HIVvy Anniversary

It almost got away from me. Yesterday (truth: today, I'm still up) was the second anniversary of my HIV diagnosis. And while it's not the anniversary of From The Ashes it was the jumping off point for launching this weblog.

I guess I can tell you that basically, not much has changed, while everything changed. I was already on a journey when my diagnosis came in. The news just pushed me further along the road. Which I guess is preferable to sitting along the roadside watching the other travelers go by. And I have been at that point before. I have a sense of urgency I never had before. A feeling that I need to say, live, do, learn before it's too late. Before I run out of time. Before I'm not here anymore. Even though medically, I'm absolutely fine. I'm not running scared I'm just running. I called The Hellcat today at around 3. I was heading to the gym and then out for some shopping (imagine!). I urged him to get up out of bed and enjoy a balmy 60+ degree day in NYC. He did eventually get up and move from the bed to the couch. Where he promptly fell back asleep. The rest of the day (Ha!) was spent snacking and watching reality (Ha!) TV programs and periodically nodding off. Until around 2 am when he went to bed. I found it sad and horrifying. I could never, ever sleep away the day and then spend eight hours couch surfing. In fact, I frequently get frustrated about how much time I have in a given day versus what I hope to accomplish.

I've talked about what happens after your HIV diagnosis, and I believe I've touched on my sero-conversion. I have absolutely no idea who infected me and I never ever will. I'm glad of that. It's not that I was being a total cum-pig, but in my 15 years (!) living and connecting as a gay man in NYC I was as safe as I could be, while dealing with my emotional problems. I sometimes didn't protect myself. I sometimes didn't care. I sometimes was scared and lonely and feeling that any connection, even an unsafe one, was preferable to being alone. I have a huge reckless streak when it comes to myself. I take chances. I gamble. In this case I lost. I have never once asked anyone to feel sorry for me. I did what I did and I'm living with the consequences.

Which brings me to the latest news about the supposed HIV "Super Virus" coinciding with the New York Times article from supposed "representatives" from the gay community, as well as too numerous to list blog posts from holier-than-thou bloggers who basically took the position that HIV+ men get what they deserve, and instead of understanding or god forbid, sympathy, they should be actively derided and scorned.

Fuck you.

It's a bug. It doesn't know or care who I am or what I was doing when I was exposed to it. It doesn't make judgments. I don't get why you do. The virus does what nature designed it to do. It's not mad at me for getting fucked. Exclusively top men get HIV. It's not ashamed of me for being gay. Bisexuals and straight women get HIV.

I disclose my status every time I think it should be done. When I'm with an HIV+ man I sometimes let him shoot his load in me. I sometimes suck a stranger off. Spare me the Super Virus analogy. There's plenty of evidence that certain people have been progressing from infection to dying at an abnormally accelerated rate for years and years. This is not new. There is absolutely no evidence medically that two HIV+ men can create some drug resistant Super Strain of HIV. It's just a combination of gossip and innuendo, coupled with a healthy dose of sex panic and shame.

To those gay bloggers who had the nerve to put up posts basically casting HIV+ sexually active men as public pariahs and murderers, I applaud the fact that you don't drink, you don't smoke, you don't have unsafe sex and you're not obese. Congratulations, you're absolutely perfect, and god willing you will always remain so. However if that doesn't happen and you don't remain perfect in every way, I will be there to point, laugh and judge you. After all, you're doing it to me.