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!”   

Cutting Out HIV

I want to give a shout out to a barbershop in West Harlem that is part of an exceptional way to combine an African-American tradition and HIV. Imagine going in to get your hair cut and at the same time having the ability to get a free HIV test. At Denny Moe's Superstar Barbershop, you can do both without the stigma attached. With a partnership with a community organization, Iris House, they have created a welcoming space to talk about HIV. In fact on some occasions you can get a free haircut just by getting the HIV test. Even better.

I wish more barbers were part of this initiative as next to the church it’s an important pillar of the community and one of the way messages or information is garnered and shared. If we had to look at the important places where messages are dispersed and behaviors are learned it would be home, church, barbershops and for women hair/nail salon, and not necessarily in that order.  

I liken barbershops to a brotha working downtown and finally makes it home, can loosen his tie, throw some slang in his King’s English and let his hair down. It’s a call and response as dialogue is shared of what’s happening in the world with an African-American perspective. In that communal of brotherhood amidst the healthy dialogue is still the reality that not all are supportive of the LGBT community and has no problem letting others know. Also just like the church if you’re a gay man, the barbershop can be one of those places where you’re demonized by the gathering of members from the community. And often we sit in silence as the language of hate is spread in the establishment.

I know when I had a head full of hair I would experience it myself as I waited my turn for my barber. As I looked through the copy of Jet magazine there would sometimes be someone seeing something on the overhead television or some other trigger that starts them on their homophobic tirade. Soon others join in, as there’s an unwritten rule that your manhood will be called into question if you’re swimming against the stream.

And sometimes it’s about picking your battles as you tell yourself that having a barber who can cut your hair right is more important than trying to change someone’s ignorant mindset. “I’m not here to change the world I just want my cut” And also we’re not all in the battle as we may not have made comfort with our sexual identity. I know for me at the time that was the justification for my silence.

So to even discuss HIV would solicit quick response from men who wanted to let you know they didn’t have it and declare it’s “those kind who get the monster”. Ironically they announce this not fully knowing what their status is yet find validation in others objection to it.

That’s why I feel what happens with Iris House and Denny Moe’s Barbershop creates a great opportunity to start a dialogue about HIV. It makes since as the disease is heavily affecting the community of which many barbershops are in. And just by offering the test it opens other doors.

It creates a safe environment and no matter how you identify as you can be part of an important exchange of discussion even if you’re just reading the Jet magazine and don’t contribute to the talk. Another great opportunity is it allows African-American men to think about their health, removing any stigma that comes with discussing a visit to the doctor. The most important piece is that it removes HIV from a ‘them’ conversation to an ‘us’ conversation as awareness is made that HIV is not an exclusive club for only gay men.

Looking at prevention methods especially in the urban areas it’s this type of non-traditional methods I feel are the most effective. It’s not localized to night clubs where so much HIV prevention happens. Although many HIV organizations may not admit or agree but sometimes going to clubs is often an easy way out and many are missed based on their personal preference of not attending such establishments.

Also in Denny Moe’s situation it’s not just about handing someone a condom in a package with literature and a lollipop. Now you have a back and forth dialogue that creates involvement. The conversation is organic and not forced to meet HIV testing quotas. And this dialogue is not just directed or shaped by one’s age demographic but includes the village of elders along with the youth who all are affected by this disease.

So again hats of to the efforts of this collaboration between a barbershop and a community based agency for not only doing its part in removing the stigma of talking about HIV but using its unique position in the community to create unity around a serious discussion everyone should be having. Just imagine the progress that would be made against this disease in the African-American community if this example was followed.     

HIV can be cut by putting unity back in the community.

Mark

 I had never flown in a plane before as I made my way to my seat in the non smoking section of the plane. As I settled in I was reflecting on what brought me to a place where I was flying from Minnesota to Colorado. What momentous occasion was having me experience such newness of the plane ride, going to a new state and meeting a new friend?

His name was Mark.

We met online in a chat room. We were both looking for friends and both living with HIV we were both looking for something that let us forget about our day to day struggles. The conversations were mostly from the computer, a time when AOL ruled the internet and the only thing high speed were your fingers typing on the keyboard.

From his picture he looked like a cowboy the way he wore his hat and the snowcapped mountains in the background. The only thing missing was a straw hanging from his mouth. Our conversations was filled ‘me too’s’ as we shared stories of past loves, life adventures and our sharing of our personal experiences with our HIV care.

Now here I was on a plane after six months of online and phone chat going to meet this new friend face to face. The greatest thing was this was no romantic hook up or a very long distance one night stand. It was two souls on this earth who crossed paths on the digital highway.

After knocking on the door Mark opened it and there he was. I tried to hide my surprise. All this time my visual was of an older picture of him but Mark didn’t look like the Mark I had imprinted in my brain or the picture of which he looked younger. The Mark before me was frailer and he had a slight shakiness to his body. He still had the same smile but it was placed on a face that was battling wasting.

Up until then the physical aspects of AIDS was prevalent with the recent death of Rock Hudson and very few drugs to help. Traces of Kaposi's Sarcoma was covering the right side of his face. I had been fortunate to not have my disease being visible unlike Mark. Of all the newness of this trip this was defiantly new.

I was still in my vain early twenties and Mark was in his 30’s. Like most young people gay or straight you have those periods in your life when you feel everyone wants you. That’s where I was at and didn’t have the tools to handle the public’s reaction to someone who visually looked as if they had AIDS. In a crazy way even though I had it, because I couldn’t see it, I fooled myself into thinking it didn’t affect me.

Mark was great as he made a joke about his appearance as if he read my mind. In his joking mood he made me realize this was the same person I was talking to all those months. After getting settled we found that connection of conversation that brought us together. Whatever hiccup I created was gone.

Mark lived his life despite what people thought. As we went out to see his city I could see the stares people gave him or the fear on their faces yet Mark didn’t let any of it deter him or make him run away. It was if he was saying it’s your issue not mine. The way he went about his life regardless of people’s ignorance. It gave me courage.

My own ignorance was kicked to the curb and my heart opened to my new friend as I ventured into new territory. The greatest moment is when we went to his favorite spot. It was in the mountains. As this city boy learned about hiking we suddenly stopped. He had this calm over his face and I could see why as there was nothing but nature around us. No phone, no technology, nothing man made. From the mountains in the distance, the tall trees towering over us, the clear blue sky and the sounds of wildlife, it was a peaceful place. Another checkmark of something new for me.

When I got home I immediately wrote Mark and thanked him for the great trip. It was a short response as he wasn’t feeling well. Days passed and looking at my email I saw the subject line-Mark. Mark’s subject lines were often funny or insightful but never just his name. Even before reading it I knew what it was going to say. Sure enough according to his friend Mark had moved on to a better life. He was truly at peace.

After the numbness washed over me I had moments of reflection. Reflections of a person who lived his life fully until he passed. A man who didn’t let his disease stop him from enjoying his life. One which didn’t let strangers force him into a life of shame. A person who didn’t live as if he had HIV, he simply lived.

People come in and out of our lives for a reason. They may not be there for the whole journey and often they keep you company while you travel. They help you see things you may have missed or help steer you from dead ends. They keep you going when you want to give up and sometimes they just have you stop and look at the beauty of God’s world that surrounds you and make you forget and if just for that moment they remind you of the life you were blessed with.

Mark thanks for the company and the lessons and even though you’re far away you’re still close in my heart. Miss you, your friend always Aundaray.

   

Celebrating Bayard Rustin

I was away when Bayard Rustin's birthday arrived on March 17th, so consider this a belated birthday acknowledgement. Bayard Rustin to me reflects the true junction of what it means to be gay and black.

As a brief history lesson for those who are not familiar with Mr. Rustin's influence he was one of the main organizer for the famous March on Washington where he helped bring millions of people together to hear the words Martin Luther King make his famous speech. Ironically this was during the time when as a gay black man Mr. Rustin was fighting a battle not only from the white community, but also the black community, in particular the ones who knew about his sexuality.

Yet it didn't deter him from helping make the March on Washington an important milestone in America's history. Sadly his story in world's events has been erased or buried and little is aware that a gay black man helped assemble the masses to obtain civil rights..

In looking at Mr. Rustin I realize that much has not changed. Like the earlier years, Mr. Rustin had more to fear of being a black man than being a man who was gay and there are so many similarities today for those of color and also gay. In society today to be gay is a luxury as it’s the color of your skin the country reacts to.

With the recent headlines of Trayvon Martin and the random shooting of 5 black men in Tulsa of which 3 died, as a gay black man I have to watch my back not because of my sexuality but the skin I reside in.

I know personally growing up I have been called the 'N' word many times and yes this number includes people of my own race who claim they want to seek ownership of a word that never belonged to them. I have been denied opportunities of my race. Demonized and eroticized because of my race. Looked at suspiciously by the police despite the fact I'm professionally dressed. Even recently shopping at my favorite store, fully aware that I'm being followed or observed.

There's no pause in sympathy because of my HIV status or how I identify. They don't care. But they won't admit it as, "they don't see color" and things are now better as we have a black president.

Yet my fortitude to race should have been tempered as at a young age living in the south my mother, along with telling us not to talk to strangers and looking both ways before crossing, also schooled us in not putting our hands in our pockets while in a store or dressing your best even if its to buy a light bulb so you won't be put in the same boat as 'other blacks'

She learned this sad rule from growing up in a segregated south during a time when race was not subtle. "White Only" signs were the norm.

I wish I could have met Bayard Rustin and ask how he managed both worlds. And maybe shared that when gay is an issue it's an issue from my own community who members have the same mentality as their brethren and inflict the same pain that they may have endured. Water hoses and the bites of German shepherd’s are replaced with groups of pounding fists and looks of condemnation and avoidance. I wonder if they saw the hypocrisy of seeking or asking for civil rights when deny their own civil rights.

In my imaginary conversation with Mr. Rustin he may have shared that the Promised Land can't be reached until we all get there together despite race, creed, color and sexuality. He may have emphasized that causes in the world are not someone else cause but its all of our cause. That Trayvon Martin is not just a black cause, that immigration from Mexico is not just a Mexican American cause, that HIV is not just a gay cause and women's right is not just a woman cause but it belongs to all of us. That denial of rights shouldn't be treating like an ala carte menu. And no person can truly be in the Promised Land when injustice still exists for others.

Mr. Rustin's battle in civil rights shows how although he was denied as a gay man it didn't deter him from seeking justice. And even though he may not be on the curriculum in student's history books, he will be remembered as seeking civil rights for all despite his sexuality and in spite that he was a brother outside.    

So happy belated birthday Mr. Rustin and thank you for the legacy that has inspired others to fight dual battles all in the name of civil rights for all.

I'm Back!!!

Okay the title is not for me to come off as a diva, recognizing that I took a small break from posting. It's more of an acknowledgement of the arrival of spring and how it has motivated me to get my broom out and do some spring cleaning in my life.

With the light of day staying around longer I can look in the mirror and unwrap the extra weight that I have gained from the past year. I'm not just talking body fat but the mind set of negativity and barriers that snuck past me and made its way into my conscious.

The first thing I did was that I recently looked at my mental state. As I have stated before everyone needs a tune-up when it came to mental health services. Especially when you've dealt with depression. I always feel that depression is something you mange and that it's always under the surface, yet by keeping an eye on it, you can get it before it gets you.

So after one visit with my former therapist, we both agreed that things in my life were good and no services were needed. It felt great to be proactive than reactive.

The next thing I did was look at my 'bucket list'. Each year I create a small list of 30 things I want to accomplish by next spring. I purposely don't do it in the beginning of the year as it's not a resolution where I'm stopping certain behaviors, for me it's positive additional things I want to do to expand my life experiences and way of thinking.

I can proudly say that I accomplished 70% of my goals. For example I learned to swim, something I always wanted to do. I traveled to Turkey. I got my T-cells past 600, which involved a change in diet, no missed medications and not letting stress dictate my life. And my biggest goal was to finish my advance degree of which I will be graduating this May! 

Life is so wonderful when you go after your dreams.

For me it was important to dust off the webs as I know me. I know that sometimes I can get so focused on others goals whether it's my workplace or friends and family that I forget about my own. Even at the expense of my health.

I know it helps my health to not only have but maintain a positive outlook on life. And again to do so I had to look in the mirror and recognize that the person looking back at me in the mirror has the greatest ability to hold me back.

Finally as part of my spring cleaning I had to surround myself with people who reflect the positive qualities I looked for. I had to sweep away friends who carried negative behaviors or performed actions that went against my nature. So those who gossiped, had bigot language or an overall, "I can't" attitude, I kept at arms length. There's a reason they say misery loves company.

So if you only want to come around when you need something, or if you can't respect my person, my body, my spirit or if your tongue drips with poison as I turn my back, then it's a goodbye. As Eleanor Roosevelt shared, "Many people will walk in and out of your life but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart" So I make room for new footprints and close the doors on those who leave scars.

So with the glowing rays of the sun removing the dusk I can say I'm back! And like the song goes,” It’s a new dawn" "It's a new day"  "It's a new life"

And I feel good!!

I’m back!

Disclosing to me

This is the last on a series of discussing the many forms of disclosure for those living with HIV. In the past three articles I looked at HIV disclosure as it relates to employment, love and family. This part is the over looked form of disclosure, disclosure to yourself.

When I was first told that I had HIV, I heard the news but I didn't fully accept it. At the time I was diagnosed I felt fine and wasn't sick and didn't have no external signs of HIV which was something you looked for back in the 80's, so in my mind I didn't have it.

I didn't have it because I couldn't see it or touch it or tell someone what it looked like. The only proof I had it was based on some words on a piece of paper given to me by the doctor. Words that I came from the ink of a pen of which I wasn't going to let it change my life. I was in denial.

Since I had my head in the sand I didn't feel the need to manage something that I made myself believe that I didn't have. So there was no need for me to see a doctor to help manage my 'supposed' disease. There was no need to take pills especially when I had it in my head that to do so was admitting. I was perfectly healthy and didn't need no form of treatment.

The truth was I had yet to come to a place where I was ready to acknowledge my illness. I had not come to a place of disclosing my status to the man looking back at me in the mirror. I had myself believe that If I pretended it didn't exist or if I didn't talk about it, it would simply go away.

I often hear people who are HIV say, "I have HIV but HIV doesn't have me."

When you're in a place of non-disclosure to even yourself, it does have you. And when you're in that place of denial it's not only yourself you put at risk but also others, especially if you're sexually active and not wrapping it up. 

There's also the matter of planting the seeds of not seeking treatment for new mental health issues that will probably come your way. Depression is usually the first to stand in line as it prepares itself to affect the way you operate. Maybe standing behind depression might be anxiety and next in line could be one mental health illness we don't associate with HIV, PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). an HIV diagnosis has been linked to the development of PTSD symptoms. A diagnosis of HIV may be perceived as a traumatic event as people may feel as though their life is threatened and may experience fear, helplessness, and/or horror as a result of the diagnosis. In addition, it has been found that believing the stigma attached to an HIV diagnosis may increase the severity of PTSD symptoms among individuals living with HIV/AIDS 

But to come to a place of healing I had to accept. It was the only way my life was going to move forward. It had to start with me.

I was not only infected but also affected, but thank God for this one nurse who gave me a bitch slap. She let me know, despite my denial I do have it and I can proceed with my life in two ways. I can choose to live or I can slowly die. And in her description of dying what she meant was that I could focus so much on the death aspect of having HIV that I would become the living dead, not enjoying the life I was gifted with.

To live my life in the honest light I had to accept the truth and disclose to myself that yes I had HIV.

And even though the clouds didn't part and the sun came out shining, I was comfort in the fact that by knowing I was preparing myself for the long journey ahead.

I can say it has been a long road, but what is life without challenges. Even if I didn't have HIV there would be obstacles and these obstacles only make you stronger. And I even came to a place that God had a plan for me. By writing these words for others to read is part of that plan as I hope I have inspired others or let people know that they were not alone.

But the one lesson I did learn about having HIV was that life is not a promised gift and to enjoy the life that you do have. And despite my condition there is someone worse off than me as I write these words.

My disclosure set me free and allowed me to strip myself of shame. I refuse to be a walking dead and although it may not be a perfect life, its the one I was gifted with so this brotha is going to make lemonade with those lemons and it's going to be sweet, cool and refreshing.

With the end of my look at disclosure I appreciate all the conversations as everyone sharing their perspective gives new perspectives. It may need to be revisited but for now I'm exhaling and taking a much needed vacation so I'll see everyone in two weeks and on my time off I'm going to do repeat my mantra after I had disclosed to myself. I'm going to remind myself.....

I have HIV and I'm going to live!!