So yesterday would have been Daniel and I's two year anniversary. The whole week before I had been dreading it. I'm not gonna lie. I thought I was going to be super depressed and down, but to be honest it was a breeze. I actually didn't even realize it until halfway through the day. And on top of that, I got to spend the ENTIRE day with my wonderful boyfriend Julian. We laid out, swam, watched movies, tanned, ate pizza, drank beer, went to the doctors. Ya know...the typical day of what the life of an HIV positive individual should look like. Hahaha jk. But I'm not gonna lie, it was a very relaxing day. Muchos besos babe!!
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Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Tonight...We Ponder
Why is it that we, as human beings, find such devout reassurance in the love of another? Why do we allow the love for another to supersede the love for oneself; especially when we know that the person closest to us has the infiltrating power to abuse that love. It is our human nature to always shield pain from being afflicted. Therefore, isn't it logical to bequeath one's heart to themself, sparing the pain and heartache that comes from loving another?
What is it about the occurrence of an unfortunate, yet mutually exclusive event that hyperbolizes the pain of having loved another? Does that coincide with the feeling of love being uplifted when a mutually exclusive positive event takes place? For example, the love you have for you partner is heightened upon, say, receiving a great pay raise. Most importantly, why does the painful aspects of love eclipse its gentle, warm radiance?
I'm trying to determine why love intertwines in every aspect, event, and stage of our life. Love determines so much of our life: how often we do a certain event, how happy our hearts allow us to be, where we decide to go away to whether it be temporary or for good. Love also determines if going away is temporary or for good. Love and logic are essentially the two tools we use in decision making. Yet, who draws the fine line of reasoning that create the distinction between them?
These are age old questions, I know. I am not the first to ask them and most certainly won't be the last. The questions themselves aren't the emphasis of this, though. The emphasis is if, and when, they will be answered
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What is it about the occurrence of an unfortunate, yet mutually exclusive event that hyperbolizes the pain of having loved another? Does that coincide with the feeling of love being uplifted when a mutually exclusive positive event takes place? For example, the love you have for you partner is heightened upon, say, receiving a great pay raise. Most importantly, why does the painful aspects of love eclipse its gentle, warm radiance?
I'm trying to determine why love intertwines in every aspect, event, and stage of our life. Love determines so much of our life: how often we do a certain event, how happy our hearts allow us to be, where we decide to go away to whether it be temporary or for good. Love also determines if going away is temporary or for good. Love and logic are essentially the two tools we use in decision making. Yet, who draws the fine line of reasoning that create the distinction between them?
These are age old questions, I know. I am not the first to ask them and most certainly won't be the last. The questions themselves aren't the emphasis of this, though. The emphasis is if, and when, they will be answered
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Sunday, May 24, 2009
Sweet Dreams
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Thursday, May 21, 2009
Boys of Suimmer...
Since I was 15 I have always considered the Friday before Memorial Day to be the start of the "Gay Summer Season". This holy Friday, in which I look forward to every year, is always "Gay Day" at Great America. It's a special event that Great America theme park holds every year. It's from 5 PM and goes on until the wee hours of 2 AM. Thousands of homos indulge themselves in a fun filled evening of roller coasters, drinks, and dancing. It has always started out my summer because it's the first major gay-friendly event of the summer. Then comes my birthday in June, followed by Pride in San Francisco just a few weeks later. I usually consider the close out of the "Gay Summer Season" to be the Love Festival in San Francisco.
I know this seems like an awkward topic to bring up in my blog, but you have to understand the importance of this day for me. It is like Christmas for an 8 year old. Every year that I have gone, which is every year since 2003, I have tried to make it as special as I can. From the first time I went with my much loved, ultra gay friend Joshie, thru my senior year with Kimber and Oscar, and Desirae and the everybody, until last year with Daniel (who knew it was going to be our last time, that was also the same day we found out we got the apartment in Long Beach); every year has held a special part in my homolicious little heart. Most importantly though, I've always noted how I've grown bit by bit each year. I still remember sitting in my high school Biology class, sophomore year, waiting to get out of 6th period so I could embark on my first trip to Gay Day. I look back and laugh, missing the naive 15 year old that I was. Not knowing where my life was going to go, but thinking I knew everything. Being so secure in who I was, yet so insecure in what I was to become. And now I think about it more and more.
The past 106 days (since my diagnosis) I have changed so much. Some days I have grown, some days I have fallen apart. Some days I have learned, and some days have left me longing for more answers. More and more, I feel rattled by the thought of what I could be, instead of what I am. I feel guilty because I was in a good spot pre-diagnosis. Between school, work, and life, things weren't half bad. Granted it had been hard being away from my family and Nor Cal friends, life was working out. It seems like I think of time in a measurement of B.H. and A.H. (Before HIV, After HIV). Before I knew I was positive, I had this sense of innocence, this sense of freedom. Now I feel like those things have been placed in a time capsule. I can dig it up and look at it, hold it, as if it were some sort of emotional relic, yet never experience it fully again. I've been feeling the ball and chain of the virus tied around my tan little ankle. Life was a playground before. I could have all the fun I wanted with no sense of consequence. Yet I fell off life's monkey bars and landed in the thorny stems of reality. Cause and effect is real, action and reaction a truth.
I'm no longer the 15 year old with frosted tips, riding carefree on roller coasters every Friday before Memorial Day. I'm not longer the know it all 20 year old, carefully sneaking vodka into a theme park on that Friday in May. Now I'm an infected 21 year old, with a new sense of raw reality of life's offerings. I know now what humans are capable of doing to each other, knowingly and unknowingly. Guardian angels don't bubble wrap your fall. Your beloved mother can't always fix your owwies with a simple band aid, not anymore. So when the "gay summer" starts tomorrow, where will I be when it ends. Most importantly, how will I feel?
I know this seems like an awkward topic to bring up in my blog, but you have to understand the importance of this day for me. It is like Christmas for an 8 year old. Every year that I have gone, which is every year since 2003, I have tried to make it as special as I can. From the first time I went with my much loved, ultra gay friend Joshie, thru my senior year with Kimber and Oscar, and Desirae and the everybody, until last year with Daniel (who knew it was going to be our last time, that was also the same day we found out we got the apartment in Long Beach); every year has held a special part in my homolicious little heart. Most importantly though, I've always noted how I've grown bit by bit each year. I still remember sitting in my high school Biology class, sophomore year, waiting to get out of 6th period so I could embark on my first trip to Gay Day. I look back and laugh, missing the naive 15 year old that I was. Not knowing where my life was going to go, but thinking I knew everything. Being so secure in who I was, yet so insecure in what I was to become. And now I think about it more and more.
The past 106 days (since my diagnosis) I have changed so much. Some days I have grown, some days I have fallen apart. Some days I have learned, and some days have left me longing for more answers. More and more, I feel rattled by the thought of what I could be, instead of what I am. I feel guilty because I was in a good spot pre-diagnosis. Between school, work, and life, things weren't half bad. Granted it had been hard being away from my family and Nor Cal friends, life was working out. It seems like I think of time in a measurement of B.H. and A.H. (Before HIV, After HIV). Before I knew I was positive, I had this sense of innocence, this sense of freedom. Now I feel like those things have been placed in a time capsule. I can dig it up and look at it, hold it, as if it were some sort of emotional relic, yet never experience it fully again. I've been feeling the ball and chain of the virus tied around my tan little ankle. Life was a playground before. I could have all the fun I wanted with no sense of consequence. Yet I fell off life's monkey bars and landed in the thorny stems of reality. Cause and effect is real, action and reaction a truth.
I'm no longer the 15 year old with frosted tips, riding carefree on roller coasters every Friday before Memorial Day. I'm not longer the know it all 20 year old, carefully sneaking vodka into a theme park on that Friday in May. Now I'm an infected 21 year old, with a new sense of raw reality of life's offerings. I know now what humans are capable of doing to each other, knowingly and unknowingly. Guardian angels don't bubble wrap your fall. Your beloved mother can't always fix your owwies with a simple band aid, not anymore. So when the "gay summer" starts tomorrow, where will I be when it ends. Most importantly, how will I feel?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
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 :)
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 :)
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words
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