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Red Ribbon Story
19 years ago
General
"Hold on, hold on to yourself
This is gonna hurt like hell."
-Hold On, Sarah McLachlan
My HIV test comes back "Negative", and I exhale a huge sigh while my friend C___ and the clinic employee pat me on the back as if to say,"Good, you're fine. Everything is okay now." The feeling of relief is a welcomed end to the last 20 hours of anxiety, but it only lasts for about 10 seconds, after which I'm hit by an odd and unexpected feeling: anger. Everything is not okay.
Last night C___ invited me over, and I was more than happy to accept since I hadn't seen him in a while. We broke up back in February. When I got there we sat down and caught up with each others lives for a while. I was talking about my wreck, and some new plans I made since the incident, and I made some comment about how the experience forced me to reassess my priorities. He responded, saying... in different words, that he empathized and how he understood more than I knew, or maybe he said it was true in some ways that I didn't know about yet. This is the point in the conversation where the air in the room got really thick, and the seriousness was palpable...
(In all the time since we broke up, I had never fully given up hope that he would come to his senses and take me back. For a brief moment then, I thought... I hoped... that I was going to hear him say that he realized he missed me, and needed me, and loved me -- that he wanted to reconcile and get back together. My heart leapt at the mere thought.)
"I'm HIV positive", is actually what he said instead. My mind froze; everything froze.
(To say that the moment was surreal is inadequate. Of course it was surreal, but how do you describe that to someone else? It was only a moment -- just a few seconds -- yet so many thoughts went speeding threw my head in that brief moment. Most of them were "No!". No, C___ can't die on me. No, we're supposed to get back together. No, I can't have the disease too... ...do I have it too? And then there was still, tense, serious silence.)
I sat forward in his papasan chair still reeling. It felt like someone had struck me over the head with the sky. After the room had spun around for the millionth time, I stood up and walked over to him and gave him a hug. What else could I do? I wanted to show him compassion, and considering that in that moment, the possibility that I could also be infected was so very real, perhaps I gave him a hug because I need one myself.
Fast forward to the next day, after I got the results of my own test, C___ took me back to my house and left. I kept thinking about this and thinking about this, and I don't know what triggered it, something I saw on TV maybe, or a song I listened to perhaps. I start crying. I started crying and I kept on crying. I went to sleep crying, only to dream anxious and disturbing dreams that mirror all to well the current nightmare that was going on in the waking world. I woke up in the middle of the night, yes, crying. I think for 24 hours straight I cried my eyes out. I don't really cry about things anymore, or so I thought. I try to just stare harsh realities in the eye, and make the best of them, and then move on with my life and be happy. I mean Carpe diem! has become my motto, and "Joy!" my watchword. But that day, good God, how I cried, and not the slow silent tears like I used to do at emotional moments. No, this was weeping. This was sobbing. And on the inside, my heart was wailing. These tears were foreign. I know what tears of sadness are like, and I know what tears of joy are (although I hope it goes without saying that joy is certainly not what I was feeling). I didn't recognize these tears; suddenly I found myself in new emotional territory. These tears were tears of rage.
I was so angry. I am angry. I'm furious. I'm furious even now. I'm not angry at C___; I'm angry that this has happened -- angry at the disease. I'm angry that someone I love, deeply, has to go through this. I'm angry that we won't be reconciling our relationship, at least not in the manner I had thought. I'm angry that, although I know AIDS is no longer a death sentence and these days it's a manageable medical problem, I still have to seriously consider that fact that the day may come when I have to go to C___'s funeral. Then again, I realize that this is true whether he has HIV or not. At this point I'm wasting my anger on mortality. One day, C___ will die, so will I, so will you, that's just a part of life, and that's fine.
Live every day as if it were your last. One day it will be.
...
I used to think that person who was HIV- but had a partner who he knew was HIV+ was crazing or had a death wish. Now this experience is forcing me to think otherwise. Or maybe I've become one of the crazy-with-a-death-wish crowd. I'm asking myself so many questions. Am I the kind of person who can be with someone who I know has HIV; do I really love him that much? Is it really love, or is it some sick subconscious urge to form a co-dependent relationship? If it is really love, then does he return that love in kind, or will he take me back only because he fears being alone? My own test came back negative, so why am I so upset? Does anyone go unscathed by this disease? Dear God in heaven, please, will there ever be a cure? I'm asking myself all these many questions and more, and they're ripping my heart apart. It makes me wonder how much more he might be hurting.
I do still love him... so much more than I had realized...
...and just when I thought I was done with weeping, another flood comes.
This is gonna hurt like hell."
-Hold On, Sarah McLachlan
My HIV test comes back "Negative", and I exhale a huge sigh while my friend C___ and the clinic employee pat me on the back as if to say,"Good, you're fine. Everything is okay now." The feeling of relief is a welcomed end to the last 20 hours of anxiety, but it only lasts for about 10 seconds, after which I'm hit by an odd and unexpected feeling: anger. Everything is not okay.
Last night C___ invited me over, and I was more than happy to accept since I hadn't seen him in a while. We broke up back in February. When I got there we sat down and caught up with each others lives for a while. I was talking about my wreck, and some new plans I made since the incident, and I made some comment about how the experience forced me to reassess my priorities. He responded, saying... in different words, that he empathized and how he understood more than I knew, or maybe he said it was true in some ways that I didn't know about yet. This is the point in the conversation where the air in the room got really thick, and the seriousness was palpable...
(In all the time since we broke up, I had never fully given up hope that he would come to his senses and take me back. For a brief moment then, I thought... I hoped... that I was going to hear him say that he realized he missed me, and needed me, and loved me -- that he wanted to reconcile and get back together. My heart leapt at the mere thought.)
"I'm HIV positive", is actually what he said instead. My mind froze; everything froze.
(To say that the moment was surreal is inadequate. Of course it was surreal, but how do you describe that to someone else? It was only a moment -- just a few seconds -- yet so many thoughts went speeding threw my head in that brief moment. Most of them were "No!". No, C___ can't die on me. No, we're supposed to get back together. No, I can't have the disease too... ...do I have it too? And then there was still, tense, serious silence.)
I sat forward in his papasan chair still reeling. It felt like someone had struck me over the head with the sky. After the room had spun around for the millionth time, I stood up and walked over to him and gave him a hug. What else could I do? I wanted to show him compassion, and considering that in that moment, the possibility that I could also be infected was so very real, perhaps I gave him a hug because I need one myself.
Fast forward to the next day, after I got the results of my own test, C___ took me back to my house and left. I kept thinking about this and thinking about this, and I don't know what triggered it, something I saw on TV maybe, or a song I listened to perhaps. I start crying. I started crying and I kept on crying. I went to sleep crying, only to dream anxious and disturbing dreams that mirror all to well the current nightmare that was going on in the waking world. I woke up in the middle of the night, yes, crying. I think for 24 hours straight I cried my eyes out. I don't really cry about things anymore, or so I thought. I try to just stare harsh realities in the eye, and make the best of them, and then move on with my life and be happy. I mean Carpe diem! has become my motto, and "Joy!" my watchword. But that day, good God, how I cried, and not the slow silent tears like I used to do at emotional moments. No, this was weeping. This was sobbing. And on the inside, my heart was wailing. These tears were foreign. I know what tears of sadness are like, and I know what tears of joy are (although I hope it goes without saying that joy is certainly not what I was feeling). I didn't recognize these tears; suddenly I found myself in new emotional territory. These tears were tears of rage.
I was so angry. I am angry. I'm furious. I'm furious even now. I'm not angry at C___; I'm angry that this has happened -- angry at the disease. I'm angry that someone I love, deeply, has to go through this. I'm angry that we won't be reconciling our relationship, at least not in the manner I had thought. I'm angry that, although I know AIDS is no longer a death sentence and these days it's a manageable medical problem, I still have to seriously consider that fact that the day may come when I have to go to C___'s funeral. Then again, I realize that this is true whether he has HIV or not. At this point I'm wasting my anger on mortality. One day, C___ will die, so will I, so will you, that's just a part of life, and that's fine.
Live every day as if it were your last. One day it will be.
...
I used to think that person who was HIV- but had a partner who he knew was HIV+ was crazing or had a death wish. Now this experience is forcing me to think otherwise. Or maybe I've become one of the crazy-with-a-death-wish crowd. I'm asking myself so many questions. Am I the kind of person who can be with someone who I know has HIV; do I really love him that much? Is it really love, or is it some sick subconscious urge to form a co-dependent relationship? If it is really love, then does he return that love in kind, or will he take me back only because he fears being alone? My own test came back negative, so why am I so upset? Does anyone go unscathed by this disease? Dear God in heaven, please, will there ever be a cure? I'm asking myself all these many questions and more, and they're ripping my heart apart. It makes me wonder how much more he might be hurting.
I do still love him... so much more than I had realized...
...and just when I thought I was done with weeping, another flood comes.
