Life's Lesson with HIV

As I enter my 28th year of living with HIV I have to say that I have learned some valuable lessons along the way, some good and some bad but all my experiences have happened for a reason. The thing is that while you’re in it you don’t know that. It’s not until you get from out the storm not only do you discover why you went through it but you recognize your strength for all you endured. I’m thankful I didn’t come away bitter and accept all the new traits now part of my building blocks. So as the New Year’s arrives and we start a new chapter I reflect on my experiences and share the 20 lessons I've learned about living with HIV.

.  
1) I’ve learned that you’re either living or you’re dying and despite what you heard about HIV it’s not a death sentence. Yet there was a time when I simply stopped living and settled on existing. I had to recognize we all are going to die, that’s a fact but until that day how will I live with the life given to me. You’re either like the zombies in the TV show, The Walking Dead, walking in an aimless direction or you’re taking each day as a gift and cherishing it

2) I’ve learned the people who have rejected me because of this disease have missed out on having the privilege of knowing such a strong individual. They must be scared of that strength and their decision is something they have to own as I embrace everything about me. And in those lessons I’ve learned that anyone who has rejected me has simply left room open to be filled by someone who will accept me for me

3) I am beautiful. As simple as that.

4) I've stopped asking ‘Why me” and started to understand “Why me’ as I have helped others to live with this disease by breaking the silence and talking about HIV. I didn’t know at the time I was someone else’s gift as through the years people have been made to feel less alone as they listened to shared experiences.

5) My doctor is my friend and if he’s not then he has to go. Just because he/she wears the white coat and has the degree we’re in this together. At one point I thought I had to submit to everything he prescribed or said but learned that my voice is just as strong as his. So if it’s working, then keep it strong but if it’s a one sided relationship then he/she has to go.

6) When I used to complain about taking medications a nurse gave me great sound advice. I was hoping for sympathy but she served me a spoonful of hard love as without blinking she told me, “If you have something that's saving your life and its working stop complaining and take the damn pills.” Lesson still appreciated today.

7) Start dreaming again.

8) If you’re worried about anything killing you just try being best friends with your anger. Having this disease I have had many opportunities to be angry but after walking that walk I learned quickly it wasn't getting me nowhere. Anger strips you down from the inside and clouds your dreams. I accepted that upon hearing my status I had the right to be anger but for me to be well I had to not let my anger guide me.

9) I’ve learned its okay to cry but to not let those tears create an ocean that I can drown me. Along with anger, tears will come but at a point I had to wipe them away and start heading back to shore.

10) Give myself a hug everyday

11) Sex is still good

12) Stigma is a two way street and don't assume everyone will reject you because of your status. Yes stigma is real and people do inflict it on those who are positive but sometimes I have to recognize when I’m handing out my own dose of stigma. In this lesson I had to learn that not everyone who is negative is ignorant about this disease. This was a good lesson for me to learn as it helped with disclosing and most importantly it helped me in relationships whether friendly or intimate.  

13) I’m more than HIV. It seemed that with the doctors, the pills and condoms shoved in my face HIV was all I would ever be. But in thinking that I wasn’t allowing myself to see the fullness of who I am. I may write and speak about HIV but the one thing I tell myself is not to limit life to a three letter word.

14) I've accepted where people are in their HIV treatment and what works for me won't necessarily work for someone else. When handing out advice I have to check myself and accept that my treatment was designed for me and people react to things in a different way. So whether it’s advice, the way I keep track of taking my medication or anything related to my HIV, it’s mine and may not work for others. So I keep my judgments to myself.

15) I've learned as I approach my 28th year of living with HIV that it's not a competition when others share their length of time. The one secret of those living with HIV is sometimes we play a one-man-up game where we trump others with how long we’ve been positive. We show our battles scars as if having HIV is a competition. It’s done in a non-malicious way but if anyone wins we all do for being able to proudly state how long we’ve been living with this disease is the true prize.

16) I learned that whether it's my cd4 count, my weight or viral load- to heed the numbers but not let the numbers dictate my state of mind. Not saying the numbers are not important but developing anxiety around your numbers is not good. I learned to celebrate the good numbers and don’t stress if they will fall. Just keep doing what I’m doing. And if they’re dropping then I have to look at stopping what I’m doing that’s probably causing the numbers to drop

17) I'm not being punished by God or enduring any other revenge.

18) I can still cross oceans

19) Drinking chocolate milk helps the pills go down easy

20) I’ve learned to be open and accept anything good or bad that comes my way. And as I step forward even if there is no cure I know that my life will be the best one I can make. So I welcome my next milestone and embrace this journey we call life!

Blueboy, A Tale of YesterYear

    I crept in the basement with silent steps making sure no one followed me, listening careful to determine if anyone else was also down here. Being I was only 12 I was usually afraid of any basements, not just my own. This fear came from watching the late Saturday night horror movies we were warned would give us nightmares. Yet determined to carry on my mission I pushed aside any fears I had and continued. Assured I was in the clear I went into the small dusty room that no one in my small family used. The only occupant was an unbalance worn pool table which had assistance from the telephone book under one of its leg. Also within the dimly lit room was a closet and within that closet was a hole in the ceiling. It was the perfect hiding space especially for anyone scared of spiders and bugs, which included me, but it was worth a spider running over my hand as I reached in to retrieve my hidden prize. My hand made contact with soft paper and a staple undone which scrapped against my fingers. Pulling it out gently, I held in my hand my bible. It was a copy of Blueboy, a gay porno magazine that I had shoplifted from the comic book store that also sold adult magazines in the back. School was now in session. It was time to learn what it meant to be gay.

  As I opened the well-used pages that had become worn and starting to stick together, I was careful not to rip apart any of the pages especially the photos of the nude men. The pages were sticking together not because of any self-sexual satisfaction on my part as I had yet to discover that sexual side of me. Instead it was due to the moisture of the leaking pipes, a home that was not in the best of shape but as a child I saw as a castle. It was a hiding spot, one so deliberately chosen that I felt it was a matter of life and death. My life and death as knowing if discovered it could have meant for me a life of being laughed at and ridiculed for being one of ‘them’ people we were warned to stay away from. Those who the Preacher talked about as he screamed and shouted each Sunday had a life destined to spend eternity in Hell. Or the discovery of my book could be my death, something served to me by my mother who warned us that, "If you ever turn out to be one of those faggots I will kill you."

  My Blueboy was used to explain to me what it meant for me to be gay. I had nowhere else to go. I had no one or nothing else in my life to explain to me what I was feeling inside. Was I even gay or maybe I fallen off my bike when I was younger and hit my head causing this storm of confusion in me. There had to have been something I did to make me interested in this Blueboy magazine. And if I was one of ‘them’ was there a pill I could swallow to cure me of this feeling that I was giving birth to? And if I was giving life to what I feared was in me how did I go about giving myself an abortion? It seemed that despite how I felt or thought it was going to eventually make its way into the world and I should at least be ready.

           As I navigated the familiar pages to my favorite pictures I would feel my heart racing. The picture that seemed to capsulize my new identity was the striking nude man that made up the two pages of the centerfold.  I forgot his name but can't forget how he leaned against the fire truck and had this comfortable smile that said; don’t worry it’s okay to like other men even if they are nude. He was a manly looking man with a huge chest and this thick mustache. What was it about this centerfold that made my senses go into hyper drive?  I mistrusted my other senses like my hearing as they would be dulled out by my beating heart. I needed my ears to make sure no one was coming down the creaking stairs but as they failed me I used my excited and panicked eyes as my warning system.

          In truth the heart racing could have been produced from the fact that I was learning about this thing called sex. Perhaps there was hope for me as I had no idea what sex was at my age and according to everything I heard that’s what being gay was about, sex. And my Blueboy magazine proved it as throughout the book were men in sexual poses. Or maybe my answers lay in the back of the book where it seemed if I called the 1-900 numbers they would probably have what I was looking for. And they must have meant for young people like me to read it as the book even had cartoons in it. The cartoons weren’t like the ones I watched on Saturday morning though. I never remembered Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble doing what the men were doing in the magazine.

           As I stared at the snapshot I was thinking maybe my fascination with the picture was my mind wondering if this is what my father looked like. A man who I never met and didn't have the fortune to raise me. It could be the fact the model also reminded me of my math teacher, a strong demanding man who loved us with a spoonful of tough love and difficult math equations. A man who I wished during his lessons could equate to us how being gay added up and what subtractions I would face in my life by being gay. But like other places school was another setting left out as an option. No wonder I was jealous of my classmates who were able to learn about the bird and the bees from not only adults in the school but wherever they found themselves. This world belongs to them and I was nothing but an outcast.

         My worn, tattered copy of Blueboy was all that was left to me. A magazine with faded pictures of a life I was unsure if it was destined to be mine. I was only 12 but it felt like I was growing up faster than what I was supposed to have been.

           Finished with today’s lesson I carefully place the book back in its hiding space. I’m no wiser than when I walked in the basement but more aware that there’s more to this thing called, gay. Will I ever find out what it is unaware of what lies ahead? I don’t know but as long as I have my copy I feel less alone in my answers as I’m sure there are other kids like me who have nowhere to turn as they reach into hidden places where they hide their bible, their own copy of Blueboy.