Jumping the Broom

When New York City passed the rights for gay couples to get married it was defiantly a happy and history making occasion. The same rights were now being given to those who were previously denied based solely on their sexuality. So from a gay African-American perspective I’ll express my feelings on the rights of gays to marry.

Much as been stated in the news with Obama’s recent announcement and the NAACP following suit by throwing their support behind marriage. You would think the flood gates of black America’s acceptance of gay union was something all people of color were behind one hundred percent but honestly the announcement which was welcomed has not been accepted fully black by America as we’re reminded that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. But that’s another conversation to be had as if we truly looked at the lived the words of the bible we’d all be sinners. But again I digress.

But personally I initially was not behind the cause not because it wasn’t important or that I didn’t think that life long partners should have rights. I just felt that at the time there was more pressing matters in the black community that should have taken precedence such as the continued rise in HIV in the community. It seemed that gay marriage was more of the white gay agenda and that train was going full but HIV which was affecting blacks, was an issue delegated to the caboose, being left far behind.

So my support for marriage was not as strong. I wasn’t ready to climb that wedding cake not with so many people, my people, getting infected. I felt that way up until last year when the same sex marriage bill in NYC was passed. I personally had to reexamine my feelings as I was in a relationship and like others in NYC who were in a relationship it probably made them think, is this person I want to be with all my life? Do I want to stay with one box of cereal when I can have a multipack of choices?

Choices.

That was the key word. In New York City why settle down with one person when you had choices. Why stay committed to a person and feel like you were stuck. Why be in this Loch Ness Monster we call ‘relationship’, a beast you hear about but never truly see. And if you see it, it doesn’t last for long.

But I wasn’t in that place. I had someone who loved me, despite my status. Someone who was negative and accepted me unconditionally, HIV and all. And over the 13 years in my relationship it hasn’t been all sunshine, as there have been fights and arguments and even a period when we briefly took a break from each other. But during those times I learned two lessons. Sometimes we don’t realize what you have until it’s gone and most importantly being reminded that a relationship isn’t a relationship when everything is going well. A true relationship is when you have a disagreement or something happens such as a break of trust and instead of running away you both work on it until you fix whatever was broken. That is a relationship. And that sometimes the consequences of having so many choices is that you never get that chance to build a foundation of love as your heart is always in transit to the next piece.

But marriage is a strong commitment that two people can make to each other. And I’m aware that a piece of paper doesn’t mean you’ll have eternal bliss or you won’t end up in divorce court, but for me it says that I’m ready to make this next step in this relationship despite knowing what I’m fully walking into.

And not to be a martyr but maybe by seeing a gay black man in a relationship, it can be seen as something that others can do. That it can actually be done. Maybe in a weird way the modeling of blacks in relationships won’t seem like a myth and perhaps, just perhaps it can go back to my resistance and have an impact on the HIV rate as gay men are giving themselves to only that special one. Or maybe I’m drinking too much of the Kool-Aid.

So on the Memorial holiday of May 1^st I popped the question. I had made my choice. A choice made from the heart. Made from knowing what was right. And made from one thing that has sustain us all these years, love. A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.

So now when someone asks me as a gay black man what is my opinion on same sex marriage and whether I support it? I’ll simply say to them.

I do.  

Pomp and Circumstance

I don’t think I can do this.

This is what I told myself as I finished my first class in my freshman year at NYU SCPS. It was language that was familiar to me as I had echoed it throughout my life. It started with my first try at college and upon receiving all A’s on my report card hearing my family telling me to not let it go to my head. Needless to say education achievement was not a huge goal in my family system.

To compound my success I was rewarded with another slice of negativity from this so-called life. I was told that I was HIV positive.

It gave birth my to my words of doubt as I felt I was being given an unfair hand at the age of eighteen. I was supposed to have had an open world in front of me with unlimited possibilities but instead found myself looking in the mirror. Staring back at me was a reflection of qualities that I felt was in place for me to fail; I was a gay black man with HIV.

I don’t think I can do this.  

My mother had a feeling that I was gay but was unaware of my status. She even went so far to tell me that if I ever turned out to be gay she would kill me. This coming from the woman who gave birth to me, yet having no pause in letting me know she could take back her gift. She didn’t kill me but she did tell me to get out her house as I must have slipped and in some way let her know about my sexuality.

When you’re sleeping in a rusty Chevy Chevette and the drive shaft is sticking you in the ribs as you’re trying to get comfortable, you’re not in a place where you’re rewinding your life trying to connect the dots of why she did what she did, you’re basically in a survival mode. Yet with empty pockets and a rumbling stomach I sat alone regurgitating the words I knew by memory.

I don’t think I can do this. 

Yet although the light in me was dim it never went out. There was still a spark there despite my circumstances. And I never stopped learning. Although I was not in the ideal place I always had this love of reading. Even at a young age of fifteen I would read the local newspaper everyday and I was a fixture at the library, always having to replace my paper issued library card from over usage.

There was something about me that just liked to learn. I even contemplated going back to college but had convinced myself that with me having HIV what was the point as I would probably be dead before I even graduated. Beside I could just self learn on my own and didn’t need college. But it was a dream denied and being that I was on my own this time I couldn’t blame my mother. It was now I putting the roadblocks in my way.

My changing moment came in the drugstore waiting for my prescription. A stranger to me was also waiting and he was talking about education and I shared how I should have finished college. He asked me why I didn’t and it was a good question as I couldn’t use the excuse of my HIV as it was now twenty years past me learning about my status. But I did try to use my age as an excuse and replied I would be around 44 before I got it. He simply said, “You’re going to be 44 regardless so you might as well be 44 with a degree”.

He was right. In order for me to reclaim my dream despite my status I had to remove the words, “Don’t think’ to “I can do this’

Fast forward to 2012 in the month of May, as I walk across the stage with honors to receive my degree.  As I turned back to look at my other classmates it takes me back to what got me to this place. I realized that the ability to reach this moment was always within me. It was in me when I found an apartment after a month of being homeless. It was in me when I turned my love of writing into several staged plays, one which received a highly recognized Jerome grant. It was in me when I created a theatre company. It was in me to have a successful career as an actor/model with a national ad. It was in me to live but I first I had to stop focusing on dying.

My graduating doesn’t guarantee me a life on easy street, but it does prove to me that if I set my mind to it I can achieve it. As one of my professors said, “Be in it to win it”. I not only wanted to win but also be enriched by an educational goal that I thought was unattainable. Looking back, although my family never supported my education, they didn’t tell me to drop out. I made that choice.

My diploma symbolizes that when I move out the way of blocking my success, no matter what obstacles I face, I can do it. In the words of the stranger, he was right I was going to turn 44. And despite the fact I’ve been living with HIV for 25 plus years I have something I thought I never had, a degree and an unlimited world waiting for me.

I can do it.

Exit Stage Left

As part of Mental Illness Awareness Week which is observed from May7-May 13, I want to share my battle with my own demons.

 I was new to New York City just moved here from Minneapolis. It was morning rush and unlike the jam packed highways I was used to being stuck in with my car, I was now letting someone else drive as I was partaking the subway. Since riding on the subway to work was new to me there was some excitement as I boarded the semi-crowded train. Yet my ease started to transform into discomfort as at each stop it seemed more and more people were getting on as the subway car seemed to be getting smaller. It got to the point you couldn’t lift your arm if you tried as there was so many people around me.

The calm I had before was replaced by a heart that started to increase its rhythm. On cue I felt the first bead of sweat fall, followed by other beads and with my hand trapped to my side I was unable to wipe them away. I felt as if I was under a spotlight as it seemed everyone was staring at me, probably wondering who this sweating fool was. My perception of the people staring at me added with a crowded train and being underneath New York City was to mush as the bead of sweat was now a rainstorm. The doors opened as it came to a stop and even though it was not my stop I shoved my way off, just to get out. I just had to get out.

I realized I just had an anxiety attack. I recognized it as I struggled with it growing up. I never quite knew where it came from. But it seemed to always come for a visit when I was surrounded by strangers. I could be standing in a long line at a supermarket and my heart would do its thing and like a well timed duet, the sweat followed.

It got to the point where I would avoid going to places if I suspected I would be in the company of strangers. Avoidance was my best defense and although I would miss out on things such as parties or get togethers or any fun activity, in my mind I convinced myself I was in a safe place. It made me feel like I was in control and I wasn’t in a fight or flight mode.

I tried to just deal with it and come up with tricks such as going to places when I knew it wouldn’t be busy and always having a sweat rag in my back pocket for those moments the dam broke. Even holding my breathing and slowly counting to ten so I could control my heart rate seemed to work.

It was all about control and I was slowly losing it. I don’t know what incident triggered me to see a therapist but I ended up on the couch telling my story. After several sessions I finally had a name for it. PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).

At first I thought the therapist was mistaken as I have never been to war, but in actuality I had been in war; a war with my mind. Going back in time and observing what traumatic event caused this; I was able to name it.

Unknown to me it all went back to when I was sexually abused as a child. The seeds were planted then and from that seed sprouted leaves of self-doubt, unworthiness, low sense of self and a feeling that I was never good enough. No matter how successful I was it explained why I wanted everyone to like me and how I would audition for people’s acceptance. Even if it was a stranger I passed for a second, I was passive in my walk of life and looked for acknowledgement.

PTSD is a real factor and in a way I feel it’s how I became infected with HIV as I was searching for that acceptance and doing anything or giving you anything just for you to say you like me, even if it was a falsehood. Even knowing I was putting myself at risk, my sense of rational was getting in the way of my act. I knew better but felt I couldn’t do better. In a way I felt I had control as I shuffled across my stage.

Yet when there were too many to please my self went into shutdown mode and instead of admiration it seemed like I was receiving judgment.

It takes a step to climb a mountain and no matter how much you try you can’t just walk around the mountain or pretend it’s not there. For me to get to the other side I had to take that first step and with my involvement in seeking mental health services I can now say that my demons have been exorcised.  

So in this observance of Mental Illness Awareness Week I erase my stigma by giving it a voice and name and a refusal to address it in the dark. Instead of feeling like I’m in the spotlight, I place the spotlight on it as I remove the stigma and regain my life.

Now when I ride the subway, even if it’s stuffed, my fear is gone and with it the anxiety of being in unfamiliar places. For me the show is over as I no longer audition for acceptance but have no problem embracing the soul that says to me, “You did it!”