two twenty eight

the journal of a positive person

Posts Tagged ‘fear

S Goes In

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Today, S is getting tested.  He tested before (negative) but now, he’s going to know if being with me has given him – what we now call – high five.  I’m am certain that the choices I made as a younger, more foolish guy, kept me unsafe.  I feel our practices of understanding, safe sex, and logic have and will continue to keep him clean and healthy.

However, there is a moment, where I take breath.  And wonder.  Because, risk is always risk.  If this moment comes.  If – becomes + how I or he should and will act.  

I’m not sure.

Instead, I wait.  And remember that being optimistic is just as important as being rational.  The worst of things are not in results, but in the reaction and consequences of those results.  

Another insecurity I have is – if S is negative.  He now has a clean get away.  An ability to say, I saved myself from disaster and now I can walk away safely.  I doubt this would happen.  There is much strength in our relationship, in our partnership.  But this is a fear.  A hesitation.  A moment to take breath – and wonder.

Is being with me the reward enough to risk your health?

That’s a daunting and rather troubling set of circumstances to be put under, incredibly horrifying and selfish and more than fantastic wonders – I’d rather not deal with.  Or think about.  I just hope for his health.  For his safety, for his happiness.

Between us, we say.  ODAT.  One Day At a Time.

And that’s the best fucking advice, I’ve got.

Written by twotwentyeight

April 23, 2008 at 9:11 am

Posted in Relationship

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Taking The Future (with the Present)

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As things stand now, I’m pretty healthy.  I’ve finished taking all my medications, now I’m down to my single pill a day (well, I take another one for preventing pneumonia & I take a daily multi-vitamin), but it’s just once a day that I have to think about – taking pills.

And the pneumonia pill should go away once my CD4 count goes up a meager 66 points.  

Besides that, I feel asymptomatic.  I have a cold sore, no big deal (just kind of gross and annoying).  My throat feels – great.  My tongue – red and pink and wonderful.  My teeth, never felt cleaner.  Friends I haven’t seen in a while come up to me and tell me how fit I look.  Not trim.  But fit.  

The gym is working out.  

My side effects have practically dissipated.  I do have to follow the rules: no food after 9, pill at 11.  I try to make that a habit.  It’s not a hard one to follow.  It’s now a part of my life.  

This weekend, I was creative again.  I shot some footage, I made myself feel – normal.  Things are falling into normalcy.  Last night, I was faced with the future.  S is contemplating his future.  And the risk he puts himself in by being with me.  

By being intimate.  

We always play safe.  And we don’t even go near things that even remotely sound – unsafe.  We don’t kiss, intimately.  And definitely nothing further than that.  We’ve enjoyed our time – but the tension grows between us to further it…

I love my boy.  My friend.  And my partner.  I want nothing but happiness for him.  But I feel that maybe, we’re looking too far into the future.  Does a relationship like this really sustain itself?  He is a few years younger than me and feels like he wants to cherish his health, his youth.  

He doesn’t want to feel like his putting himself at risk.

Even though, the ways we play and will continue to play will, in my opinion, be safer than driving your car.  “I have to drive my car…” he says.  You’re right.  Risk is a strange thing.  You’re more likely to die in your car than a plane.  

But aren’t more people afraid to fly than drive?

How do you change a perspective from fear to logic?  And, as we discussed last night, is it even a bad thing?  Is it really that big a deal that people are scared to fly?  Or scared of a spider bite?  Or dying of AIDS?  Isn’t it our nature to fear things.

Even with knowledge.  

He knows he could get into an accident.  Break bones.  Paralyze himself.  He knows there is a rare, 1 in millions chance, that he could contract HIV through french kissing.  But to this day, we drive but don’t kiss. And there’s nothing I can do but be patient and grateful.  Eternally grateful that I have a caring, wonderful, beautiful human to call on.  To hold onto.  To call my friend.  My partner.

Intimacy comes in waves.  And now, I play in the shallow waters.  The waves don’t go to high.  A sprinkle.  A dash.  We may float out into the sea but that’s not something I really have to worry about now.  For now, the fresh water against my knees is wonderful.

And I believe things are ever changing.

Written by twotwentyeight

April 14, 2008 at 11:51 am

Posted in Being Scared, Relationship

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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

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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?

Fuck.

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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