So I'm camping right now and blogging from my blackberry (as I often do), so this will be uploaded post facto (as I do not get cell phone reception here). So right now I'm sitting here in front of the campfire thinking. Although it is a quick camping trip, it has been a therapeutic one.
As much of a diva homo I can be, for those who really know me they know camping is and has been a huge part of my life. My family has been coming here for many many years (in face my grandma started coming here in the 60's, started spending her entire summer up here in the 70's, and was buried up here in 2007). I've been coming up to these beautiful mountains since I was only a few months old. Each year in my life, as with anyone growing up, I have significant changes in my life. For me, I use my camping trip as some sort of a timestamp. I reflect on where my life is at that time. Since my diagnosis I have reflected more on my 22 years, 20 days, and some odd hours more than I ever have in my entire life. And although I didn't realize it throughout the years, the timetable I created for myself each summer has become a game of connect the dots, waiting to be played until some conspicuous moment in my existence. That time is now, and that has been what this trip has been about for me.
I surprised myself though. I thought I wouldn't be able to get Daniel off my mind, as he was the first guy I really shared Poker Flat (the place where I camp) with. That was a huge thing for me; we shared so many amazing moments I retain in memories and pictures. I miss him, so very much. But I have worked so hard to get over him and I've proven it to myself from this trip. Even after we broke up, I didn't want to let myself reclaim my independence because I had hope we would be a fairy tale and things would work out. Yet, time after time, I was denied by him. The first guy who ever told me no to love. That fact hurt almost as much as the pain of wanting to revitalize out stagnant relationship. I've known since the day we took our own paths though that my first trip to Poker Flat without him would either make or break my individuality. For the first time in a long time I have surprised myself, unallowing myself to feel the anchor of pain caused my our tragic, inevitable demise.
I will be raw and honest though. I broke down for a bit today. Not from a guy though, believe it or not. But from the memories of a woman, a woman that so many of my friends would have been blessed to know. I stood over my grandmother's grave today asking her, "How different would my life have turned out if I had really gotten to know you, grandma, had Alzheimer's not robbed your wise and wisdom from me when I was so young?" She was such a strong, daring person; I wonder if there was some sort of knowledge she could have taught me that would have prevented my seroconversion (the technical term for going from HIV- to HIV+). Did you possess some snippet of information, reassurance, or self-security that, had you not bequeathed your wealth of knowledge to this miserable disease, would have disarmed the virus of entering my body? Furthermore, had you not grown so mentally distant, would you preventing this virus from me have meant that the cure for HIV was having a witted grandmother who didn't have Alzheimer's? Granted that this is such a silly, illogical question, it is conceivable to ponder that, as my self-cure from getting the virus may have been some sort of influence you may have provided me with. Beloved grandma, who was mentally taken from me at such a premature stage in both of our lives, please provide me with answers. As I know we no longer share the same world, wherever you are, whether it be heaven, beside me, or in the mountains filled with gold (the ones you loved so much), provide me with answers. Provide me with answers so that next year when I am up here pondering on my growth from this moment I can say, "Thank you, grandma. I survived my first year as being diagnosed HIV+, and your heavenly push kept me going."
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