Editor’s Note: This article is part of a series of articles addressing the difficulties of life at SLUH for members of the LGBTQ+ community in an attempt to raise awareness of their daily struggles and start a conversation on ways that we as individuals and as a school can change our habits to be more inclusive of LGBTQ+ individuals. The writer interviewed over a dozen alumni and is pulling from those interviews for each of the articles. This article focuses on the mental health of LGBTQ+ students at SLUH.

It’s safe to say that mental health is often one of the greatest challenges a high school student will face, especially at a place like St. Louis U. High, infamous for its rigorous curriculum and expansive co-curriculars. Luckily for SLUH students, they can rely on their friends to help lift them out of tough spots—to crack a joke that relieves tension, to help out with some stressful homework, to sit down and have a heart-to-heart when something bothersome comes up—and this sense of togetherness has persisted for generations, oftentimes the defining characteristic of SLUH. But problems arise when the very classmates that are supposed to be your brothers are the cause of your troubles.

The latter case is the one that affects many LGBTQ+ students at SLUH. Instead of feeling open with their classmates and secure in their position at school, many of the students I interviewed, both current and graduated, expressed discomfort with and even at times hostility from their fellow Jr. Billikens. And in a large number of these cases, this discomfort heavily affected their mental health.

“(I was) very much afraid that I was going to say something or do something that would warrant me unwanted attention that would get me looks,” said Nicholas Dalaviras, ‘20. “I even knew straight boys at SLUH who were just afraid to do certain things because they don't want to be called out by their friends for being a little baby and for being a girl and for whatever.”

Dalaviras was adamant in noting that a culture of masculinity at an all-boy school is not necessarily a bad thing. It is an all-boy school after all. From him, problems arose when it became acceptable to judge another student’s masculinity based on something like a person’s dress, interests, sexual orientation.

“It's the culture of masculinity at the school—to the point where I think a significant portion of the population who is gay and most of those kids don't come out until after high school because they're so scared of what their classmates are going to think of them,” said Dalaviras.

For some of the students, it became an issue of remarketing themselves to a straight audience.

“I pretty frequently at SLUH, had an interaction where a straight classmate who I considered fairly close would tell me they have nothing against gay people and have no problem with gay people but that some gay people are just so annoying and out there, basically referring to the more feminine, flamboyant side of things,” said Johno Jackson, ’20. “They would basically say, more or less, ‘Johno, you're not like other gay people,’ and I didn't really know how to respond to that. It was meant as a compliment. It was meant as a pick me up. But to me, it was pretty obviously a put down.”

For others, they simply had to learn to live without the support of many of their straight peers.

“It was never like I didn't have any friends, really it was more like, ‘I don't feel like a part of my class’ or ‘I don't feel like a part of SLUH’ just because I think there's so much taboo; nobody wanted to be friends with the gay kid,” said Fitz Cain, ’20.

“I pretty frequently at SLUH, had an interaction where a straight classmate who I considered fairly close would tell me they have nothing against gay people and have no problem with gay people but that some gay people are just so annoying and out there, basically referring to the more feminine, flamboyant side of things. They would basically say, more or less, ‘Johno, you're not like other gay people,’ and I didn't really know how to respond to that. It was meant as a compliment. It was meant as a pick me up. But to me, it was pretty obviously a put down.”

Johno Jackson '20

“I think it was either at the end of freshman year or like the beginning of sophomore year that I just stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria,” said Francesco Galante, a former SLUH student who left in his sophomore year after homophobic comments proved overwhelming and severely damaging to his mental health. “I’d just go to the library because the people that I was surrounded with didn't make me feel comfortable.”

According to Jimmy Wolfe, ’19, this separateness, enforced by outspokenly uncomfortable or apathetic students, was more prominent than any openly homophobic language.

“I think that's what I think of homophobia—as this separateness,” said Wolfe, noting that having to struggle through such a difficult climate also forced him to mature faster than his classmates. “You constantly have to filter yourself in a way and and almost make yourself more palatable to the people that you're around all the time, which definitely makes you more self-aware, and I think facing that type of adversity at a young age definitely makes you have to grow up faster.”

Alex Seidel, ’10, similarly expressed a feeling of accelerated maturity in his high school years, citing the tough skin he had to build for himself—an armor to protect from the piercing insults of his classmates.

But of all my conversations with gay alumni concerning mental health, the most impactful was the testimony of Komlavi Adissem, ’20.

“I won't sugarcoat it and say that it was perfect, being openly gay at SLUH, because I got snide remarks behind my back and whispers and all sorts of nonsense like that. And that was one problem,” said Adissem. “I always felt like I had to watch my back, both from people who I was afraid would be rude or less demeaning or outright like animals because I am gay, as well as from people within the community who think that I checked all the boxes of what it meant to be in the LGBT community.”

Komlavi went on.

“I tried to commit suicide multiple times, and I spent weeks at a time in mental health facilities because I was in such a bad place. Sure there were multiple reasons for that but being gay and coming to terms with my sexuality in the environment of SLUH, which is already so competitive with grades and opportunities, created the perfect storm for me to just flip.”

A pit formed in my stomach at those words. I’d heard that lots of people my age were feeling depressed and suicidal, but as far as I knew, no one in my personal life had attempted it. This was a friend— someone I went to parks with, someone who I’d talked to for hours at a time while working on yearbook pages, someone who I care about deeply. I had a hard time falling asleep for the next few nights.

I’d love to say that Komlavi’s experience was a completely unique one, but the CDC reports that LGBTQ+ students are 140 percent more likely to skip a day of school out of safety concerns compared to straight peers and are nearly five times as likely to attempt suicide— 29 percent to five percent. In 2020, the Trevor Project conducted a 40,000 person survey, the largest survey of LGBTQ+ individuals, and found that 48 percent of respondents had engaged in self-harm in the past year. Alarmingly, 46 percent of respondents who wanted to see a psychiatrist or other form of help for their psychological problems were unable to receive it in the past year.

Mental health affects many who walk the halls of SLUH, and it’d be inaccurate and immoral to suggest that it’s something that only affects the LGBTQ+ community or is solely caused by straight students. Mental health is a topic that the administration is currently battling, so there is hope for a brighter future for students at SLUH struggling with anxiety, depression, and various other mental problems. I hope that they think about gay students while they tackle this issue because, while homophobia is not the only cause of mental distress for the gay community at SLUH, it can often be a driving factor and a large hurdle on the path to self-love and recovery.

While I recognize that this article serves as no antidote to mental health, I hope to aid in the struggle by shedding light on the issue. And while it will be a long fight to distinguish the fires of mental health issues for all students, for now this conversation is ongoing.