thinking of the last 18 years, and the shock of my original HIV diagnosis.
From my journal then:
April 22, 1988
Hi. The end of a long week. What else an i say about it? On Monday, I turned thirty years old. It's suppose to be one of those traumatic experiences, right? People at work must have thought I was taking it particularly bad. Who could i talk to? Was there anyone who could understand -- when you get to the point that you feel you whole life had ended....and the mere fact of turning thirty is the least important thing you can think of. I thought of postponing my appointment. Something about going to find the result of my AIDS test on my birthday seemed a little bit too dramatic. It was like a bad television movie. If the results were negative, I knew it would open up the rest of my life to me. i felt like it might even be a new beginning. There was a girl, April, the nurse at the Spartan Plant whom i've wanted to go out with for a long time. It had gotten to the point where being gay or straight really didn`t matter. Sex wasn't as important as it was when I was younger. What was becoming more important was a strong monogamous relationship with anyone who could love and care about me and accept the love and caring I had to give. The gay world had offered that promise....but had ended in disappointment as I became hurt so many times. I had become to feel that it was not there. I had accepted a truce with my loneliness, but the hope was still there -- if not in the gay world, that there might be a girl out there who could care about me -- although I had failed to find it during my twenmty-eight years of trying to live the straight existence. But the hope was still there.
The hope. When I went into Dr. Pagents office that day, what did I expect? To be honest, I was prepared for the worst. I felt I knew my body, and the swollen lymph nodes I knew were indicative of a much larger problem. Still the hope was still there. Dr. Pagent had told me the week before that it was very unlikely that I had AIDS, especially that I would be showing symptoms already. I simply did not have the extent of the gay experience necessary for the usual exposure. Still I knew.
The answer came easy as I walked through the door. All it took was a simple quip on his part: "We do not have good news for modern man." And he again expressed his surprise that the test was positive...but of course this was irrelevant. And the complications began to set in. How complicated my life would become. The big question of confidentiality. How to deal with insurance, with my job, with my family...with the whole damn rest of my life. And the anger...the anger I felt towards the people who had used me when I had first come out. The anger towards myself...for letting myself and my family down. For my life being a failure. The ultimate failure, and I would die. The thought of death did not bother me as much as the failure, and the loss of faith in the world around me and the people I had known in my life. And the sadness in my attempt of having some hope in a god which I had tried to believe in, and the anger towards him, first, for making me gay, and then for killing me for it. And the bottomless disappointment...for living my whole life, and giving the ultimate sacrifice, my life, just for the chance of finding someone who could, who might love me, and having failed in this. And I did not want to live. There was a part of me which was glad that it was over. I had tried so hard, and I was tired. Perhaps it was time now to give up. I( wanted to yell out: "OK, now you have won, take the final breath from me and be satisfied!"
And that was just the beginning. How to describe for someone who has never been through this? For all of my life, even when things had seemed the most hopeless, even when I thought I had nothing left and even toyed with the idea of suicide, I still felt I had control. CONTROL. I could not find love, and sometimes not even friendship. I often failed at things I had attempted. But deep down inside, I felt I always had some control left. Now there was nothing left. I was totally alone, and I had been most of my life, but this time I did not even have myself to depend on. I had lost myself and all meaning and control over my existence. I was never so helpless. I went back to work, but of course I could not work. I would stare off into space, no even knowing where I was. Not caring. There was no place to go, and I could not even look to myself for support. Of course, I could reveal nothing to the people I worked with. I suppose they thought I was having a traumatic experience form turning thirty. I wanted to tell someone, anyone. But I as totally alone. AFter work I went to the YMCA. Trying to put some structure back into my life. But there was nothing to hang onto, and i left. AT home, in the relative saftey of my aloneness, and the total aloneness of it, everything broke loose. I layed in the grass of my backyard, yelling and screaming out of control. I had lost everything. Nothing was left. There was no hope, no life. Everything had conquered my being. There is no was to describe it. No way.
April 25, 1988 Monday
Time heals many things? You go into the fire, and then you come out again, but are you the same?
Last Monday night, with the depression I felt, and the many considerations...like that of being a martyr, and keeping the pain to myself, I did tell my sister. I had told her previously of my suspicions of being exposed to AIDS, BUT i knew that for her, as well as for me, there was always the hope that it wasn't true. We sat upon the couch for a long while, slowly talking of the many ways it would affect us. Her, telling me how unfair it was. Me, responding by asking what is fair? She would rub my hair, as a mother would a child...comforting the moment, knowing that the future would be many unanswered questions.
How could I sleep that night? Did I sleep? You wake up early in the morning, things going over and over in your head. Over and over. Not really caring about going to work, but doing it out of habit. I guess that's one good thing to say about habit -- it helps you to make it through when you are incapable of even the slightest thought. (Needless to say, I didn't get a whole lot accomplished at work that week -- one of those times when I wish I worked at a dull monotonous nonthinking type of jobs.
Tuesday morning, trying to hold the pieces of the puzzle, of my life together as it starts to fall apart faster than I can put it back together. Coming to the realization, that i've never had before -- that I cannot make it alone. By nine o'clock that morning, I knew I had to call someone before I totally desentegrated. I had been given the number of a Phillip Hudson by Dr. Pagent. Dr. Pagent had described Philip, and I half-way knew who he was because Phillip was a regular habitual Y goer like me. So I called, introducing myself by telling him I didn't know why I was calling, but only that I know I couldn't make it by myself. Just having someone to listen to me., We talked for about a half-hour, and I collected myself enough so that I could return to work and make it through the rest of the day. I saw Phillip again that night at the Y, but did not have the courage to go up him and say hello. I was very vulnerable at that point, and the last thing I needed him to say was Greg who? I was also still suspicious of why he was doing this. The attitude that no one really cares about each other in the gay world, so who was this strange creature called Phillip hudson. That night, Phillip called me one the phone, and we talked a long while. I began to feel more comfortable, and that maybe I could control things...maybe i could experience what happiness was again.
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