Believe it or Not, it was Vanity that Killed the Cat

The reason for my extended silence when it comes to my blog is simple: Depression. Over the last month I seem to have run into this brick wall of sadness and depression. Yet I feel like I am finally climbing my way over it.

Accepting my HIV status has proved harder to me than I thought it would. I have felt so many different emotions throughout the last 3 months it's unbelievable. There were times where I was so Gung Ho to fight against HIV both personally and through community outreach. There were times where I was so upset I felt reckless. For the most part everything seemed like it had been day by day. Depending on the events, circumstances and responsibilities of each day, my feeling for that entire day could swing either way. Yet during April everything seemed to flat line in a black hole of depression. I haven't had the motivation to say the words I need to say on here. I didn't have the motivation to seek some sort of mental/physical health care up here. Getting out of bed and slapping that big, fat, fake smile on my face and waiting tables became almost unbearable. It's hard to watch a 2 year relationship crumble in front of my face as I fight the hardest fight of my life: accepting my HIV status and starting my life over.

I always found security in sex. Sex made me feel beautiful, made me feel wanted, made me feel LOVED. Daniel made me feel beautiful, made me feel wanted, made me feel LOVED. But I have lost my faith in sex. It has become this dirty omen, a nasty game of win or lose where the odds aren't in your favor. I've heard about so many kids my age in the past month finding out that they were newly diagnosed with HIV that it makes me sick. How can sex be so beautiful, yet be so murderous? Following on my second sentence in this paragraph, I lost everything with Daniel. We both are to fault, and I definitely blame HIV in being the final nail in the coffin. Him being negative, and me finding out that I am positive, he just couldn't handle my emotions. We allowed the virus to take hold, and rip us apart. Even as I get to know Julian better and our relationship grows, the anger and pain I have from what became of Daniel and I became supersedes my ability to fully embrace my seroconversion to being HIV+. How long does it take to get over someone who you felt abandoned you at such a significant, crucial time? A month? Two Months? Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes? But from all of this I know two things: One - I will have to forgive Daniel for the pain I feel he has caused me before I can alleviate my depression and Two - I need to learn from the mistakes both he and I made, so that my current relationship to such a fascinating person does not follow a similar pattern.

To address my title for this blog, I have found that doing things to improve me both on the inside and outside really helps me feel less depressed. Call me vain, but I think feeling sexy, attractive, and desirable is an important aspect of life. It calms insecurities, creates confidence, and supports individualism. We all have to find our own ways to feel sexy. America idolizes beauty. As ridiculous as it is, beauty often surpasses morals when it comes being an American. And I won't lie, I quite oft fall victim to wanting to be a little more attractive, a little more fit, a little more intellectual. Being cultured and knowledgeable, especially about current events, is something that I believe makes someone much more attractive. Granted I love a chiseled jaw line, a golden tan, and abs you could suck a Kettle One Cosmopolitan out of, knowledge is so sexy. I want to learn. Whether it's about Mulholland's importance in the creation of the L.A. aqueduct, how to make the perfect casserole, how much cocaine Lindsay Lohan had for breakfast, or what the UN is doing to combat the rising tension between North Korea's nuclear program and the rest of the world, I want to learn. But I also want to be attractive. So if you see me at the gym reading the encyclopedia (or The National Enquirer), please say hello :)

Identity Theft

YOU stole my identity. YOU took everything away from me that I had going. YOU knew you were infected, yet didn't bother to tell me. YOU were playing Russian roulette with my life, and I lost. Lady GaGa said it right: "Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun." Yeah, it would probably be a lot less painful.

But I've located YOU. YOU weren't smart enough to change YOUR number. I went all Encyclopedia Brown on YOUR ass and was able to find you. It's been a number of years, a few guys, one long relationship, and a hell of a road. But I know now. I know what I have. I know what YOU did it to me. And I'm going to give your info to the right people, investigators, so they can do whatever they have to do to YOU. Press charges, prosecute, whatever. I don't care. As long as you feel an ounce of the pain that I have, I'll be happy.

I'm not one for revenge. I've held my grudges in the past, but have learned that they are unhealthy. How could I ever forgive YOU though? YOU knew what you were doing when I didn't. YOU had at least 15 years on me, YOU knew the good sides of life and the dark sides. I was 19. Young, naive, reckless. Alcohol was my best friend. Cocaine was even a little bit closer of a friend. I thought I was being young and having fun. YOU knew my vulnerability. And YOU sprung upon it. YOU tore me apart while I was having fun, only to silently work YOUR way back into my life through my T-Cells. I left YOUR house, YOUR bedroom that last day. Yet YOU never left me. YOU never will. As I live the rest of my long, adventurous life, the HIV YOU gave me, will forever multiply, go dormant, yet still be resilient if I miss my medication.

Are YOU happy?