I was diagnosed with AIDS this month. Part of it seems inevitable. Part of it seems like I have nobody to blame but myself. Part of it seems like the fault of the United States Government, who I'm sure created it during the Reagan years. Mea culpa; the most appropriate of farces; the most appropriate of phrases. I don't know what else to do, so I write.
At first, I tried writing to my fiance, though he is no longer that to me. The news destroyed us. It tore a true love apart so quickly that I can't even wrap my heart around it. I love him more than he will ever know, and more than he will ever again allow me to. Worse than the fear of living with this disease while it eats through my body, is the certainty that I will have to live with him eating through my soul. AIDS is manageable, even with my T-cell count down around 175. Losing him is not something I think I can get over.
We met at a party for a magazine we were both featured in, but I've always been convinced I've known him my whole life. He walked in and his mere presence caused an ache in my heart, an ache to be known to him, to touch him. He's beautiful, even still, but this was more than that. This was the sound of something clicking into place; a part of me I'd always known was missing but didn't know where to find. This was IT. I had to leave immediately. I couldn't bear to be in the same room as him and not be sitting with him, talking to him, loving him.
He is the man of my dreams. If I were to write a list, it would include all that he is: beautiful, strong, talented, kind, generous, compassionate, driven, focused.... I could go on listing his virtues for the rest of my life. I have never been so virtuous, but when I love I love with my whole heart. I found that out because of him. I really believed we were soul mates, right from the beginning.
We didn't begin to spend time together until a few weeks later. I friended him on Facebook and found out he was having an art show. I brought a friend and we were one of three or four people there. Loving him was easy and I dove in headfirst. Flirting became more serious. We progressed from half-joking lap dances to one special slow dance; the first one since those awkward high school years. My heart fluttered just the same. Here I was, a jaded New Yorker feeling love for the first time.
It's been two years since I've known him, but that doesn't include the 29 years I knew there had to be someone like him in the world.
The past few months have been bad, I'll admit. He's been consumed by his work and unable to hear when I told him I wasn't getting what I needed. I forgave him, of course, and accepted that this was part of who he was, knew it couldn't last forever, tried to be patient. Instead of hearing me, he began to lie to me, and avoid the issues by cutting me out. First he stopped allowing me to help him in his studio. Next he stopped allowing me to do social things with him, so that the only times I ever saw him were when he was exhausted from a long day, and could only stare mutely at the television or computer screen.
The first lie I found out about caused a huge rift. I had been scrimping and saving to buy him a present from a mutual friend. It was a custom made wallet chain with skulls all down it, and it is the most expensive thing I've ever bought. I'm still paying for it, actually. I'd been so focused on trying to get this ready for him, not because he deserved it, but because once he'd casually mentioned that he wanted it. That was enough of a reason for me to get it, just to see him smile. He has a perfect smile and I'm so sad that I took it away for even one day.
I left it, and my engagement ring, on his table the night he lied. I left a note that said, "this is the only thing I've been keeping from you." I'd tried to have the conversation in person. I went to his house, let myself in with the keys he'd given me, and hoped to meet him. He wasn't there, but something about the situation scared him. He freaked out and threatened to call the cops on me while I cried in his bed, huge sobs of utter despair that he could treat me like a crazy person when all I was trying to do was prove my love.
The next day I thought all was over. I felt the way I do now: alone, bereft, unwanted. I felt like we were never going to get past that, and it turns out we didn't, but I no longer know what is cause and what is effect. I had a sexual encounter, not even high risk, with someone I knew before him, someone who offered me comfort and support, someone who made me feel like I wasn't crazy, someone who made me feel desired. It wasn't much. It was more than I had that day, so much more. It was enough.
Three days later we made up, but it was a cold sort of making up. I wanted to see a couples counsellor, not because of the problems, but because I wanted better solutions. He refused. He also refused to give any apology for his lies and he put all the blame on me, saying I needed to see a shrink. We spent a few hours together, in which I'd planned things I knew he would enjoy, but he couldn't enjoy them. He couldn't enjoy me. Still I had hope and things began to improve.
Soon after, I began to get night sweats and a rash. I thought it was from stress due to the insidious case of bedbugs we'd been dealing with, or from work. It wasn't. My fiance and I had a talk in which I had to confess what had happened. He's since posted that for every action there is a reaction, but for every inaction there is, too. If I could place blame I would. I only know that I am responsible for the choices I make. I was weak, I was hopeless, I was utterly destroyed, but those are just excuses.
Now I am weak, hopeless, and utterly destroyed, but those are just consequences. AIDS is manageable. I am on some meds, and I have applied for a drug assistance program that can act as insurance. I know I can live a long healthy life. Doctors and nurses I've spoken to keep comparing it to diabetes. I think that's a bit diminutive. You don't get diabetes by doing things you know you shouldn't. I am a tainted piece of flesh.
This taint though, it is not from the virus. This stain, these four scarlet letters, they are just going to be a constant reminder. Every day when I take my pills, or when I go to work I will know. This life I am prolonging has already wasted away. Each dose of medicine will bear the name of the one I lost. Each morning the birds will be singing his name, and I will be unable to do anything but close the window.
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