ORDINATION AND HIV: MY NEXT CHAPTER

NEW YORK: GONE WITH A SPLASH

2013 is certainly giving us reasons to celebrate in the American LGBT community: with DOMA being shut down and Prop 8 overturned.  However, there’s also plenty of reason to mourn and help fight – yes, I’m looking at you Russia.  As important as it is to discuss such horrific matters, the topic of conversation in this entry stems from upcoming events taking place in my home of New York City. And more notably, the closing of the staple club in Chelsea known as Splash.

Before I get into details let me give you a brief history of my life as a gay man in this city. For starters, I was raised in Long Island, a mere thirty-five minute train ride to the city.  As a family we frequented the city; I remember many-a-day-trips as a young child in the early 1990’s with my father. One time we were on our way to visit lady liberty (I haven’t been back since - what shame!) and I was so scared to leave my father’s side that I remember grabbing the wrong man’s hand and I cried until my father decided to finally come fetch me. My first gay bar experience was in the city at the age of 19 when I finally came out of the closet as “bi”.  It was 2002, I was home for college break, and I went to a bar called Posh because this guy I was speaking to on Gay.com (yes, Gay.com!) asked me to meet him there for a drink.  Still to this day Posh is my watering hole of choice, but at the time for years to come I spent half or my time in Chelsea and the other half broken down between HK and the East Village.

Moving on.

Picture NYC in 2002. There were half the gay bars in HK there are today, and Chelsea was “the place” to see and be seen.  I was a young twink so I never really fit in there as it was covered with muscle heads; still I LOVED hanging out in Chelsea, especially at the Big Cup and eat at Food Bar. Roxy, Heaven and Avalon were still open. In 2004, I graduated from college and moved to Astoria, Queens to be closer to the city I knew I wanted to call home. 

Friday and Saturday nights the conversations with friends were always, “Should we go to the HK area, East Village or Chelsea?”  And the response was typically, “We always do Chelsea, let’s try something new.”  Somehow, even if we didn’t start there, we ended up in Chelsea.  Splash bar was frequented by me because I loved to dance and take my shirt off and I really felt free- incidentally it was the place I experimented with “Special K” in the downstairs bathrooms. (But, only experimented mom, I promise!)

What’s my point?  With Splash now closing there has been so many arguments as to whether or not Chelsea is a “has been” area or if New York City’s gay culture is changing as a whole.  While I have comments I could add about both sides it seems to me that online publications is taking well care of that so I’ll leave them to it.  However, since this announcement arose there has been something I can’t get off my mind: My generation is the forgotten generation in the LGBT community (roughly if you were born between 1977-1987). That can vary depending on the individual, so please don’t bite my head off if you agree/disagree.

What do I mean the forgotten generation?  The quick answer is the generations before and after me had advantages that we didn’t have and they don’t seem to realize they had, whether or not they actually realized it at the time. The world for gay guys 25 and younger today is much different than the world I lived in before 25. The Big Cup in Chelsea was my “Grindr”. We had phones, but it was only to call people – texting was still not fully launched.  So people looked at each other in person rather than a piece of equipment. I wonder if the young gay guys in NYC care about the dying culture of the Chelsea area and the many memories people of my age share with it. Then on the other side of the coin there is the older generation.  My heart goes out to them because they’ve gone through so much to get us to where we are today and I will be forever grateful for their efforts. They come from a world where everyone around them was still dying of AIDS and they fought for not only LGBT rights, but also civil rights for their health. Now, as an HIV positive man who wants to be part of the future movement for help in that community (as well as LGBT rights) my experience with most (not all) is that we are dismissed because we “weren’t there.” They established these “gay ghettos” for us and I know they are saddened to see some of them die, but when I want to share memories with them, I am dismissed, just like I am dismissed from guys under 25. I wish I was my age back then to be part of the disco years and to feel free and safe around my peers rather than having to worry about getting run over by a baby stroller and making too much noise.  The point about the older generation is they had the sense of community.  I don’t have that feeling because we are all not united in that way.

It’s bad enough that I see these “kids” on Grindr that are around 23 years old and their headlines are “no one over 27”.  And older generations still think me being 30 is kind of young and inexperienced. So, I’m stuck in the middle drinking some wine alone while I type this blog – actually I’m so old school that I had to write it down first before typing up the final piece. I reminisce about my “good old days” - before there was Grindr and Facebook; Before all the mom and pop stores in New York were being closed by corporations looking to gentrify the city.  So yes, I can’t say I’m surprised that Splash is closing, and I will admit I was one of many that heard about it stated that Chelsea is dying.  But, when I say that statement I say it with great sadness. 

Sure, there is plenty of reason to celebrate in New York that we are being welcomed by the rest of the city and populations (mostly) and we can all comingle and live together and spread gay run businesses throughout the city where the rent is relatively reasonable still, but what was so bad about having a neighborhood dedicated to our community where still to this day (whether or not gay men will admit out loud) they feel the safest?  What’s wrong with that? How would you feel if you were told they are tearing down the house of which you grew up? 

Okay, so the management style and the overpriced drinks, etc., wasn’t ideal anymore for attending Splash these last few years. However, I’m looking at Splash right now as a symbol rather than a business. It was one of the last surviving places I remember feeling gay and free in my early days coming out.  And now my own gay history is slowly dying – and I know for many gay men I’m not alone here.

I know we can argue that we probably did the same thing when Chelsea was birthed for gays and we abandoned the West Village, where it all began with Stonewall (Yet, the West Village is still going strong for a certain population of gays – food for thought). And then we moved from Chelsea to HK, and slowly to Harlem (and so on). One day (and not so in the distant future) the same movement of closures will happen in the HK area – and that’s a big WHEN not IF.  When Posh closes its doors for good I will actually cry.  Who’s to blame – the city?  Our community?  Both?  Neither? 

The culture of New York that once was praised and envied by others is now dying and many don’t realize it.  It’s for the rich and also for a gay community divided in their opinions and efforts. We just accept all the change around us.  While some of it good, some is not so good. It’s time we as a community in New York start re-evaluating what we want to see in the future of our city – and remember the large population of us 30 and 40 year old gays who have been caught in the middle of all the change – are begging to be heard.

Continuing down this path I just very well may die here – as planned. 

FORGIVE ME, MY FOLLOWERS…

For I've been a distant blogger for the past year (literally one year ago last week).  But, I was distant for good reason, of course.  Actually looking back at some of my entries on here reminded me that I wasn't in the best of places at this time last year.  It’s not that I haven’t thought of you, or this blog.  The comments show up in my inbox on a daily basis – still to this day - and I thank you for them.  The real reason for my disappearance was that I needed to take some time away from the HIV world to get my live in order.

I’m happy to report that my life indeed is in order – I have a great job, a loving family, a large support group that keeps me strong and most importantly, stable health insurance.

Yet, the most important point I’d like to say is that I've been re-inspired to return to my advocacy and my work in the HIV and AIDS community.  And I thank everyone in the community, including you, for pushing me to do so.  How’d it happen?  Well, pull up a chair, grab a glass of wine and I’ll tell you.

 

On July 7 and 8, I attended the aaa+’s (formerly known as the ADAP Advocacy Association)in partnership with the Community Access National Network, 6th Annual Conference entitled, “AIDS Drug Assistance Programs: Renewing the Commitment”.  We had people of all backgrounds attend – advocates, doctors, specialists, case workers, PLWHA, pharmaceutical representatives, individuals in politics and more.  Topics of discussion included, but not limited to, HIV criminalization, the current state of The Ryan White Care Act, including where it stands come time for the Affordable Care Act (ACA), Medicaid and the pathology of HIV and its antiretrovirals.

 

I was asked to sit on a panel of fellow bloggers to discuss Access to Care as it related to when I was newly diagnosed three and a half years ago, which still seems like it was yesterday.  I’ll get back to the background of this panel in a moment.

 

Before any of the meetings began I was warmly greeted by friends and advocates – many of whom I had no idea would remember me – that I hadn't seen in over two years since the last time I attended aaa+’s conference.  It was after I was reacquainted with everyone had it started to dawn on me the mistake I made for turning my back on this community.  However, I do believe my breath taking was needed for my own sanity.

Sitting on the discussions I re-educated myself on the current stages and next steps for different advocacy efforts.  During the evening reception I spoke with several women and we had a seemingly lucrative discussion regarding disclosure of status.  This unexpected, yet stimulating conversation gave me an idea for my next blog entry; with the help of Wanda Brendle Moss I’ll get a woman’s view to side with mine regarding disclosure and how it should be addressed differently for gay men from straight women and other categories – stay tuned.

 

Back to the conference.  At the end of Day 2 was it time for the bloggers to facilitate what at the time I didn't realize was going to be a most successful breakout session.  Hosted by Robert Breining, Founder and radio host of POZIAM.com, I sat beside Candace Montague of TheBody.com and the always lovely and entertaining Mark S. King of “My Fabulous Disease”.  We were off to the races and each told our stories in addition to sharing our views regarding access to care following our diagnosis.  Candace, who was able to provide her insight from an HIV negative perspective, spoke about recently released convicts and returning them to civilization while making sure they, too have access to care and every day necessities.  The reaction from the audience was beyond gratifying.  Here I thought to myself prior to the start of the panel, “Why would these people care about what we have to say?”

Boy, was I way off.

Meanwhile, the reality is that the community does read our work(s) and care a lot more that I could have imagined.  In fact, just before the session came to a close, the last comment during the Q&A came from a lovely lady by the name of Terry of Philadelphia.  In a nutshell, this grandmother explained how when she learned of her diagnosis she never felt more alone, with no one to turn to for help because she didn't know of anyone in her life that actually had the virus.  Thanks to our contribution of taking HIV and putting it at a human perspective rather than a clinical one, she felt that she had a family and that she wasn't

alone and was going to be, “OK”.  While saying all this she began to tear up (and so did a few others).  Everyone clapped at Terry and another woman got out of her chair to give her a hug.

Terry, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU for solidifying my re-inspiration.  You’re an angel in so many ways and we need you just as much as you needed us.

 

The result: here I am – returning to my blog and my YouTube page to vocalize myself, once again.

So, to all my avid followers: Many thanks for reading, thanks for your patience and thanks for allowing me the time for my hiatus.  However, I’m back now and ready to apply ink to the paper and reintroduce my voice, including HIV policy, disclosure, advice for the newly diagnosed, etc., in addition to any HIV-related topics you’d like me to discuss.

 

With that said let me reintroduce my voice to those that remember me, and to those that are meeting me for the first time:

MY NAME IS CHRISTOPHER, I’M 30 YEARS OLD, I LIVE IN NEW YORK CITY, AND I’M HIV POSITIVE AND HAPPY.

 

Christopher’s info

Email: cjmyron@gmail.com (Note: HATE MAIL will be reported)

Twitter: cjmyron

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cjmyron

YouTube: www.youtube.com/cjmyron 

Links from this post 

Host of the conference

ADAP Advocacy Association (aaa+): http://www.adapadvocacyassociation.org/

Community Access National Network: www.tiicann.org 

More info on HIV Criminalization

Sero Project: www.seroproject.com

Bloggers:

Robert Breining: www.poziam.org

Mark S. King: http://myfabulousdisease.com/ (also find him at www.TheBody.com and the Huffington Post)

Candace Montague:  http://www.examiner.com/hiv-and-aids-in-washington-dc/candace-y-a-montague

IT’S MY LIFE TO GOVERN, NOT YOURS TO CRITICIZE

IT’S MY LIFE TO GOVERN, NOT YOURS TO CRITICIZE  

This ongoing pattern in my life is beyond frustrating.   Just when things seem to go so well for me is when my entire world crashes before me.  What makes it worse is listening to everyone’s opinions about what I should and shouldn’t be doing.  Actually, instead of opinions they are more like criticisms towards me.  People think they have the right to say whatever they want in judgment towards the way I live my life (as if theirs is so perfect) without knowing anything about the demons inside me.  And if there’s anything I can’t stand is when people state the obvious to me like I didn’t consider all avenues.

For instance, when people ask me what I want to do with my life and I don’t have an exact answer for them they freak out on me.  The best is when their response is, “Well, you need to figure that out.”  You should see their faces when I respond with, “And why is that?”  No response.  When was it decided in our society that one HAD to have a plan?  I’m sorry but people don’t hold jobs for thirty plus years anymore- in fact people change careers like bed sheets these days.  Sure, I have goals and ambitions, but I’m not one to talk about them as freely as one might think.  I get annoyed when everyone seems to think they know what’s in my best interest when they can’t figure it out for their own lives.

Let me rewind for a second so you can understand where I’m coming from.  I quit my job.  It was a hectic environment filled with ungrateful superiors and lack of productivity that made me a bitter person with “knots on top of knots” in my back, as my friend quoted, and unnecessary stress.  Being HIV positive one of the best medicines out there is to relieve any unwanted stress and that’s just what I did.  People told me to stay because of the money.  Of course finances are important, but I don’t let it dictate my sanity.  Next, I’ve decided that Florida isn’t the place for me to pursue my time.  It was only supposed to be a two year pit stop so I can take a program at a local college.  When I didn’t get in I found myself stuck in a state that lacked jobs for the unemployed and no resources for HIV positive people. 

So, I’ve been on the fence about returning to New York or trying Los Angeles.  In come the criticisms.  People tell me I need to stop moving so much.  “Why?”  Do they forget I had longevity recently in New York for a few years, holding a steady job in a horrid economy?  Do my close friends forget that I’ve wanted to live in Los Angeles since I was in middle school?  Not to mention does one think I enjoy moving from place to place?  A major reason not to stay in Florida is because with a waiting list still in place for HIV and AIDS individuals I’d be cut off from my medications and treatments.  My response to my critics, “Is my health a good enough reason to return to NY or consider CA where the programs are vastly funded?”  No response.  Again, you should see their faces.

Since I was a child I allowed myself to influence my life (from the clothes I wore to the activities in school I chose to partake in) around what others would accept.  It was about halfway into my college years when I was also freshly out of the closet did I sit down one day and had a long conversation with myself that made me come to a saddened realization; I wasn’t talented at anything and didn’t have a desire to pursue anything in particular.  The only thing I tried to do after that was to take a stand and say, “enough is enough.”  Unfortunately, I convinced myself that I already lost precious time from doing the things I’ve wanted to do.  And as I approach thirty I’ve tried my best to make up for the time I lost growing up isolated and finding the things I enjoy in my time.

 If I could hit the rewind button and was able to do one thing over again it wouldn’t be to take away my HIV status.  HIV was the stepping stone to finally take control of my life.  No, it would be to start school all over again.  This time I would be a better English student so I could be a better writer.  I would have pursued those dance classes and starred in the school and community plays and really got on that stage.  I wouldn’t have quit the piano, the violin or singing classes.  Oh the humanity!

 Going to school for medicine was only to play it safe in an unsure economy.  I’d love to help people, but I don’t believe my heart would’ve been in it.  Going to school for teaching would have been nice, but again I only wanted summers off.  I’d be passionate to help children learn math, but I don’t think I’d be truly happy.

 Which brings me back to the question, “Why?”  Why do I need to have a plan or an answer right now?  I didn’t get to back pack through Europe after college, I didn’t get to travel the country “finding myself” and do all those wonderful things others were privileged to do in their younger years.  I’ve been working since I was ten years old because my family was poor and when I was in school I spent every waking hour studying in the library trying to be a straight A student- in my head I was doing all the right things because I was told this was the right thing to do.

So, when people don’t let me be on my life and how I live it I tell them, “I’m an HIV positive individual that made a lot of mistakes in life and I’m trying to pay myself back for all those lost years.”

With that said no more fooling around and wasting time.  It’s time for me to really focus on my writing under the proper set of palm trees- a place I’ve wanted to be since I was in the 8^th grade- Los Angeles, California.  Perhaps I’ll pick up the violin again while I’m there- you never know. 

http://positivelite.com/content/news/news-sections/lifestyle/item/you-can-run-but-you-can-t-hide

My post for Positive Lite....enjoy!

PositiveLite.com

My Letter to HIV

HIV 2 Years later Video...Checking in!

ME AND MY HIV: TWO YEARS LATER

Two years.  I sit here and write this and I can’t believe how much time has dwindled before my very eyes since the day of my diagnosis.  How much I’ve experienced.  How much I’ve learned.  How much I’ve changed. 

In the relatively short period I’ve gained a worldwide family and support group (while losing some close-minded acquaintances in the interim), blogged about HIV topics, co-hosted radio shows, worked in advocacy for the less fortunate HIV positive and AIDS patients and made a choice to be vocal and a front runner to the world about my HIV status regardless of opinion.

I’ve held six jobs (still working at the sixth), lived in three different states and vacationed less than four days in a row.  I’ve committed to a life of work and activism, showing the HIV negative community that being positive doesn’t mean I belong in a hospital bed.  Rather, I’m a person with goals like everyone else.    

I cried a total of three times in the two years.  The first was in the shower a day after I discovered the news that would forever change my outlook on life.  The second was in the arms of a friend who shared my experience and purposely got me loaded to “let it out.”  The final cry was the evening I was scheduled to drown my bloodstream with antiretroviral medications.  Forever.

When I finished letting it out I brushed off my sorrows and kept going on with my life.

When one is first diagnosed a minute can feel like an eternity.  As time heals the minute’s spirals down to a day, then an hour, and finally returns to a minute.  Life returns to normal on the surface. 

Normal?  A word that I wish I couldn’t associate with a world still clinging to the many prejudices towards men and women living with HIV.  A world that accepts the overpricing of life-saving medications at the expense of a patient’s rent or food.  A world that has placed HIV and AIDS on the backburner simply because it is a “manageable disease.” 

What does that even mean?  These past two years I’ve been in and out of serious debt and forfeiting necessities, trying to maintain my blood work and doctor visits.  My fatigue is constantly bombarding my days.  I thank God when my insomnia is ceased over a six hour nap.  My weight fluctuates like the sun’s rise.

Sure, HIV and all the provisions it accompanies has it negativities.  There are times when I want to throw in the towel and just give up.  And that’s when I tell myself that I’d be letting my HIV win.  (Yes, I’ve characterized my HIV as my own unique strain.  An actual name TBD)  I would be letting a lot of people down in the world, including myself, if I didn’t parade on with a smile for the world that HIV is part of me.

I may not agree with opinions of others regarding social aspects, political aspects and the physiological aspects of HIV.  I may wish that one day the HIV community can reunite- to continue the fight for our brothers and sisters of yesterday.  And I also may wish that the complacency we bestowed on HIV disperses.  I wish a lot of things.  Such is life.

But, when I was out this past weekend swallowing my medications with a two year anniversary cocktail with dear friends of mine and was asked the question, “What would you have done differently?”  My answer wouldn’t be to have never been infected with HIV.  Call me crazy, but what would I have learned?  I would never have met the Christopher I am today.  I wouldn’t have appreciated life- and how much of it I have to live.  

My answer is truly this- “When I got my test results I wish someone would’ve said to my face, ‘Chris you are HIV positive.’”  A computer screen told me.  It was the loneliest moment in my life. 

Here’s to the health of all my infected brothers and sisters out there.  Here’s to the families of the infected and lost.  Here’s to the millions of people worldwide who have lost the battle against AIDS.  Here’s to the thousands of people being denied their treatment and medications.  Here's to the supporting communities out there aiding in the fight against HIV and AIDS.  

Here’s to two more years, and two more after that.  And so on.  Till there’s a CURE.   

IT’S TUESDAY RIGHT? OR IS IT WEDNESDAY?

Being stuck in a rut is like waiting in purgatory, as we mortals understand the idea of purgatory. 

This has been one roller coaster of a year for me.  I started it off by working two jobs to pay off the medical bills while creating a nice cushion of savings for myself for a rainy day.  Finally, I was able to leave one job and take care of health and move ahead.  That was until the government took my savings from me as a result of our system’s inability to manage their own check books and wreaking havoc on the middle class (what’s left of it.)  It was at that point I lost most of my faith in our legislative system until I took a shot at a job in our nation’s capital concerning HIV politics.  It was my hope that I could make a difference.  However, I felt like nothing more than a Muppet striving for my stardom in Hollywood.

I left DC and returned to New York desperate for work and ignoring snarky, “I told ya so,” comments from people jealous that I take a chance on venues rather than just talk about them.  I’m a person that seizes an opportunity not expecting a handout in life.

Then, over the summer I found a job that I thoroughly enjoyed.  My coworkers were a pleasure and my duties were fulfilling.  However, I knew it was too good to be true.  The company ran low on funds and as a temporary employee it was evident that I’d be the first to go, regardless of my ability to do the job well.

So, I’m back in Florida.  The only thing left for me is to finish what I started years ago- going into the much needed health care profession.  Florida isn’t exactly where I planned to be by year’s end (or at all) but, what harm can two years do?  As long as I graduate as planned I will become a Registered Respiratory Therapist.  This of course is if I can receive financial aid and be able to start in January.  Then the idea is to move to Los Angeles and practice there.  I never thought I’d be waiting tables again at a job with no benefits, but here I am.  The positive side is that I have a beautiful view of the Intracoastal Waterway.   If this doesn’t work, what will I do?  Not New York.  Not again.

The lack of stability in my life is deafening.    

My rut is so dreadful and depressing that I don’t even know what day it is today.  Twenty years ago I’d be counting down the days to my happy Christmases.  Now, Christmas is painfully approaching and I could really care less about the holiday.  I won’t have a tree, I won’t be buying gifts, I won’t be watching the specials on television.  I wish it would pass at lightning speed.

2012 would be a blessing, right?  I can try again in a new life knowing what I know, now.  This time I’ll be a doctor, like I should have been.

Ending Scene to ANGELS IN AMERICA...beautiful!

Dear God, How’ve you been?

Dear God,

How’ve you been?  I must iterate my apologies for not writing to you sooner.  However, due to the constant upheavals in my life (of which I hold you largely responsible) you must understand my reasons for not getting back to you sooner.  But, don’t worry, all is forgiven, darling.  It would be in terrible Christian manners for me not to forgive, don’t you agree?

Well, I’m sure you’ve been keeping up with everything that’s been happening from my end.  I must say it wouldn’t have killed you to check in with me from time to time.  As the universe creator and the all knowing ambassador of life, your advice on matters that sought a second look would’ve been encouraged.  For instance, where were you when I was eight years old and my grandmother passed away?  While you were transitioning her into new accommodations (which by the way better be first class considering she deserves it) my entire family tree fell apart.  In the while, the adults of the world thought it was okay to pick on me, the quiet kid, by saying how bad I was at everything.  Perhaps it was the quiet side of me that made me inept to sports and scholastics, allotting my free time to do, ya know, nothing. It’s not like I asked for anything, yet I was still labeled a spoiled brat.  Is it because the one thing I ever asked for was a swing and never got it?  Should I have made a fuss do you think?  I must say your absence taught me to live alone in a bubble from an early age.  I was comforted by shutting everyone out and changing my excessive smiles to pursed lips.  Can you believe that is still the same attitude I have with most people these days?  That point made me chuckle for a moment and I almost spilled my Perfect Manhattan that I’m drinking as I write this.  But, like I said, all is forgiven. 

Anyways, where was I?  Oh yes, your abandonment.  Sorry to sound like your mother, I’m sure.  I thought my childhood and adolescent years would be the worst of it all.  Well, was I wrong!  Maybe I’ll let you be the judge.

Darling, did you hear I became a homosexual?  Or, as the less educated population calls it, “a faggot?”  Boy, what an experience it’s been!  Thank goodness you approve and love homosexuals because people here sure don’t, especially the people who think they know how to interpret the Bible.  Can you believe they won’t let us marry?  What terrible manners.  I bet you didn’t see that coming when you created HIV.  Did you think when the first reported cases that were directed towards gay men that the world as we know it would sympathize?  Which reminds me, give my best to the millions of men and women who are no longer here because of HIV, including my Uncle George.

I shouldn’t be so dramatic about everything because I did let HIV in my bubble.  No doubt you heard that we’re involved?  I bet you heard the news through the grapevine that I’m with HIV?  Don’t worry; nothing to get bent out of shape over.  HIV and I grew a lasting relationship over the past year and a half:  I know where to find him if I need him and he leaves me alone, for now.  We check in with each other about every three or so months, which is more than I can say of you, but I digress.  Meanwhile, most of the homosexual community won’t talk to me because I’m with HIV.  Whodathunkit? 

Thank goodness you couldn’t be here in the days I hated being gay in a world that hates me for being gay.  I had a fabulous time with the gentleman (which one it was strikes my memory at the moment) that inserted his tainted sperm in me.  If not for him I would have never met HIV.  It’s dashing, really.  He opened up my circle of friends.  In fact, I see my best friends, Atripla and Isentress at least twice a day, now.  They have quite expensive tastes and eat me out of house and home, but I don't have the heart to say no to them.  They send their love and gratitude for introducing us. 

Sometimes I wonder if you hate me, but I’m just talking crazy. Right?  I’d say “LOL” to you, but it would appear you’ve been missing from the world for so long that you’d have no idea what that means?  Oh, you old fogy!  Or should I assume that you possibly have kept up with the times after all and just abandoned me? 

But, let me be serious for a moment and confess something to you, darling.  I do have regrets and abandonment issues of my own.  Since I’ve met HIV I’ve recently abandoned all the selfless men and women fighting to stop the spread of HIV.  Yes, HIV is cheating on me with millions of people out there, but I let it happen.  I, too, have been so focused on me that I forgot how important each and every one of them is to me.  I just hope they know.  Any advice for me considering you’re well versed in abandoning those in need? 

Well I should wrap this rampant letter up, darling.  I could only imagine all the other depressed and lonely people you need to attend to (or ignore) these days.  I’d end with saying, “looking forward to your reply letter,” but I know how terribly busy you are being God and all.  So until next time we coerce I’ll be holding down the fort on this cruel and unforgiving world you tossed me on.

Hugs and kisses,

Christopher 

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. 

   

ADAP CRISIS & PARTISAN BICKERING

Please read my latest blog here.  http://adapadvocacyassociation.blogspot.com/2011/03/adap-crisis-lawmakers-stop-bickering.html  It covers the ADAP Crisis and the harshness of partisan bickering.  I wrote this for the ADAP Advocacy Association (aaa+).

MY AIDS CAMPAIGN

CALENDAR DATES: OBSESSIVE OR ALTRUISTIC?

One year ago this upcoming weekend I began my HIV medications.  I remember that night perfectly- from strategically planning the hour at which I would consume the pills to who I invited over my apartment to join in on an occasion I insisted be festive.  After my friends forced the pills down my throat and then headed back to their residences the idea of remaining in a celebratory state had subsided. I had a bit of quiet time to fill my “Monday through Sunday” pill box.  While doing so I listened to sappy music and cried every possible tear I could.  It wasn’t until this part of the evening did this physical illustration remind me that now that I started the medications I can never stop and that this pill box will always be replenished.  To this day this incident was the third and final time I allowed myself to be emotional at the fact that I’m HIV positive.

One common trait I’ve learned that majority of positive individuals have are remembering dates: the month, day and year of their diagnosis, when they began medication, when and if they were hospitalized, etc.  I see people on both ends of the spectrum criticize these people for being what they in their own minds would consider anal about keeping track of dates.  Such individuals tell me that as time goes on I will forget my exact dates.  That may be all right for them, but as far as I’m concerned my life began on January 21, 2010, a date that will live in my memory until God has decided that my time is up. 

My argument for remembering dates is that it recognizes taking charge of your life.  Before I had HIV, I could care less about myself.  Whether it would be reviewing my resume for dates when I held jobs, or dates from my last dental appointment, or even the date of the last time I had sex.  Sure, I may have a rough idea, but there is uncertainty.  Since my life has changed I’ve become certain of almost everything regarding my health side of things.  (Another reason why I can’t stand when people tell me my life hasn’t changed with or without HIV.  Change doesn’t necessarily equate to BAD.)

Here’s an example of why remembering dates is not only crucial to one’s internal self, but for others engaged in your life as well.  Look out- I’m going to be honest about how it works for many in the gay world.  And in my opinion, unless our world finally accepts the homosexual community as equals more and more individuals will seek affection the way I’m about to portray.  Several years ago, I met a gentleman on one of the many gay dating (sex) sites.  After a few dialogue sessions exchanging what we were “into” (meaning sexual position, safe or raw, relationship oriented or no strings attached, discreet or open, to name a few) we’ve concluded that we were a match.  One night in his hotel room (he’s from a major city two hours away from mine) we made love for a couple hours before calling it a night.  This escapade continued on and off a few times a year, when he was in town, and we were officially “buddies”- no need to add the F word before buddies. 

What began in my early twenties as an acquaintance relationship sooner turned intimate (he invited me to dinner after all these years of just having sex.) we learned that we can glamorize things and be considered friends.  Recently, he got in touch with me that he will be in town and I was the first person he wanted to see upon his arrival.  As flattered as I was, I knew I had to be honest with an old buddy.  After all, he has and deserves the right to know the truth.  Sure it will hurt if he rejects me, but that’s life.  It doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of other guys out there I’ve yet to encounter that will care for me as me.  I told him I was positive.  I told him the date I was diagnosed, the date I started medications, my current numbers and my healthy stature, etc.  I pleaded all I could to assure him that I would never do anything to hurt him, yet I understand if our debauchery had to end.  His response, “the fact that you were so honest with me, know all your shit, like dates and all, makes me not only comfortable with you, but admire you for being educated and taking charge of your life.”  Here I was worried he’d reject me for being positive.  Now we speak on a daily basis and I teach him a thing or two about the illness that he can use at will to protect him from harm.  I laughed when he apologized for asking so many questions regarding STDs.  My response was, “Don’t ever apologize for taking charge of your health or let anyone put you down for doing so!”

My point in a nutshell, keeping track of dates and knowing your own facts, whether you are negative or positive, illustrates taking charge of one’s own life.  So, to all the critics out there who tease us for knowing ours I say, “Get over it.”  By the way, I have plans to meet up with that gentleman friend of mine very soon and I have a feeling it will be the most passionate meeting we’ve ever had.  I guess honesty really is the best policy.          

HIV, I'M BACK!

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/.      

POZIAMers Standing Up