?” It might not have been memorable for him, but that Friday night,
CBS Evening News
did a story on the Gay Games, and there we were, kiss and all.