Thursday, August 07, 2003

I need to get this out of me. Hopefully, it will be the last words on this subject

But you never know.

It started with the hair. I freely admit it. You had that gorgeous long hair back then and I remember one night, not sure which night I just remember it, you pulled out whatever you were using to tie it back and flipped your hair from one side to the other. I distinctly remember making you go all Clairol Herbal Essence on me as I saw you move into slow motion and that….beautiful…..brown…..hair …bounced around your shoulders and I was all “whoa, that’s hot”. My heart skipped a beat and I was startled by it (what the fuck?....). My heart hadn’t skipped a beat in a very long time. I think I got a little dizzy. I noticed you. At first, all I wanted was for you to notice me too.

Back then, I was still seriously damaged. Will I ever know if it was the alcohol, or some fucked up brain chemistry, or simply me going too deep in my own head? I suspect some wicked combination of all three. Whatever it was I was barely treading water when we met. I was able to hold down a job, just. And when I looked at you, I didn’t see perfection at all. I saw you struggling. I saw how hard it was to work full time and go to school full time. At first, I just appreciated and admired the struggle. I could relate. And then one day, tellingly a day I totally don’t remember, I came to find out you were HIV+. I wanted to cry. For you. I didn’t want it to be true not because it had anything to do with how I felt about you. By then we had started to be friends. This would have nothing to do with that. I wanted it to not be true because my god, how many burdens can one person carry? Because against this problem, I had no power at all. I couldn’t help. I could only listen. And not pull away. And show you that it didn’t matter to me. I guess that was helping.

September 11, 2001

Over 3,000 people in my city die in one morning. At the time, we thought it was over 5,000. And they didn’t die over the course of many days or weeks. Or a total figure you get after weeks and months of war. Over 3,000 people just winked out of existence *snap* just like that. Children were orphaned, husbands never came home. Families and a city ripped open. I had a job to do. A bar to keep open. People really needed drinks in the days that followed and I was glad to be busy. But still, even if you don’t believe I may have some empathic skills, you know all about how spirits are all connected and at the very least the loss of 3,000 people all at once will cause a ripple in the collective unconscious. For me it was a wave. Or a series of waves. I felt the loss. I felt it. I remember very distinctly talking on the phone with my Dad and feeling a palpable wound in my very soul. Oh and I didn’t know it at the time, but the very thing that sent most of NYC into a funereal dirge was the thing that would start the slow push for me back to sanity. That, and a guy I wanted to know better.

Yes, I was absolutely sick of being sick and I suppose you could make a case that my legendary instinct for survival would have eventually kicked in anyway. But it was after the World Trade Center was destroyed and because you were inspiring me that I finally found, if not the ability, at least the desire to heal. Don’t get me wrong. Everything I did, I did for me. I needed to get better. I needed to be better. I needed to stop wasting time on ingrained behavior and bad habits and fears and addictions and once and for all let it all…..fall….away. It was the only way to survive. But you were always there. Like a program running in the background urging me on by word and by example. Look at all you’re going through and I’m scared to ride an escalator? Are you serious? Suck it up and stop this nonsense. I quit smoking because of that hideous hacking cough, because my clothes and apartment reeked all the time and because I was a slave to the addiction and the pleasure had long since gone out of it. But also because I knew it would impress you a little. So no, I have no plans to start smoking “at” you in some twisted pay back.
I had no interest in draining ¾ of a bottle of vodka every night and waking up at 2:30 in the afternoon with just enough time to jump-start my heart with a pot of coffee and get back to work anymore. I wanted my free time to be about discovery not recovery. So much I wanted to do and still do. I want to re-learn French, learn martial arts, learn to sign at least the alphabet. I want to fix my house (check), write a book, churn out crappy poetry (check) and keep a web log (check). I want to create art (check) I want to be art (check) I want to make porn! Knowing you has re-awakened a creative side I allowed to grow dormant and it’s back with a vengeance and I celebrate this return on a daily basis. And you made me laugh! Do you have any idea how attractive a man who likes to laugh truly is?

I knew there was trouble the first time you got sick. You had that stomach thing that went on for months that sent you scrambling for the bathroom every couple of hours. And still you came to work every day. But there was something new. When you told me what was happening I was feeling bad for you and full of worry as well. I went home that night and bookmarked site after site about HIV/AIDS and drugs and side effects. I was determined to help you if I could if you needed it if you asked. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to save you. I want to save him. Oh god, this can’t be good news I want to protect him. What is he to me besides friend? There are real feelings there. I care for him. I care. That’s extraordinary in and of itself. I started to care again. About many things. About me. I was so far from where I wanted to be still, that I didn’t really sweat it, this crush, this infatuation. I liked it. It was harmless and you knew. A part of you knew. I sensed it. It was fun, wasn’t it? Did you know how many times I felt myself blush when we talked? Did you know you could get me hard just by whispering to me?

And so it goes for weeks and weeks trading e-mails and Thursday phone calls and Sundays at the bar and the weeks turn to months and my feelings don’t change they grow deeper and I grow stronger in body and mind and there are hiccups like when you finally start dating P---. Jealous? Yes. But it was obviously doomed so what was the point and it didn’t really seem to affect our friendship and was over in a blink so that was that. I had you back. Still, not the way I wanted and what the hell to do about it. I tried a couple of times to stay away but that just totally sucked as a solution I had grown to depend on you, to look forward to spending time with you. Not getting to talk with you felt like punishment for me and what the hell did I do wrong?



March 7, 2003

It seemed like a natural progression. I had taken charge of my life now it was time to take charge of my health. I felt better than I had in years but I had no idea how much damage a few years of crazy may have done. Again, I looked to you for inspiration. I knew what was possible, (to tell the truth, I know this body, I was never surprised, not really) seeing how you lived with such courage and spirit made me know that regardless I would not view this as some great tragedy. But on this day I was diagnosed HIV+. I thought of you first. I needed to be with you. Not because I thought you could do something or I looked to you for some “magic bean” that would make it all right. I just wanted to be with you. That was my comfort. Because I knew I wouldn’t have to say anything or explain myself, we already “got it” with each other. I knew you’d be upset. How funny was it on the day after my diagnosis my impulse was to try and comfort you about it. It’s what I do. I try to take care of people. Being HIV+ wasn’t going to make me selfish. And all it really became between us in my eyes was another thread. Another shared experience that joined us together. One more thing we really didn’t need to talk about because we both knew. Then you met someone.

You met someone. I’m not going to say anything about him cause I already have a little in this web log and it’s not important. The important part is it’s not me. And I don’t think it’s ever going to be me. And aside from the actual relationship ripping me up, it’s the ease with which it started. At least from my view it was practically “Oh, I’m ready for a boyfriend now how about……you?” and pow! You’re a couple. And I’m outside in the snow with my face pressed up against the window fogging it up. And I’ve tried to get my feelings under control I really have. I’ve meditated and breathed and exercised and screamed at the top of my lungs on a bike ride and I’m better. But it will never be good with me. I’ve even listed all the ways it would never work with us in my head. I’d have to marry your whole family and it took me twenty years to shake the dust off my own family I don’t want yours. But your life is totally entwined with them and I don’t see that changing. You are impossibly judgmental with people and you never seem willing to allow people their flaws even though you expect everyone to understand and accept yours. While I admire you spirit immensely, you do on occasion present a holier than thou attitude that just annoys the crap out of me. Call me crazy….but I don’t think one of the steps to spiritual enlightenment is smugness. You seem to have this need to be surrounded by people who practically worship you as you dole out little “treats” to your “pets” and you get visibly annoyed when they don’t behave like you want them to. Why do you think I never accept any food you offer me? I’m not one of your pets. You let your Mom do your laundry for god’s sake! See? I never thought you were perfect. I just didn’t care.

So I guess when it all comes down to it it’s all about survival again. I will survive this. But I’m going to have to let go. Of my needs, my desires. Of you. If I’m really going to soar now, I need to cut the last thing holding me down. My feelings for you. So I’m using this web log to say goodbye to you. One day, maybe soon, perhaps I’ll have the courage to point you here and things will be clearer. Or more fucked up. Life’s a crapshoot that way. And isn’t that wonderful? I just wanted to get this all down and have the chance, even if you never see it, to say thank you. For being my friend and my confidant. For showing me that an illness is certainly not a death sentence, if you’re smart enough, it can be an excuse to finally live. For the part you played in re-awakening my passion, my spirit my lust for life. For helping to quell my doubts and face my fears and quiet the demons. I wanted to put this here so that someday, when I stop to think about where I was in 2003 I remember. That was the year I finally took my life back. That was the year I was told I was HIV+. That was the year I fell in love.

Goodbye my love

(Ed note:)

My plan originally was to come back to this post. I had plans to work it and rework it adding extra thoughts and making changes until it was a soaring masterpiece of words and thoughts and declarations of how real and deep my feelings were/are. The idea was that one day I would point the way to this blog to my Neo/ my love (your kind of wierd obsession) Stop that! Did I ask for input from my inner voice? And someday, there'd be a knock at my door - in this fantasy I apparently have no locked lobby door - I'd open it to find Neo in the hallway, looking that sickly shade of green the paint job in my hallway makes everyone. "I'm sorry..." he whispers, "I didn't know..." at which point he rushes into my arms and I kiss him and even better, he kisses me back. I haven't worked out yet if we have sex right then and there or if it happens later.

Anyway, that was the plan. But I'm finding myself obsessing over this whole situation less and less. After rereading it and fixing a couple of grammatical errors I have decided against revisiting this post. I'm finding it a tad over the top in the melodrama department as well. it says what it says and it is what it is. And while I may never drop the feelings of regret over what might have been, I really do believe I'm ready to move on. In more ways than one. 8/16/2003