Positive Support
Association
Providing Support, Mentorship and Friendship for People in our Community
who are affected by HIV or AIDS
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Real Stories by People just like You If you just got diagnosed, you are not alone. There are literally hundreds of people just like you who were told they were HIV Positive this week alone and it may seem like the end of the world to you, but it is not. Please read through some of the stories below as I believe that by doing so, it will give you just a little more perspective about where you are at and where to go from here. If you need help, or want to talk about your diagnosis, please just ask us! Submit your stories of hope and bravery by going here Latest Addition from People like you! One Thousand Two Hundred and Fifty 01/10/2010 That is how many thoughts are passing through my mind, I'm pretty much fucked right now. I can't quite make sense of it all but this much I do know, I just found out I'm HIV positive. Actually, I think that in the back of my mind that I knew something was up. The person I thought was my boyfriend, ended up not even being a friend. About 6 months ago, we parted ways in a really abrupt fashion. I kind of knew things were wrong after we got a spontaneous HIV test at Gay Pride last summer. A week later I got my results and they came back negative and according to my boyfriend at the time, so did his. It wasn't a week later that my boyfriend started to get really weird and he seemed uninterested in me really fast, we started to fall away from each other. I found out from some other acquaintances, that he simply vanished and now I probably know why. His test must have come up positive. Some of my 'friends' later told me that they had heard he was positive all along and just thought I knew about him and his past. My response to these 'friends' is "thanks fuckers, thanks for telling me that important fact now, I could have used that information back then!" Well, that whole situation scared the hell out of me and I stayed away from any and all sorts of physical contact after that first testing experience. I had waited almost 6 months after my initial negative test result to get re-tested. It took some balls to go get re-tested, but a few of my friends and I went down to a testing fair in Portland. I just figured that I would still be HIV negative because I hadn't screwed around, never been sick, and not had any signs of having HIV. Of course I was dead wrong. Here are my facts: I found out just recently I have HIV. My first test was negative, but my guess is that I was recently infected by that lying prick of a boyfriend. He was probably infected and knew about it or at least should have known. I was a stupid little shit, believing what people told me. I have to deal with this like a grown-up now, I don't know if I'm ready for all this. I hate that I am in this place. I am thankful that I was not fucking around with anyone else after getting that first negative test. I think I was still infected by my ex the whole time and could have infected other people had I been slutting around during that period. I probably would have thought I was negative and unintentionally hurt others I hooked up with. I am doing okay for the moment, I guess I'm lucky to have gotten hooked up decent HIV care people. My disease has helped me prioritize my life. Thanks for your website and letting me speak out. You can edit my story because I know I swore allot. I just get really pissed off about all this shit, can you really blame me? Ryan, Age 20 via the Website A Life Worth Living added 08/18/2009 I remember hearing the words. I remember thinking I should cry, but I couldn't. I gathered the paperwork, referrals and phone numbers, thanked the kind stranger and walked to my car in the parking lot. I was alone. I sat behind the wheel, staring, until the attendant knocked on my window, informing me that the lot was being locked for the weekend. I cannot honestly recall what I thought of as I drove home, auto pilot was in command. At home, once again I found myself sitting motionless, this time in the driveway. I remember thinking about Kevin, my best friend, now dead for less than a month. I wanted to call Kevin. I wanted to hear his beautiful voice, soothingly telling me to "Get over it Bitch! You'll be fine!" I missed him terribly. He was an evil ass. The kind of true friend that never hesitated to tell you that a booger dangled from your nose or you had bad breath or spinach in your teeth. Kevin was the reason I had tested. Diagnosed and gone in less than three weeks, sicker than even he knew, my hateful, now silent beloved best friend. It was now dark. Early March 1991. Time had no value to me at that moment. I worked my way from stunned numb, to making the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. I entered my house and without shedding my winter garb, I sat in total darkness and watched from my dining room windows as gusts of frigid wind whipped the falling snow into circles and arcs. After time, I rose and blindly made my way to the bathroom, my coat and clothing trailing behind. Still in the dark, I reached into the shower, adjusted the handle to warm the water quickly, pulled back the curtain and stepped into the scalding spray. It hurt so good. I wanted and needed it to hurt. I wanted burn, to feel. I needed to fill that void that had surrounded me and I was willing to accept this searing pain. I let the hot water torture my face, and then turned to feel the nerves of my back and ass shred. It was in this moment of necessary agony that I planned my exit strategy. Instantly aware of the incredible pain, I leapt from the shower and felt along the wall for a towel. My skin raw and burned, yet I felt alive and awake for the first time in hours. Comforted by the peace of mind of a well made plan would soon provide. I knew what I was about to do, and I felt calm. A damp towel clung to my waist as I entered each room of my dark house, lifting blinds, pulling back curtains and shades, opening windows and welcoming the outside to come in. After lifting the last sash, I made my way to the front room where I dragged the end table from its post and pushed the heavy sofa under the large window, positioned directly within the winds path. I turned the thermostat down, pulled the towel from my body, and laid my head to rest on the sofa arm. Within seconds, my hair began to chill and crisp. I had hair then, thick, beautiful, wet hair. The wind...my 'natural' gas. No unlit stove or head in the oven for me. Too messy, too risky, too ugly. I didn't know if there was a heaven or hell and I had no intentions of finding out in such a firsthand manner. My 'plan' was far more sophisticated. My plan was suicide by pneumonia. Oh, how young and stupid. Little did I know? I laid in the darkness, wet, shivering and growing bitterly cold. Once a comfort to my reddened skin, the winter wind now started a fire of its own. The house cooled quickly and by the light cast from the street, I could see my breath. As I lay there, I thought of the faces of those who had left me behind. Secret crushes, new and old friends, casual acquaintances and co-workers. Kind and known faces that would welcome me to wherever it was I would go. It felt like hours; surely no more than fifteen minutes, the curtains behind me swirled and danced, brushing and covering my face. Pissed and cold, I rose to stand nude on the arm of the sofa, tucking the fabric behind the rod. As I reached to gather the curtain panel, I heard the sound of breaking glass coming from my room down the darkened hall. I froze, literally, in fear, and without seeing knew instantly what had broken. I stepped from the sofa arm, grabbed the cold damp towel and made my way toward my bedroom. As I entered I instinctively switched on the bedside light. Though not bright in watts, I was temporarily blinded by the intensity. I stood in the doorway and as my eyes acclimated to the light, I saw laying at the foot of my bed my grandfather's photo, shattered and in shards of splintered glass, the blowing drapery had pulled his photo from the wall. This singular picture served as proof that this dashing man had indeed lived amongst us. Before a wife and five daughters, before a lifetime of toil and hard labor, decades of drunken haze, before the loss of his dreams and the reluctant acceptance of his reality and decades before his untimely death. A young man...my age. I grabbed my robe and made the rounds to shut the winter out. I turned the furnace back up, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and returned to the living room where I picked up the phone and dialed Kevin's number. I knew he wouldn't answer, he hadn't for two weeks. Not since his family had unplugged his answering machine and disconnected his phone. I listened as I had nearly nightly, to a voice telling me that the "number I had reached was no longer in service." 'Your friend is dead' is what I heard. I settled the phone back into the cradle and walked back to my room to kneel beside the shattered photo. I closed my eyes and I could see the face of my Grandfather, the one from my childhood, weathered and tan, wrinkled and kind. I could smell his hair tonic and taste the Blackjack candy he always had for me. I could feel in my hands the fifty cent piece that he gave to me every time I saw him. I looked again at the broken glass and from within me came a sorrow that could have never imagined. I cried. I cried as hard and as deeply as I had ever cried before. I wept from a place that I have only visited once since that night. I cried for my dear friend, I cried for my sorry stupid self, I cried for the worthless picture frame that could easily be replaced at any thrift or low quality antique shop. I cried for what I thought was my destiny, and the pain I was about to visit on my family and friends. I cried because I knew I wouldn't die that night, or even the next. I cried because I knew that I would have to find a way to 'live' with this disease. I'm not sure how long I lay there on the hard oak floor. I awoke at 4:15am, pulled my robe from the bed, covered my broken grandpa, striped and climbed into bed where I stayed for two days. I didn't develop pneumonia that weekend; I didn't even catch a cold. My flawed and broken immune system less 'deficient' than earlier suggested. I told my family the following week. It was both horrible and lovely, my familial support constant and unwavering from day one. In time, I made a kind of peace with this virus. I have allowed it to bunk, but not get too comfortable; as a renter, not a lease holder. I have made peace with the man I loved so dearly and trusted, the man who brought this virus into our home. He died somewhere far away 4 years after my diagnosis; we had not spoken in years. Finally, I have made peace with myself. I forgive myself for the 'sin' of loving and trusting. I have given myself permission to go forward and find happiness, joy and the benefit of a future. I have never given HIV the privilege of owning any part of me, or my life. I am not a victim. Life continues to move on. I have had great happiness and heartbreaking sadness. I have seen this epidemic strip neighborhoods and families. The world is indeed poorer for these losses, but no less capable of being a place of peace and love. I am not happier, or more 'in touch' because I have now been diagnosed with this syndrome that is defined as AIDS, but I have been blessed with the knowledge that life is for the living, and for the taking. I have allowed myself the luxury of slowing down and embracing what once sped by unnoticed. I still miss Kevin. I dream about him occasionally and I feel that somehow, someway we will see each other again. And when we do, I will kick his ass up around his neck for leaving me to walk through this firestorm of life alone. But until then, today everything will be alright. It's going to be okay. Peace- Steven Finding out all Alone added 08/12/2009 Well my story is a bit of a long one, in March or 2007 I had a rupture in my lower intestine due to diverticulitis and I actually made it thru being septic for over 12 hours, I was in the hospital for 13 days. I went back into the hospital in November of 2007 do to complications due to the previous surgery, and the hospital did regular blood tests and found that my liver levels where elevated then, but the physician didn't think any thing of it. I was fine until about October 25th of 2008 when I had to go back into the hospital for complications once again from my past surgeries. Once again the Hospital ran me through a whole battery of blood tests and again noticed that my liver levels were still elevated. Finally, somebody there suggested that we find out the reason, because they possibly thought I had Hep C or something else. On October 31st 2008 my blood test came back Positive for HIV, and in subsequent Western Blot blood tests confirmed I was HIV Positive. On November 10th 2008 I had still more blood tests done. Opening the mail, I found that not only was I merely HIV Positive, but the latter test actually said I had AIDS. When I found all this out my CD-4 count was @ 44 and my viral load was @ 61,000. I started Medications within 2 weeks of November 10th 2008; I started on a medication called Atripla, I was on that medication till May 8th 2009 when I changed to Norvir, Truvada, and Rayataz. Since beginning to take my HAART medications my CD-4 count has gone up to 272 and my viral load has gone undetectable. It has been a long road and I'm still walking down that road. It took me a while to get in touch with my treatment and took allot of research to find all the resources available that would help benefit my on-going treatment. Now that they are in place its going to be much easier to keep everything in check, however, it was a very difficult and time consuming endeavor trying to research and sign up for programs and resources all by myself. When I was told that I was HIV Positive, I was stuck in the hospital and all alone, it was even worse to learn that I actually had AIDS when I opened the results in the mail. My first experience with my past HIV Specialist was for the results of the Western Blot test, to confirm if I was Positive or not. They were pretty abrupt in their treatment of me then and they asked if I knew why I was there, and I said �yes, I'm here to get the secondary results from my HIV test.� Unfortunately, finding out my status was not even by talking with the actual Doctor, I learned it from two �Fellows� who simply exclaimed "you have it!� Needless to say, I didn't have a good experience at first with my old doctor, and do to the fact it was hard to get in to see him, and a combination of other factors I have changed doctors, and I'm liking my new doctor. Thomas, Portland, Oregon One Real Crappy Day! added 02/15/2009 The news came as a crushing blow, it was just too surreal to hear. I kept thinking to myself that this must be a mistake or worse yet, someone's cruel attempt at a poorly executed joke, yet nobody was laughing. As the news begin to hit my brain, it was all beginning to get really hazy. Having been an EMT and Police officer most of my life had already prepared me for life and death situations and whenever I found myself involved with them, I always marveled at my own mind's way of dealing with intense and imminent life and death situations, but in my haziness, all my psychology, medical and real world training went blowing out the door. Everything became white and really quiet...I left my body and was no longer in the sterility of the clinic room, leaving behind my Doctor and best friend. My control was lost, my reality now broken. I am withdrawn and fully encompassed inside myself. In the distance I hear someone quietly sobbing. I perceive it first as just a tiny whimper, the pitch being high and unfamiliar. In my mind I believe it is just some kid who has just been scolded. As soon as I'm contented with that thought, my perception merges and changes view again. Things around me begin to rush forward and surround me. The whimpers grow louder and louder as my mind and spirit reconnect and I quickly come back into myself. I search the faces in the room, darting from my Doctors face to my friends face and quickly realize that the whimpering was not coming from them. With the full force or a blow to the head, hazy reality became desperately real, raw and unfair leaving me to sob uncontrollably like some silly bawling kid. I felt really stupid and was actually ashamed at me breaking down in front of my Doctor, but I physically could not stop. It was like 30 years of emotional feelings compounded with overwhelming blow that came crashing in around me. My friend, who had just learned he was negative, held my hand tightly and turned to me and grabbed me and held me for what seemed like an eternity. "I'm so sorry, it definitely looks positive" my Doctor said. At that point, only one thought kept crossing my mind and it was the fact that I had just been given a death sentence. Fast forward a bit.... It's been awhile since from my diagnosis and things did get better. Some days I completely forget that I have an incurable disease, but I finally realized after all my whining and bitching to myself, that having HIV is not a death sentence anymore, nor is it a chore when you do the right things for yourself right up front. Make the right choice of an HIV Care Doctor, learn and research your butt off about your disease by starting right here on the Positive Support site, get healthy right now and have a positive and hopeful outlook and you'll do just fine. From Portland, Oregon If it was only Cancer added 01/11/2009 I'd been seriously ill for a couple months when I decided to get tested. I'd lost sixty pounds and became surprisingly weak, and could barely eat or walk or leave my apartment. My doctor thought I could have lymphoma. I hoped he was right. I prayed for cancer. If it were cancer, then I wouldn't have to feel the shame and guilt, the stigma of HIV. If it were cancer, then I wouldn't feel as if I'd done this to myself. If it were cancer, then I wouldn't have to become a statistic, a stereotype, a scapegoat, another faggot with AIDS. I wouldn't have to accept responsibility for my actions. Psychologically, for me, cancer was the way to go. But it wasn't cancer, and I can't say I was surprised by the news. I didn't feel much grief. I felt rage. I completely turned on myself and I hated myself more than ever. I told myself that I got exactly what I deserved. -from Anon, from Portland, Oregon Happy Birthday to me added 07/18/2009 I called the following day and made an appointment for my test. A regular in the gay.com chat rooms, I went to the POZ room and explained my situation. The guys there gave me some helpful information and also told me specific questions I might want to ask. Quite a few of them offered to speak on the phone for some personal support. I continued to visit that site after I went for the test and was waiting for the results and I'd found them to be a welcoming group. On the afternoon of Friday, August 13th, 1999, I went for my results. Not unexpectedly, I tested POZ....but the fact that I had full-blown AIDS was a shock. My 40th birthday would occur in 13 more days. Happy Birthday to me! While otherwise numb, I had the presence of mind to get information about treatment facilities and I left without shedding a single tear. An hour later, I was back home. I logged onto the POZ room as a "visitor" and sent a private message to a local guy and told him my news. He gave me his phone number and I called him. When he said I needed to let my emotions out, I actually felt comfortable crying. There was a bit of relief when he said that a diagnosis of full-blown AIDS was not uncommon, but it was important to begin treatment soon. Knowing that I was not alone was like a load lifted from my shoulders. It's now nearly 10 years later and I'm undetectable. Every morning, when I take my meds, I'm reminded of my POZ status. As much as I detest platitudes, I need to use this one: HIV is no longer a death sentence....it's merely a life sentence. -by E.H. off the net |
