AIDS, Meth and life in the 80's

It was 24 years ago, I was 17 years old and it was 1984. The Soviets boycotted the summer Olympics, Apple introduced the first personal computer, Ronald Reagan was elected for the second term and Cyndi Lauper won the Grammy for Best New Artist.

I moved out of my parents’ home and in with friends at the age of 16 and by 16 and a half I was living on the streets. I tried to enlist in the US Air Force but since I did not have a High School Diploma I was not accepted. I enlisted in the US Navy when I was 17 and a half and was ready to ship out when I was ordered to report to Naval Headquarters in Oakland, CA. “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” was not an option and if you were gay and you wanted to enlist in any branch of the US Military you needed to lie.

On that day, what I thought was a lonely and miserable life suddenly looked much brighter compared to where my life was about to take me.

On that day, I was not only told that I was a liar but that I was also going to die and the US Navy or any branch of US Military had no use for people like me. I was forced to sign papers acknowledging that I lied and that if I tried to re-enlist that I would spend my entire term in Military prison. I was then escorted out of the building, alone, miserable and now apparently terminally ill with something called AIDS.

At 18 years old I was introduced to Crystal Meth and Crank. Suddenly everything seemed to burn so much brighter. I was finally attractive, I had friends, I was socially apt, I had a job and I could get so much done and still go out and party. I was “In control” and in my mind; nobody could tell that I used drugs.

Over the next several years I was hospitalized for dehydration and malnutrition, wrote in excess of $50,000.00 in bad checks as well as spending time in jail for writing the bad checks, my stomach was in the process of digesting itself and I was bleeding out of my rectum but still I thought I was in control and nobody could tell I used drugs.

After hearing about this “Gay Disease” called AIDS for a number of years now I decided that maybe I should seek out a doctor. Instead of going to a doctor and giving them my life history I went into a clinic and re-tested for HIV/AIDS and had to pretend I was shocked when the results not only came back positive but that I also had zero t-cells which meant I had no immune system left and my viral load was in the millions at that time. I had no idea what any of that meant and even as the doctor was trying to explain it to me all I could think about was doing another line.

I didn’t go back to the doctor for another couple of years. It wasn’t until I was having trouble taking deep breaths and I couldn’t walk up a set of stairs without taking a break because I was out of breath. It turned out I had something called Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia or PCP. I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks and life was rosie again. After a 2 week break from drugs I could do a line and it was like the first time and once again I felt like I was on top of the world, in control and had no worries.

I remember sitting in my house alone at about 2am, everyone was either out at a club or on a drug run. I was freezing to death and no amount of clothes or blankets would make me feel warm. I went to the hot tub about 3am hoping it would help me shake the chill I had and as I sat in the hot tub shivering and doing lines it dawned on me that something might be wrong. The next day I was hospitalized once again with PCP.

I was about 28 years old and I don’t know how or why but I didn’t realize until that moment that I had spent the last 10 years in a lie. A lie that hurt many people and a lie that if I let continue would inevitably kill me.

So, there I was. 28 years old, no job, no money, no immune system and was told yet again that I had a maximum of 3 months to live and now I cared. But cared about what? I had been numb for almost 10 years and didn’t know what I wanted and the friends I thought I had couldn’t be bothered. It’s like I had just been transported back to that day of my original diagnosis except that not only was I was alone and miserable, I was almost 30 years old and I was dying and nobody cared. But “I” cared, didn’t count for something?

I am now almost 41 years old, my t-cells range from 600 to 900 and my viral load has been undetectable for nearly 12 years. I had a brief relapse with drugs about 6 years ago but when I realized that everything I had worked so hard to accomplish started to become less and less important and I needed to stop or it would be all over.

It’s funny, I stress out over some of the smallest things. I still have to remind myself from time to time that’s it’s better to feel stressed out, depressed, happy or even angry then to not feel at all.

I have learned a lot over the years but I think the most important things I have learned is to accept the things that you cannot change, be true to yourself, don’t sweat the small stuff and as cheesy as it sounds, live each day as if it were your last.

Just Be…

Reeeshar