WHAT WOULD SHE THINK?

First of all I’d like to make one thing quite clear so there is no confusion.  This blog by no means questions who my mother and father is.  My parents are the two people who adopted me in 1983 and raised me till I was old enough to venture out on my own.  They are and will forever be my parents.  Our family is very blessed because my parents were able to adopt three children when they were unable to have children of their own, while three Colombian babies were privileged to all the amenities of the American suburban lifestyle- amenities I could only imagine would have been just a dream in South America at the time.  

Since I was young and old enough to understand what adoption meant I couldn’t help but wonder who my birth parents were.  As I got older and I enhanced my questioning abilities I started pondering the “why” questions instead of just “who’s.”  Why was I given up for adoption was the ultimate question.  In fact, it is still something I hit my head on every now and again.  It was assumed that due to the nature and poverty of the country my mother could not support me.  And it was left at that until recent years when I began to think this may have been a way to protect me from some evil truth; a truth that even my adopted parents aren’t aware of. 

People in the past have criticized me for having such thoughts and how sensitive the subject must be for my adopted parents.  While I sympathize on their beliefs, I refuse to have my feelings dismissed.  Has it ever occurred to anyone that I have no idea who brought me into this world?  It’s like the story of a stork that dropped infant me on my parents stoop one day.  In this case the stork was a commercial jetliner.  Not knowing who actually birthed me is a tremendous void that I wish I could move on from, but I just can’t.  I don’t know what it’s like to have a biological connection to another human being and I fear I may never know.

 The only information I have is that I was born Alberto Martinez Ferrucho (allegedly named by the foster home I came from) and the woman who birthed me was Gloria Ferrucho.  I had three older siblings.  That’s it.

That’s it?  I have many other things I want to know.  Were my siblings adopted?  What is my health history?  Where do I get my features from?  Is Gloria still alive?  Am I allowed to find her?  Was I an “oops” baby?  Oh, by the way, I was a bastard child.  I know I’m going to Hell for thinking of the possibility that perhaps my birth mother could have been a word that rhymes with “chore.”

But I’ve been obsessed lately on what she would think of her little boy now if she knew of things that were going on in my life.  For instance, I know Colombia is predominantly a Catholic territory.  Would she forsake me for being gay?  Or worse, forsake me for being HIV positive?  Would she be the type that thinks I deserve to get AIDS because I’m gay?  Not that I am looking for any type of love from her, but I want to know if she has any regrets for letting me go?  As a mother would she beat herself up for not being there for me?  Or would she not care at all? 

Should the day ever come that I meet this woman the only thing I could tell her is that she has nothing to be upset about.  Because of her, I was raised by the two most beautiful people in the world- my mother and father of Long Island, New York.  I have a college education and a brother and a sister (who are also from Colombia.)  As far as my health is concerned, I’d tell her that I am in the hands of some of the best doctors and I am healthy as a horse projected to live a normal life span.

Perhaps in my head this is just a way for me to see if she would have any connection to the boy she gave up for adoption- or if there is this stranger out there who thinks about me from time to time.  It’s a closure that I’ll probably never receive.  “Is it important?” people ask me.  Yes, for me it is. 

   

CHRISTOPHER’S, “STATE OF THE HIV WORLD” ADDRESS

To people living with HIV and AIDS, to the tireless advocates and activists globally, to politicians, case managers, medical providers, drug companies, my fellow Americans.  If I may have your attention…

Most of you may not know me, but someday soon you will.  I’m saying it loudly that my name is Christopher Myron. Last week honored my one year anniversary living with HIV.  One year ago my misinformation of HIV allowed my world to fall apart.  My diagnosis forced me to be an outcast to society.  But, here I am one year later and although in that short period of time I consider myself to be in an emotionally stable frame of mind, there still isn’t a day that I don’t fear for my life.  This fear isn’t from the possibility of passing on from this illness that consumes me.  The fear stems from the views and opinions and tactics us as human beings should otherwise forbid with something as severe as HIV.  The bigotry is what’s keeping HIV alive and every one of us on every level is to blame.

This past weekend I had the privilege to attend the 2011 Emergency ADAP Summit in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, hosted by the ADAP Advocacy Association.  The forum included representatives nationwide from drug companies, nonprofit HIV/ AIDS organizations, case managers, and everyday citizens.  I’m not here to discuss the specifics of the conference, but I will tell you what I got out of it on a personal note.  As a former resident of the sunshine state, and perhaps down the road I will be again, I wanted to attend to see what someone in my shoes can do to help the thousands of Americans on “waitlists” with no access to their medications.  Not to mention I will soon be the newest enroller in the ADAP program in my state.  The good news is that I live in a state that hasn’t yet run out of funding for the government assistance program.  The bad news is that I had a price to pay to get said funding.      

Let’s back track for a moment.  I’m an example of an under-insured individual.  As if stress and mishap of dealing with an HIV diagnosis alone wasn’t enough, I still have so many other things to consider.  Being HIV positive is a financial burden.  I work two jobs just to survive.  The only insurance I was able to obtain in a sickening economy is through a union position at a job where I am abused.  I deal with it because it is my only source of receiving my medications that keep me alive.  Just to see my specialist and receive my quarterly blood tests I have to attend of a number of unnecessary doctor appointments so I may obtain a referral.  I can overlook this absurdity if I didn’t have to pay for all these treatments out of my own pocket, simply because I disqualify for ADAP in my state by a mere $500.

Being HIV positive I’m prone to fatigue.  Working two jobs results in eating less, lack of a good night’s rest, or exercise the way my body should- all these factors that are imperative for an HIV positive person need to remain in good spirits with to stay healthy.  The only solution to these problems is to leave my job with the limited insurance and give up being a responsible citizen in order to qualify for ADAP.  In turn, I’m forced to give up my home and move back in with my aging parents so I can save a few dollars.  Not only are my dreams and freedoms being slowly taken from me, but now I am risking the chance of being “waitlisted” in my state if they succumb to the same fate as Florida and many other states.  HIV is not easy for anyone to deal with.  Yet, I don’t think it’s fair for it to be an ongoing punishment.  These are a few examples of why I knew early on that I need to do what I can to help the generations to come to make their lives just a bit easier.    

As I sat in the forum and I listened to the arguments and the “agree to disagree” remarks I remain in silence and my opinions prevail.  I’m worrisome that we as a community cannot remain to the crisis at hand- that people have no access to the care they need to survive.  All I heard from numerous individuals from all points on the spectrum is a sense of entitlement.  I was overwhelmed with numbers and policies and I am confident that the new generation of the HIV community shares my feelings.  It wasn’t until the final minutes of the conference was I able to get a word in edge wise so I can make myself heard.  I didn’t get to say exactly what I wanted to say, but now that I have the time to express it here, this is what I needed to say:

I’m not an African American living with HIV.  I’m not a long term survivor of HIV.  I’m not a woman living with HIV.  I’m not employed in the HIV community- yet.  What I am—I AM THE NEW GENERATION OF HIV—who after one short year of being positive is frustrated and tired of doors being closed in my face from doctors, government officials, pharmacies, case workers, and people living with or affected by HIV and AIDS.  Past experience and status quo does not entitle any of us to be more important than the other while HIV is still alive and winning. 

I don’t know habeas corpus, I don’t know pricing policy, and I am fully aware that I wasn’t suffering in the 1980’s when this epidemic was a death sentence.  However, I will be the new generation’s representative to continue the fight against HIV and to hopefully one day live to see the cure.  But, I can’t do it alone.  You can’t do it alone.  I reach out to all individuals I described, especially my peers under the age of thirty, to make your voices heard.  If our voices don’t speak collectively and in large quantities, the White House will not be there to listen.

Once again all I ask is that we lift the sense of entitlement or expressing sympathy for other groups.  As HIV knowingly survives over thirty years we all need to understand that we equally need help.  Younger people like me need leaders and voices to follow in past footsteps.  The past foot steps need to remember in order to create new footsteps you need to let someone like me in.  Our message to the White House is universal and clear.  And that message is this- WE NEED HELP AND WE NEED IT YESTERDAY.      

WE NEED HELP AND WE NEED IT YESTERDAY.

WE NEED HELP AND WE NEED IT YESTERDAY!

To learn more about the ADAP advocacy Association and how you could get involved, visit the website here: http://www.adapadvocacyassociation.org/.      

FA LA LA LA NO NO NO NO, YES!

The holiday season is in full swing.  The first drop of snow for the season sprinkled New York City this week and store fronts are covered with evergreen-scented wreaths.  People flood Rockefeller Center to get their chance at ice skating in front of this years' Christmas tree display.  Even I put my own tree up while watching Frank Capra's, It's a Wonderful Life, in the hopes of getting immersed in the spirit of the holidays.  Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful and I think a large portion of it has to do with my exhaustion from this past year.

This week I was due for my quarterly blood drawings as well as refilling prescriptions.  With my "special" type of insurance those procedures involves more than one middle man on several different floors of this one particular building.  First, I have a wasted appointment, with my primary doctor, on the 6th Floor.  Simply because I physically sat in a room with the doctor permits him to write a referral to have me see my HIV specialist.  While waiting for my referral to schedule an appointment with the specialist (whose practice is 40 minutes away from this building) I sit in the lobby.  The receptionist is on the phone with the receptionist at the specialist's office who plans to fax over to my primary doctor the specific blood tests that will need to be drawn that day.  Twenty minutes later we receive the fax and I take the elevator to the Cellar Level where my blood will be drawn.  The lady stabs one of the largest veins in my left arm, removing six vials of blood and causing me to bleed profusely from the outside.  The bleeding finally stops when the medical assistant says to me, "every time you come here make sure you apply plenty of pressure."  I understand she was doing her job but that comment really upset me.  I wanted to say to her, "thanks for reminding me there is no cure to HIV and I have to succumb to this agony every three months." I guess I should be grateful that I am healthy and able to draw blood.

I take the elevator back to the 6th floor where the receptionist hands me the referral.  This piece of paper is my ticket to see the specialist who will (hopefully) tell me, "Everything looks great.  See you in a few months."  Lucky me that in a few months I get to do the entire procedure of riding elevators trying not to bleed on the tile, yet again.  Of course I must make the appointment first with my primary doctor or I won't be allowed to push the elevator button up to the 6th Floor.  Finally, I take the elevator to the third floor where I make sure my prescriptions are being filled for pickup the next day.  I laugh when I think how all of this could have been avoided if I was approved for ADAP.  I'd be able to see one doctor, go to one pharmacy, and work only one job.  I guess I should be grateful that I have some medical care at all.

I was running late for work the next morning.  I get off the subway a block away from my employment when I realized I'd forgotten my medicine at home.  I couldn't go back and get it and I couldn't tell work the truth.  (I am not open about my status at my day job.)  Missing a dose was like having unprotected sex.  You know it’s dangerous, you know you shouldn't do it.  Yet, I felt liberated, I smelled the fresh air.  It was comforting to pretend to be toxic free for just one morning.  My specialist once informed me what to do in this situation so I didn't panic.  I guess I should be grateful that I have options at all.   

Usually at work I roll up my sleeves exposing my forearms, however this day they needed to be covered.  The stab on my left arm had bled internally causing a huge blue stain on the surface (it was ugly.)  Every three months.  I did this not just so I would stop staring at the results of my past mistakes but just in case anyone at work saw the wound.  Meanwhile, this is a job where I've been here for many months and I still don't have a work badge like the rest of the staff.  Said badges have your profile picture and in my opinion it gives a sense of pride for the company we work for.  I know they appreciate my hard work, but it would be nice to finally be part of the team.  Not to mention their benefits package.  It is my main source of income and I can't be too expressive out of fear of losing my role.  I guess I should be grateful that I have a job at all.

I'm exhausted.  I'm exhausted being punished at work, by society, by the government and by my community that I have HIV.  I'm especially exhausted from punishing myself for being HIV positive.  My frustration caused me to pick at a scab on my thumb.  Naturally, blood begins to drip down my finger.  As I clean the hurt and see the infected blood on the tissue I think to myself, "Take that HIV!"  I know it may not be healthy to think about the HIV cells on the tissue dying because they can no longer spread in numbers, however when I used to bleed I would get freaked out by seeing my blood knowing what's inside it.  That damaged me more than anything.  Suddenly, the most remarkable thing happened to me as I dabbed my thumb.  The blood on the tissue was in the shape of a heart!  (I swear on my life I am not making this up.)  I smiled. 

In that instance I knew I wasn't alone in my office.  Someone, or something, is watching over me- over all of us.  I'm not a spiritual person in the sense that I attend a place of worship, but I am a firm believer that there is meaning to all this.  Perhaps after we die we'll understand why the world was destined to become acquainted with HIV.  Sure, I have my current struggles with exhaustion, work, medical frustrations and hardships, relationships, and life in general.  I have to remind myself that it will all be okay and it will all fall into place and someday, someday, the reason for giving me all of my struggles will be revealed.

Perhaps with that in mind I should take my tree down and put it back up again and get immersed in the Christmas spirit I cherished as a child.

I am so grateful for my life, no matter how hard it can be sometimes.  Merry Christmas life and here’s to a happy and prosperous New Year and many more to come! 

MAN’S BEST FRIEND CURES HIV

I didn't want her.  I didn't understand why the ladies of our family wanted a second dog in the household anyways.  Having one dog already was work on its own.  Nevertheless, if they insisted on having a new member of the family I made sure to help choose one that would contribute.

I remember the afternoon when we brought the new dog home from the pet shop.  It was a beautiful spring day, a month before I was due to graduate from Junior High School and the grass and flowers were in full bloom.  The shop was filled to capacity with howling newborn birds, cats and puppies.  The odor was enough to make me postpone my breathing inhalation patterns in an attempt to avoid the delicious fowl. 

I wanted the Shih Tzu with the golden-colored patches on its body.  It was overly friendly and carefree; it jumped around and smiled at me endlessly.  Meanwhile, a darker-colored Shih Tzu lay in the corner like a lump, quiet as a mouse and did nothing to show enthusiasm for wanting a home with humans.  However, she was chosen by my sister on the basis that the two shared the same birthday.  I was overruled and furious.  We brought the lump to her new home and named her Lillie (Tigerlily.)

The infant puppy never cried.  She never barked to be released from her cage.  Lillie was the most obedient baby I have witnessed up until that point.  Once she was house broken Lillie began to do something quite peculiar: Lillie followed me wherever I went.  She slept at the foot of my bed begging me to pet her.  It was as if she knew I wasn't the least bit impressed with her earlier mannerisms.  To make a long story short, I came around and before long Lillie and I were best friends.  I became protective of my pet sister from my human brother and sister's roughness claiming Lillie enjoyed it.  "If she likes it so much why does she come running to me when she's scared?" was my general response.

There was no doubt that Lillie loved everyone in the family.  But, as my brother put it, "Lille was my shadow."  It was hard to say good bye to her when I left for college, when I moved to Florida, or after a short holiday visit home, but she always jumped for joy and wagged her tail uncontrollably when I returned.  Two days before she passed we cuddled on the couch watching the "Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade."  I got up to get a drink and typical Lillie would've followed me- this time she didn't move from the couch.  I knew in my heart it was time.

I shed my tears on the way to my parents’ house the afternoon of her passing.  I wanted to remove it from my system to stay strong for my family when I arrived.  I thought about death which of course reminded me of my diagnosis.  Considering it was Thanksgiving weekend I tried my darnedest to find what to be thankful for in this situation.  I was thankful that Lillie was only sick for a handful of days- which meant her life till the very end was healthy and prosperous.  I couldn't say the same for my other dog where there are arguments that we dragged on his suffering too long.  "Would my family do the same to me should HIV take a turn for the worse?" I thought. 

Suddenly my thankful thoughts turned to anger and resentment.  I was angry that Lillie died on us.  The weeks when yours truly was on his deathbed, as I've referred to it, with early stages of the HIV infection, Lillie was beside me as much as I would let her.  Looking at her eyes I could tell she knew I was sick and there was nothing her paws could do, except to cuddle with me.  I felt her pain for my pain and I loved her for it.  She may have only been a dog, but a spirit nonetheless that I was able to count on the most in my life.

When I returned to the city at the end of the weekend I met up with a guy whom I was recently dating.  I told him about Lillie and her death mixed with my realization of my HIV diagnosis, the nonsense that makes New York, my ADAP troubles and my forced decisions to leave the city to go back to my childhood home where I'd be isolated and alone mixed deeper with my fatigue and my unhappiness had finally taken its toll- my anger from the past few weeks turned to exhaustion.  I'm physically and emotionally exhausted and all I want to do is take a nap.  Then, he said something I'll never forget; He explained that an argument the two of us had wasn't about me and him, but that he realized all I need in my life is a friend.  Someone to tell me everything is going to be okay.

I have friends, of course.  Some very close friends that are dear.  And after I spoke with him it dawned on me that he's right- I don't have a friend, a best friend, the kind I speak to almost everyday where we check on each other and can't go to bed without speaking to one another.  Lillie, should she have been human, would have been that friend. 

I didn't want her.  And now I didn't want her to ever leave.  If she was here and was able to speak to me I'm confident she'd say this to me, "Christopher, so what if you're HIV positive.  You're better than this.  You're my best friend and I know you better than anyone on this planet ever will.  I know all your secrets, your happiness, your sadness.  I forgave you when you left me for school.  I forgave you when you left me for Florida.  I forgave your drinking problem and DWI.  Only I understand you.  Now, Christmas is coming.  My gift to you is this- my blessing.  Go!  Do what you've been debating about.  Ignore everyone else's opinion and sarcasms.  They don't know better because they are not you.  Your life has finally been heading in the right direction, HIV or not.  I will always be here to support you."  

Lillie is right.  I need to make the arrangements, send for an extra supply of medications and get the hell out of the presence I'm in.  It's time to say good bye to New York City- for good.

I will always love and miss you, Lillie. 

BEING RESPONSIBLE IS IRRESPONSIBLE

At least that is what I'm starting to believe in our country.  I'm a responsible citizen: I pay my taxes, I bring home an honest paycheck, I take care of my heath, I volunteer, I even vote.  However, I am starting to understand that trying to stay ahead and doing the right thing is working against me.

Let me explain.  I work a full time job through a temp agency.  The agency has an extremely limited benefits package that will not cover my specific HIV medical needs.  I also work part time at night at a hotel of which is my only medical coverage.  This part time gig is a union job.  Regardless of your opinion of unions I will say this: I believe unions are necessary solely for the purpose of employers and employees having equal opportunity in an environment that would have otherwise.  Sure, there are abuses on both sides, but I digress.  My union benefits differ from regular medical benefits in a number of ways.  I cannot choose my medical care.  Instead, it is required that I see their doctors and their specialists in order to be covered.  The problem with that is that it can take as little as a few months to see a doctor for a sore throat.  Their response is if you need to seek help go to the emergency room.  Being HIV positive and required to submit bloodwork every three months in addition to my primary care follow up of said work, it is a necessity that I am able to schedule my appointments in a reasonable matter.  Of course there is no HIV specialist under my medical plan.  Finally, if I want to see a specialist not only would I need a referral to see that specialist (every time I need to see him), but I would also need a referral to get bloodwork drawn (again, every time I need it done.)

For the time being, I have been paying for my blood work as well as my doctor visits out of pocket.  Thousands of dollars later and I still owe a significant amount.  Unfortunately, until we find a cure, or I quit my jobs all together, this cycle will have no end.  Naturally, I can see how the world outside of HIV take this illness less and less seriously given your "once-a-day" medications and living longer lives.  This side of the epidemic isn't spoken about enough to the general public.  I've had endless meetings with social workers over months on end.  It has come to the point where I have pleaded with them with what I should do.  "Give me an ultimatum," I say. 

Scenario One: IF I quit my part time job and have no medical benefits I will qualify for New York's ADAP (Aids Drug Assistance Program.)  Consequence to Scenario One: my income will be significantly less and I may be forced to leave my home and move back in with my parents.  My temp job is above the poverty level, but just enough to barely make ends meat, so I don't qualify for government assistance.  Food will become a luxury.  My parents live outside New York City, and our state is under the radar for falling into the ADAP "waiting list" category.  For further information regarding ADAP and the waiting lists (if there is one in your state) and what you could do to help, click on the website here: http://www.adapadvocacyassociation.org/ 

Scenario Two: IF I keep both my jobs I will not qualify for ADAP.  Consequence to Scenario Two: Not only will I run myself down with fatigue working 60 hours a week like I currently do, but I will somehow have to conjur up $750 every three months.  At least my medicine is still covered with my current part time job.  That is, they haven't questioned my prescriptions at this point.  Praise be to God that I don't have to ever pay for my medications out of pocket.  Seeing how much each individual pill costs turns my olive skin to snow white.

There should be a law of some sort where employers only have a certain time frame to decide whether or not they'd like add a temp employee to payroll.  There should be consquences should they string hardworking professionals along.  Maybe there is, but I doubt it. 

I haven't reached my offical one year mark being HIV positive and I'm already exhausted.  I'm tired of closed doors and "we can't help you" answers.  I try to do the right thing by working hard and paying my dues with no end in sight.  I was once taught to aspire to a world with a house and a white picket fence and landscaped gardens.  For all the Americans on waiting lists, live hours and hours away from medical care or try to do the right thing and still get spit on like me I say this: even in a metropolis like New York City, you can feel alone.

We really are all in this, together.

FIGHTING DEPRESSION THROUGH A NOVEL

The colors outside are changing and daylight settles in earlier than New York has been accustomed to in the warmer months.  It’s time to hang up the swimming trunks and snuggle up with a blanket with some green tea.  I hear it’s a great source of antioxidants for HIV positive individuals like me. 

As much as I try to celebrate this beautiful, yet chilly time of year I can’t.  I’m having trouble getting myself out of the “funk” that I’ve been in the past couple of weeks.  All the things that I once got a charge out of are now a chore, like going to the gym or volunteer work or having a nice dinner.  I couldn’t tell you exactly what the culprit is that are responsible for putting me through this:  Perhaps it’s been sinking into my mind that I have HIV and the discipline of medications is starting to take it’s toll- or that I live in a city of which I don’t find beauty in like everyone else- or maybe I’m tired of spending so much time alone.  Regardless of the reason I am trying my hardest to not go down the same path that got me in trouble the first time around.  I must admit that on many occasions I cannot the resist the temptation of chilled Bourbon on the rocks and that scares me.

There’s only one thing these days that stimulates my mind: my writing.  I’ve been working on a novel for the past few years and with the help of a friend of mine I’m steps closer to finishing it.  Many have pestered me to speak of the story and I’ve tried to defy conversing with others about it until the book is in production.  Considering this funk I’m in and my defenses are low I thought it deemed appropriate to finally talk about one of my current joys.  For my avid readers, this is the first time I am publishing a synopsis of the storyline.  I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoy writing it.  Every completed page is one step closer to publication and another smile on my face.  Here it goes.    

Every individual has rituals of their own when it comes to problem solving.  Some turn to friends while others want to be alone and drink their sorrows away.  Some may go for long walks to sort their thoughts while others run from them.  Nathan, an introvert with a closeted past finds refuge in his laundry. 

Laundry is this adolescents’ alone time where he is attentive to his clothes circling in the machines.  For him the problems go away with the stains and the marks- ready to conquer the day ahead as soon as all articles are folded and set. 

However, for the first time Nathan is challenged by family and love and all the detergent in the universe cannot help him.  With the help of his sordid friendship with the Laundromat owner, Mildred, Nathan must face his most difficult challenge of all: Life.

The chapters are broken down by articles of clothing, each with their own storyline.  We begin with Nathan’s entrance into the Laundromat and journey with him through the cycle to an ending that no one would have predicted! 

Keep your fingers crossed that one day Nathan’s story, which so many can relate to, makes it on the New York Times Bestseller’s List. 

CHRISTOPHER’S “IT GETS BETTER” STORY

In response to the recent teen suicides in our country hundreds of Americans, including celebrities, posted videos they’ve created for the gay and the questioning teenagers.  They talk about their high school experiences and stress not to give up on life and that things will “get better.”  I would like you as a reader to indulge me for this blog entry by allowing a break from the topic of HIV this week so I may progress this noteworthy and effective movement -in my own words.

For the teenager out there who’s reading this:

• I speak to you as an adult who was once a scared teenager like you
• I speak to the adult that you are becoming
• Whether you’re male, female, gay, straight, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, Black, White, Asian, short, tall, skinny, fat, popular, friendless
• Who is considering to end your life
• Who have been bullied
• Who is a bully

For the teenager out there who’s reading this- this story is dedicated to you.

When we were born we had no knowledge.  When we were children we asked many questions and accepted the answers given to us.  When we became teenagers we asked less and less questions and repressed the answers given to us.  When we became adults we no longer asked questions because we knew all the answers.  At such time a child asks the questions of which we provide the answers to.  And so the child sets off with this newfound knowledge we granted him/her.  What was the message we gave them?

I’ll tell you the message that adults, especially parents, guardians, and teachers should always give to children: Life will never be easy because every day we learn something new, even as adults when we are expected to have all the answers.  We learn that each day will never be the same as the other, filled with happiness and celebration, or heartache and sadness.  But most importantly, no two human beings will ever be the same as one another, but all human beings are equal.  As you get older and you as a person change both physically and emotionally you will begin to understand this.  In the meantime, you must never hurt others for what you do not understand or are afraid of.  Everyone, including you, has the right to be themselves.

Generations after generation of teens have been taught to believe that you need to have all the answers by the time you finish high school and know what you want to do with your life.  I had no idea who I was in high school.  I had no idea who I was in college.  Now, I am twenty seven years old and I am still discovering who I am and realizing the things I have always been- special, loved, wanted, and welcomed.  If we all knew then in high school what we know now as adults perhaps things would have been different.  I wouldn’t have isolated myself as much as I did out of fear.  I would’ve ignored the teasing and remarks aimed to hurt me.  I would have known that high school was only the first chapter of my life.  Unfortunately, life does not allow that luxury and maybe for good reason.  Where are all those people that verbally hurt me back in high school, today?  Who knows, who cares. 

I can sit here and give you specifics about my high school experience.  However, so many individuals have already done so on Youtube through Dan Savages, “It Gets Better Project” and I cannot thank them enough for their bravery and speaking their thoughts.  I only wished these resources were available to me when I was younger. Perhaps I would have made smarter choices in high school and reached out to peers and educators and loved ones.  Perhaps I would have realized that I am not alone and that there are others out there just like me rather than choosing to isolate myself.  That hurt I created I believe was the ultimate reason to the predicament I have created - living a life with HIV.  But that was me and this is you.

Let me offer my hand to the gay and questioning teens that are currently victims of bullies.  Don’t give up and don’t let them win.  There is nothing wrong with you.  The bullies are the ones with the problem only because they don’t understand you and are yet unable to value all that you will accomplish when you are free to dictate your own life in the years to come.  Bullies can also be adults as well as peers.  Find someone to reach out to if you are being harassed in any way.  Remember that everyone, including you, has the right to be themselves.

If you are someone who is a bully- leave them alone.  You will only be doing greater damage to yourself in addition to the person you are physically hurting. 

My final thought on this entry is this- not only will I promise you that it gets better, but it gets incredibly and substantially better.  Hang in there and when high school is over you will be free to live as the person you desperately have been trying to be.  Who knows, by sticking around you may save the life of another teen who will one day seek your help. 

We in the LGBT community will always be here to welcome you with warming arms.

On October 20, 2010 remember to wear purple, in honor of the lost teens who felt they had no one and nowhere to turn to in their time of crisis.  They will forever be in our hearts.

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST

“Going to Jump off the Bridge.  Sorry.”   -Tyler Clementi (1992-2010)

Those were the last communicative words the world read on the Facebook status message of eighteen year old violinist and Rutgers student, Tyler Clementi, before choosing to take his life on September 22.  His car (containing his laptop, wallet, and phone) was found abandoned on the George Washington Bridge here in New York City.

If you had not recently read in the papers of this boy’s demise then I will give you a brief synopsis.  Clementi asked his college roommate for some privacy until midnight one night.  His roommate, by name of Dharun Ravi, obliged and sneakily set up his computer’s webcam.  The end result of this prank was Ravi recording Clementi having sexual relations with another man in their room without Clementi‘s awareness.  It wasn’t until later on did Clementi find out about this video and that it had been posted all over the internet for everyone to see.  Humiliation does not justify what his feelings must have been when he found out. 

It is not proven that this particular incident drove Clementi to his death, but if I was to speculate (and I will) the fingers do point in that direction.  This poor child is dead and the worst punishment Ravi will receive is up to five years in prison.  That’s how the justice system handles a bully picking on a weaker individual because he was gay?  How many more gay men and women have to die before society will take this seriously?  

It is obvious being a gay individual why I would be disgusted with this case.  I can talk about the politics of hate crimes in this country and the hardships minorities face, but I will leave that to others.  I will refrain as best as I can and I will talk about how this story relates to me and HIV, which my blogging is ultimately about.

ACCEPTANCE.  A simple concept, yet the world won’t allow themselves to practice such.  It is a concept that any gay individual, including myself, strives to find the meaning of.  Society and religion are two variables that tell people what is right and wrong in life and what we should and shouldn’t accept.  Unfortunately, being gay for the majority is wrong in the eyes of most.  This causes those who are different to feel isolated and unloved.  I was lucky growing up.  The worst torment I ever experienced was verbal abuse- “Hey faggot,” “Fairy, what’s up?” “Kiss any boys lately?” “You hate pussy, don’t you fag,” to name a few.  It was all sticks and stones, but rarely would people physically try to attack me.  It’s easy to pick on the kids who are weaker and introverted.  I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up and before my junior year I was never the most popular person in school, spending many weekends at home by myself. 

As I became an adult and understood that I was attracted to men was when the real danger happened.  I began doing things that was only going to hurt my health down the road.  But, I did them because I was tired of rejection and feeling alone- like most of us in the gay community.  I found a home where I can share stories and relate with other guys who were picked on and beaten in childhood just because they were born with a genetic makeup that causes attraction to the same sex.  But like I said, I was lucky.  I am still alive and here to talk to others while I can’t say the same for the innocent Clementi.  I’m lucky to have supportive friends and family who love me unconditionally. 

I knew that unprotected sex can get me in trouble, but before my diagnosis and my enlightenment I didn’t love myself enough to care. The piled up years of others not loving me or accepting me took a toll on my attitude about things.  Inevitably I got HIV. 

Society enforces that being gay is wrong because of reasons like HIV and Meth users, etc.  God forbid they see us as individuals.  It’s okay to be sympathetic to straight people with alcohol problems, but if you’re a gay man then you are a time bomb for falling into drugs or getting HIV, and no one can help you, right?  Well, society seems to think so.    Hence, hate crimes continue without consequences and HIV spreads.  As time passes I am learning to think that HIV has saved me.   Of course, HIV is a serious illness and nothing to joke about, but as said in entries past I plan to look at HIV in a different light than what I was brought up to believe.  Being diagnosed was the thing that changed my attitude about myself.  

“Oh no world,” I say, “I may have low self-esteem and you may tell me it’s wrong to be gay, but no way will I let your cruelty and non-acceptance prevail and win!  I have more self worth than that!” I refuse to let HIV take over and kill me.  My body and the medication I take illustrate that.  In the end, I win.  It is a shame that Clementi, being a gay man wasn’t as strong.  I did not know him personally, but as a gay man I wish I could give this boy a hug and say, “You’re not alone, don’t let them win.” 

It is not enough for me to educate the world about HIV and prevention.  We need show the world that consequences for hate crimes should be dealt with harshly.  Parents need to take a stand with their kids and tell them that other kids on the playground will be different- from skin color to handicaps to love interests.  Said kids need to understand that the occupants of the world will never all be the same and you must accept that.  Little Johnny or Sue are no better, nor worse, than they are.  The world we have created for younger generations is filled with cruelty and nonsense.  It needs to be stopped.  We need to reshape people’s attitudes of the ever-changing planet we live in if we are ever going to live in harmony.  If we don’t then negative variables like HIV and suicide will continue to increase in numbers and win.

<-Tyler Clementi

HIV’s LATEST VICTIM: APPROXIMATELY ONE YEAR LATER

This entry is for everyone, in particularly HIV NEGATIVE individuals.  I want to wend the importance of PREVENTION and TESTING and how a negative diagnosis works without discussing too many specific medical technicalities considering I am not in the profession.  This entry is a bit detailed, but as I have reiterated in the past it is my decision to share my story so I can tell others out there not to make the same mistakes I did.

Reference:

Sept. 29, 2009- Tested HIV Negative

Oct. 16, 2009 (approx.)- Hospitalized and severely sick

Jan. 21, 2010- Tested HIV Positive

Let me start by saying that I forgive myself for making poor choices in my life.  However, as much as I’d like to I shall never forget the demonic occurrences that got me to where I am today.  Not to mention if I am going to spread the word of prevention to the world it is important to remember why I am laying in my bed right now writing about this topic as opposed to a sassy love story. 

Last summer, 2009, was a tiresome and lonely one.  I worked most weekends and major holidays acting like I had been deprived of my favorite season and all its pleasurable events.  When I had spare time I would drown myself in alcohol and parties that lead to me to these poor choices I speak of.  There’s no need to give specifics. 

 As summer winded down and September approached I reached out to a couple of close girl friends of mine at work and explained to them that I had reason to worry about my health.  No matter how many times they urged me to get tested for HIV I thought it’d be best to avoid testing altogether and perhaps my fears would go away in time.  Finally, one the girls grabbed me by my non-existent hair and dragged me to a clinic in Midtown, New York City.  The counselor conducted a painless oral swab that took twenty minutes for the results.  While waiting the counselor spoke to me about my sex history and how I can prevent myself from endangering my body.  The first piece of advice I can give those individuals that are due for an HIV test is to find a clinic that has counselors that will sit and speak with you while you wait for the results- not only did it calm my nerves to speak with someone, but it made the time go fast.  Low and behold my results came back negative.  My friend was overjoyed and although I was happy to an extent I knew deep down that I was not out of the woodwork. 

My specialist broke it down for me months ago- since I was tested Positive in January 2010, but Negative in September 2009 and got sick in October 2009 does not mean that I was infected between the Negative diagnosis and my sickness.  I was already infected before my negative diagnosis.  Like I’ve stated, it was a summer where I made idiotic choices.

If HIV were a person on a scholastic scale, then they would be considered a genius.  The virus knows when entering a new system planning to attack healthy cells that it also needs to hide from the cells in our body that will later kill them-our T-cells.  T-cells, or CD4 cells, are natural cells in our bodies that continuously travel the entire organism seeking to attack viruses like the flu or common cold that are dormant in us.  HIV has two goals: to replicate and to survive.  It needs to replicate TO survive.  The virus can only replicate through, literally through, the cells in our body.  The virus will survive as long as they hide from our T-cells.  Unfortunately, the virus will be successful in its attempt to escape the doom of T-cells.  By the time our heroes come to save the day, the damage has already been done.  In essence, when I received the NEGATIVE diagnosis in September the virus was already in my body and my T-cells were unaware of HIV roaming around replicating as we spoke.  It was a matter of weeks before I was on my death bed.

Later in October I began to fall ill.  I remember being at my place of employment and having severe chills.  I figured, “tis the season” and I will just have to keep an eye out for the flu.  As the week progressed I grew a fever up to 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  I had night sweats, no appetite and I could barely swallow water.  I needed my mommy to take care of me.  I took a medical leave of absence from work and was in and out of the hospital and my doctor’s office.

I had other symptoms, but there was never a cough, a sore throat or a runny nose.  My doctor said my tests work showed no sign of the flu, a common cold, or strep throat.  It began to dawn on me what the diagnosis possibility was, but once again because of fear, I kept my feelings to myself.  Halloween came and gone without celebration and before I knew it the fever was gone and I was back to myself, twelve pounds lighter.

From that day on I would dwell on the fear that I may have HIV but was too afraid to find out the truth.  It took two and a half months for me to build the courage to face the music and see if my deduction was correct.  On January 21, 2010 I was diagnosed with HIV.

My description is not made to scare you.  I want you to understand that getting sick the way I did was a good thing.  My HIV specialist later explained to me why my illness was so severe.  My body was working double overtime trying to kill the HIV virus.  Back in late September, or early October, just before I grew sick was the time period when my T-cells discovered an HIV cell and sent in the troops (other T-cells) for backup to kill the foreigner.  As uncomfortable as the experience was I do understand that my immune system fights hard to keep me alive, whether it’s killing HIV viruses or any other viruses.  Now my body is aware that there is HIV in me and as long as my heart still beats it will forever battle the cells- or until there is a cure.  Just like any war there will be deaths on both sides of the battle field.  HIV cells die, but so does my T-cells in the battle.  My T-cells can’t fight HIV alone so it needs allies- my medications.  Now T-cells can have coffee breaks or fight other sicknesses in me, like the flu, while my medications do some of the work.  Now the possibility of me dying from HIV is almost non-existent so long as I am obedient and take my medications everyday and at the hours I am supposed to.

So for all of you individuals out there who test negative on an HIV test- I want you to understand how important it is to follow up on testing every 3-6 months to be 100% sure that you don’t have HIV.  Together, we can stop the replication of this horrible illness that has taken the lives of millions.  Be safe.

My Final Reference:

1-HIV Negative Individuals: approximately 500-1500 T-Cells in the body

2-My T-Cell Ct as of March 2010: 391 T-Cells (due to the significant toll my body took in Oct. 2009)- no meds

3- May 6, 2010-virus UNDETECTABLE IN MY SYSTEM- 460 T-Cells with meds

4- August 4, 2010- 652 T-Cells, with meds, and still rising

*The latest recommendation I read that an HIV positive individual should consider starting medications- <350 T-Cells

*considered an AIDS patient- <200 T-Cells- note that even in this category you can get healthy again and go back to an HIV-level patient. Hence, not a death sentence.

WORKING NINE TO FIVE: THEN SIX TO TWO

Let me start by apologizing for my absence. It has been a couple weeks since I’ve posted a new blog on the internet.

 

My reasons are just. My calendar is filled to the point where even yours truly can’t keep up with all that needs to be done! No, it’s not my non-existent social calendar, but my calendar filled with events and tasks that stimulate my brain. I purchased a white board today that swiftly became my daily “To-Do” list preventing me from falling behind OR not completing tasks of which I promised to do for others. Let me share with you the bullet points on that board:

 

• Look over & give feedback for the new POZIAM website
• Help build the “Does HIV Look like Me?” newly diagnosed section of their website
• Take pictures with DAB the AIDS Bear with NYC landmarks- ongoing
• Create next blog entry- TONIGHT
• Pay final Verizon bill on Friday
• Pay portion of blood work bill as well as Doctor’s visit(s) bill- ongoing
• Pick up paycheck from staffing agency on Thursday
• Former 401K plan- use $$$ to pay medical bills? Pending
• Upload Part 3 and 4 Vlog series to Youtube- attempt No. 6 or is it 7?
• Hang Curtains- DONE!

I’ve been slacking on my response to a handful of these tasks simply because I hadn’t had the time to commit. I always get everything done in time, but challenges have approached me. I recently accepted a new job as an administrative assistant at one of America’s well-known railroad companies. That’s right; I can almost say goodbye to my crappy job (that I have written about previously) and say hello to my full time career! However, in order to cross some of these particular tasks off my list sooner rather than later I felt it best to stay at that bartending job a couple nights a week. As if I had time to spare originally- now my free time will be further limited for a while. I spent most of the summer working two jobs and now it seems to have no end in sight.

 

In my opinion, being HIV positive creates a barrier in the workplace. There are so many things to consider before walking out on a job that I’m less than satisfied with- especially when their health insurance plan covers my medications one hundred percent. That was the only reason I stayed at a job that I dreaded going to day after day. Unfortunately, until I can get my blood work and hospital bills settled (bills that were not covered by insurance) I feel trapped for a while leaving myself working two jobs. Of course living in one of the largest and most expensive cities in the world never helps.

 

Stress and fatigue caused from working two jobs will only play against me in fighting HIV. As long as I keep telling myself that it’s only temporary and that I am still young and healthy then it will be okay. Some would relax from these stresses by binge drinking or other bodily irritants that temporarily take the stress away. I turn to my writing to calm me. I sure do miss having more time to my writing and blogging though- it’s only temporary, Christopher.

 

Perhaps one day soon the price we pay to stay alive won’t be so expensive.