two twenty eight

the journal of a positive person

Archive for March 2008

i am thirteen again

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The world is reversing. Today, I woke up. I was wet. I wet the bed. I was thirteen again. S woke up next to me. Supportive. Beautiful. I cried. “What the fuck is going on?” My body is reacting – stressed. Unhealthy. I used to be so proud of my body. My body was such a temple. I treated it with such disrespect. Such candor. As if – yeah, whatever, it’ll always be there.

And now, it feels sick. My machine. My little wonderful heart and lungs. My skin. My organs. I shook when I heard those numbers. Those awful, terrible and horrible creatures of 6. So many fucking zeros. I sneezed and blood came out. My allergies were acting up. At least what I think was allergies. The dry air of Los Angeles, caused my bloody nose and when I started to cry, heavy crying – it sort of loosened that blood.

Freaking me out.

The apocalypse. Things are sometimes holy fuck frightening. After cleaning up. S gave me a haircut. We went out to a private brunch. We went to Six Flags and things felt better. The universe is flipping. And I’m not sure I’m oriented anyway that makes sense.

I’m just grateful for S. The strength in my current madness.


Written by twotwentyeight

March 23, 2008 at 10:56 pm

6 million 209 thousand 850

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This is how many viruses that are running around in my body per ML.

Holy shit. And they have decided to destroy my CD4 count into a pathetic (but you’re fucking powerful) 144. Normally, I should have about 800 plus. I will destroy this fucking virus.

I will destroy it.



PS – 12 dozen is a gross. It’s also 144. I want to make that special. Not sure how.

Written by twotwentyeight

March 21, 2008 at 7:11 pm

Posted in HIV

he’s back

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S got back last night.  We spent the night together.  At first it was nice.  Warm.  Inviting.  Things weren’t too bad.  Of course, weird.  Strange.  Uncomfortable.  But at least – working forward.  And then, we fell asleep.  At least, he did.  I stayed awake.  Almost most of the night.  And then every once in a while, he woke up.  He told me, “I had bad dreams.”

We held each other in the beginning of the night and by morning, it was as if we shouldn’t touch each other.  Fear crept in bed that night.  Something, I’m afraid of.  Can I blame him?  This was my mistake.  My fault for getting it.  There’s no reason for me to ask him to take this journey with him.  He seems to be OK with it.  But there’s this sinking feeling in my gut.  That the truth.  The thoughts behind his eyes are stronger, deeper and more disconcerting than I’d like.

And that we’re going to fail.

I don’t want to rush anything.  I can’t make any rash decisions but there is a fear growing.  And it’s silent.  And uneven.  Here and there.  Today, I did nothing.  I slept on the couch, listening to the news.  I waited for S to be finished.  A big and fun and wonderful dinner that I had plans for was canceled.  Results of my lab tests didn’t come in.   And now I’m waiting for S to call.  I assume he’s just hanging out.  Visiting with friends.

And my insecurities tell me that he’s avoiding hanging out.  There’s fear inside him.  And not having to hang out.  Not being around me, doesn’t remind him that I’m sick inside.

This makes me incredibly and horribly sad. There’s nothing I can do – because there’s no evidence that I’m right.  I’m just being paranoid.  I’m allowing fear to tear us apart.  And frankly, this could only be my burden.  I’m not sure.

And that scares me.

Written by twotwentyeight

March 19, 2008 at 6:47 pm


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In two days, I get the results.

Today, I went in for my first doctor’s visit.  My doctor’s name is Carlos.  He was nice.  A small personality as he seemed more interested in being a good doctor than being a good friend.  I enjoyed him.  Being my first visit, I had to spend about half hour answering questions about my sexuality, my past, my travels, my shot records, my being molested (or just giving him the fact that I was), and basically telling him everything that’s happened to me.

I then got my very first prostate exam.


I also got my first cock exam.  With a light and gloves.  It was very – frightening.  Everything looks good.  I’m a healthy boy.  I’m 5’9″.  I weight 146 pounds.  The nurse than took my blood.  And boy – did she take alot.  I suppose I’m getting my – baseline.  My viral load.  My CD4 count.  My cholesterol.  My liver functions.  My kidneys.  And what seemed to be tons of other things.  Hepetitis.   Diabetes.

It’s sort of frightening.  All these things could come back bad.  Could come back – negative.  As in – bad.

I have my results to go over on the 31st.  Just a few days over one month from being diagnosed but in two days, the big numbers.  How much of the virus is there and how weak is my immune system.   I can only hope for the best.  If not – I go on medicine.  This won’t be the worst thing in the universe, but I’d rather just be healthy.  I’d rather deal with medicine when I’m in my 30s.  Or fuck – why not my 40s.

I could be lucky.

Or, I could not be.

S gets back tomorrow.  I’m so fucking excited.  I’m nervous.  I’m scared.  I hope we can work out.  I hope we can function together as a couple.  I’m afraid of the fear that is between us.  It’s only going to work – one day at a time.  Moving at a pace that feels right.  Tonight, he told me things I didn’t think he would.  It settled my soul a bit.  He’s afraid but wants to push on.

I just want to make sure he’s open.  And honest.  I don’t want him to be afraid of me.  That, I think, is my greatest fear.

I conqured my throat.  I’ve got a couple of canker sores in my mouth – but nothing out of the ordinary.  I always get them.  When I’m stressed.  And well, I have a bit of an excuse to be stressed right now.  I think knowing that will make them go away faster.  I mean, if the best my body’s got right now is to give me a bunch of plain ol’ canker sores – fuck, I’m fit as a fiddle.

(until Wednesday).

Written by twotwentyeight

March 17, 2008 at 8:47 pm

suddenly things look bad

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With a simple comment, S started my brain into a downward spiral.

I’ve been busy with work this past week. Working long days and mainly focusing on that. My Dad has been harassing me about calling my Grandfather, something I’ve planned on doing today. (He’s going to call me back, in fact). I didn’t get back to my Dad and he ended up writing me this email:

Subject: So Now Your Not Talking To Me?

Email: I guess you still can’t handle a little bone in your chicken. Later. Love and Peace – Dad.

Why did he write that? I’m fucking busy. I don’t have time to sit and shoot the shit with my Grandfather. Or my Dad. I’m dealing with my own bullshit. With work, friends, doctors, S – it’s just so much right now. I can’t work things out with my Family too.

Maybe, I’m taking advantage of them. That they’ll always be there. I’m not sure. A part of me – blames what happened to me on them. That’s bullshit. But, I know how I feel. And I wonder why I put myself in such a position. Why I felt the need to run to any guy who’d show me a bit of affection – why I’d continue to put myself in – harm’s way.

My Dad is so judgmental. So am I. And I’m realizing how awful that makes people feel. I don’t want to be judged. I just want to be loved. That sounds so – boring. And trite. And stupid. But, I think right now – I just don’t need that. I don’t need my Dad to remind me that – hey – maybe I don’t want to eat chicken off the bones. Maybe, I want a simpler life. Maybe, I don’t want to be stressed out that every time I get sick – it could mean something worse.

Maybe, I just want to live my life and have the simple life. And if I can choose between bones or no bones – fuck it – I’m going no bones. Why make life – more complicated. He acts like I’m just some lazy guy who can’t handle adversity. Well, fuck him. He has NO idea what I’m going through.

Or what sort of pain and frustration, I deal with. And work through. I’m a strong person. I try to be. And if I fucking slip up – if I just don’t want to deal with something, that doesn’t make me weak. I’m just tired.

And frustrated.

And now, S is showing me fear. Fear that maybe he’s infected. “I just don’t understand how you got it.” I’m afraid. He’s afraid. And fear will tear us apart. And being torn apart is the last thing I need. I want a fucking boneless chicken relationship. I don’t need to pick and choose the good parts. I just want to bite into it –

And enjoy every last piece.

But, maybe that’s just asking for too much.

Written by twotwentyeight

March 10, 2008 at 9:58 am

Posted in Family

Tagged with , ,

good doctor bad doctor

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On Sunday, I went to get my throat checked out. I’ve had a fear that it was Thrush. My tongue had been white for sometime – but not quite the way Thrush was described. Thrush, to me, meant that I am further along in my diagnosis, then just simply – the beginning stage. I was scared.

The doctor didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t give me a chance to tell him anything. Instead, he simply looked quickly at my throat and then prescribed to me Amoxicillin. A very generic antibacterial medicine. I went home that night and started the medicine and when I woke up the next day, I felt better.

Monday. I felt good.

Tuesday, I woke up and my throat had more white patches. Something I feared would happen. Something I was afraid would happen if I took antibacterial medicine if it were Thrush. I started to panic.

And dragged my roommate to the Gay and Lesbian Center here in Hollywood. I had an appointment at 6:45 pm. I waited all day. Freaked out. panicked. If this is Thrush, it could mean alot of bad things.

I could be further along – I could already have AIDS. My CD4 count could be below 300, as described on various websites. I was told not to read the internet, that I could go crazy doing that. I did so anyways.

And I’m driving myself a bit crazy.

I sat down first with the counselor. She seemed to feel sorry for me. I started to grill her on all the reasons I believed that maybe I was a false positive. I had this throat infection. I test false positive for TB. She suggested that they could do a blood rapid test. I agreed.

It was Positive.

And the doctor told me I had Thrush.

I’m fucking screwed.

This fucking virus hates me. And I hate it.

The new (and good) doctor prescribed to me some medicine called Nystatin that I have to swish in my mouth four times a day – then swallow. It tastes a bit like Cherry Mint (as described on the bottle). And it reminds me a bit of medicine I had as a kid. It’s sort of bittersweet. Emotionally and through taste.

It’s now a day later and I feel a little better. My throat I think is healing. The white patches have almost completely gone away (in just 24 hours) and I think things are looking positive. Fuck that pun.

I’ve always been impressed by my body. I never have gotten sick and the few times I have were always just weird crazy things – like Scarlet Fever and getting Chicken Pox that immobilized me.

I consider myself a healthy guy. I’ve been vegan for two years, my body has improved alot and I’m feeling like I’ll have a pretty sexy one in a few months – as long as I keep up on my protein shakes and weights. I really should join a gym and get some cardio in – but I just don’t want to spend more money. I also hate running or jogging as it fucks up my knees and feels just terrible on my body.

Maybe I’ll change my mind.

I feel better.

I think curing this fucking throat infection (I’m sticking with my Amoxicillin) will sort of feel like a personal victory. Like, “fuck you, HIV. This is my fucking body.”

And I’ll live as long as I fucking want.

Tomorrow, I go and set up my first doctor’s visit, so that I can get my numbers. We shall see what that brings.

I’m crossing my fingers.

Written by twotwentyeight

March 5, 2008 at 6:36 pm

Posted in Doctors

Tagged with , , ,

calling the hotline

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My dad is in the hospital.

He had ear surgery and now, he’s back with complications. Everything seems fine but he’s dealing with pain and stress and the last thing he needs to hear now is that his gay son has contracted HIV. It’s just not appropriate timing. Usually, when I’m feeling sick or something’s wrong, I tell my father. He’s a nurse and has an unusual knack for health and medication.

Which is sad to see him in the hospital.

Last night, I started to freak out. I looked at my tongue and saw that it was white. The back of my throat is sort of red and has been sore for some time. I didn’t think anything of it before. I just imagined it would go away on its own. I didn’t have health insurance before about a week ago and never went to the doctor. I imagined, I could have solved it some time ago, but never did – and so it’s just taking longer to go away.

Now, I’m freaked out.

Now, it’s because I have HIV. This means I’m symptomatic. My immune system is down. I’m stage III. I’m also dying quicker.

I start dialing for late night hotlines. I want to go to the hospital right now. I could be dead by morning. I don’t believe that. I’m alone in my house. It’s cold. My throat suddenly hurts more. I can’t even talk. I’m going to die soon. This is going to be miserable. Everytime my body aches, it’s death knocking at me.

I’ve been eating vegan for a few years now – has that been good or bad for me? Have I depleted my immune system with the lack of B12 in my diet? Fuck, I just wanted to be animal friendly. Should I start eating meat again?

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I call the national AIDS healthline. I am frightened because I’m dialing an AIDS hotline. AIDS. Death. They redirect me to the CDC Info line. I have to sit through press 1, press 2, press 3, press 4. I press 1. The person I get can’t help me.

They have to give me another number.

That number is wrong. Or disconnected. It’s for a rug company. I call back. I press 1. I’m freaking out. I’ve got THRUSH. I’ve got a white tongue. I’m going to have liver failure if I don’t solve this. How long haven’t I noticed my tongue? Did I kiss S with this tongue? Could I have given it to him?


They give me a few more numbers to call. I dial the first one. And on its first ring, a woman picks up. “Nightline.”

“Is this for – HIV?”

“Yes. How can I help you?”

And I begin to talk with her, my phone at 20% battery. She doesn’t seem to fully understand, I’ve only been preliminarily diagnosed. I only got this stupid rapid – swipe and swipe that told me 30 minutes later, I’m going to die. I don’t know my viral load. My T-Cell count or whatever it is.

I haven’t been – confirmed.

I have to wait until Thursday to know for certain and only now, I have to sit in my apartment. Saturday Night. Alone. Wondering if every day I wait, will be another day I can scratch off my life.

I feel so dramatic now. So, silly. Talking to someone feels a little better. I suddenly feel more logical. Of course, I’m not going to die. I can’t go into the emergency room because my tongue is white. There are people there that really need help. I’m just being – dramatic.

I breathe a bit.

She isn’t informative. Or helpful. She can’t solve my problems. She can’t answer my questions but she’s like a grandmother. An ear to listen. And that’s all I needed.

K called me. I went to stay at her place. It seemed warmer there. Normal. I played Sims 2 and started to walk around and “meet people” – I decided I wanted his ambition to be popularity.

There’s one Sim who didn’t like my Todd Adams (as me and K called him). He just didn’t like him. I tried to talk to him. Impress him. Tell him a joke. I even tried my ever popular “puppet sock.” All of it seemed to bore him. He’s now my enemy – something my Sim finds to be a – fear.

It bothered me that he wouldn’t like me. I know its just a stupid game with stupid algorithms and artificial intelligence, but fuck man – why won’t this fucking SIM like me?

Why is my Dad in the hospital when I WANT attention? When I NEED HELP? Why the fuck is S stuck in Alaska where I can’t talk to him for two weeks? Why am I so fucking alone right now?

Even though everyone around me is amazing. Even though K is fucking amazing. Even though S has been so goddamn amazing. And supportive. And wonderful. And just beautiful.

He told me, “this is our burden.”

I don’t believe him but fuck do I want to share this with someone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to feel that when I get a sore throat I’m going to die.

I can’t go to the doctor’s alone.

I’m glad there was that hotline. I’m glad I was able to talk to that lady who said that a white tongue, could just mean I’m stressed out. That there’s an infection in me. It doesn’t mean Thrush. I doesn’t mean anything. Just go to the doctor’s on Monday. You’ll be OK.

She may be wrong but I felt it was OK to listen to her.

It was OK. And I’m OK.

My phone died. (but I’m alright).

Written by twotwentyeight

March 2, 2008 at 11:17 am

Posted in Being Scared

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