Title: How HIV Hasn't Effected My Life
Author: Kait Sudol
Disclaimer: Mark and Roger belong to the estate of Jonathan Larson, I'm not making money, etc.
Summary: Life can be crazy, but that doesn't mean things don't occasionally turn out right.
Rating: PG
Notes at the end.


Life can really drive you crazy sometimes. A long time ago, I came to terms with the fact that no matter how happy my life seemed, I would always be innately depressed. It took a long time, but ever since the raging battle inside my mind has kept itself down to a dull roar, to be utterly cliche.

That doesn't mean that it doesn't bother me at times. There are days... I'm sure you've had them. Everyone does. Days when you just want to scream and scream until the world rights itself. Of course, by the time you've reach that point in your life, the world is far past a time when a little shouting can startle it back to normal.

It's days like that, days when it seems like the world is alternately falling apart and caving in, that I like to curl up on the couch and watch some kids' television. It sounds ludicrous, but it's actually the most calming, uncomplicated experience. There's no drama, no angst or betrayal or romance or hurt, none of the things that make adult programs so "riveting". Just stories and songs and an overall feeling of warmth. My roommate - my best friend - he laughs at me. But when things look bad or the doctors don't have answers, he'll sneak into the room and join me on the couch, leaning against me and holding my hand while Big Bird sings about sunny days and sweet air.

Still, it's those screaming days that led us to where we are now. Taking him for the now routine hospital visits and spending too many hours in waiting rooms, gearing myself up for the final bad news. Days like that caused me to take this job, something laughable seven years ago. I've never been a writer - that's always been his job, making every emotion into a perfectly simple sentence. But here I am. Just goes to show what a powerful motivating factor desperation really is.

We've reached a state where we're perfectly comfortable with it. Seven years ago we fully came to terms with the fact that he's sick. Six years ago we admitted he's dying. We live with the knowledge that his health could deteriorate any day. We live with it and have for six years. Maybe we'll live with it for another six or eight or ten. Maybe we won't. Either way, we'll be ready.

That's not to say I'm in any way looking forward to the time that will come after him. The part of my mind that will always be gloomy no matter what medication they pump into me thinks about the time that will come after him constantly. Because for nearly half my life, he has been my life. It's hard to fathom living without him. My best friend. No - so much more than that now, thought it's hard to address him as anything other than that. A seven year habit is hard to break, and now, even after we've been together for five, no other phrase seems to do it justice. All other terms of endearment make us giggle or sound too stiff or too gooey. We're just best friends - we always have been. The only change in our relationship, really, is the physical aspect.

We've been in love with each other for eleven years, known each other for twelve. It's just taken us this long to fully acknowledge it and, well, do something about it. We gave up trying to explain it long ago. We know what we mean to each other and that's all that matters, right? Who cares if others feel the need to label us? It doesn't change anything.

We're not perfect. We weren't before and discovering the feeling of his skin against mine didn't magically resolve our problems. We don't tell anymore, though. It's not worth it. That' snot to say he doesn't drive me crazy. There are nights I want to smack him, nights he can't sleep and spends the hours between two and six stomping around the main room, playing his guitar ceaselessly, notes filtering through he paperthin walls. Or, worse yet, the nights he spends those hours rolling about restlessly in bed, unknowingly - or, sometimes, depending on his mood, quite purposely - keeping us both awake. Sometimes his doubt and fear make me angry with him, but only because I harbor the same fears and hearing them from him reminds me just how real they are.

But we're happy and that's what matters, isn't it? That for five years I've gone to bed each night with a pair of arms around my waist, confident that they'd be there when I awoke the next morning. If not around my waist, then waiting for me in the kitchen with a mug of tea and a sleepy kiss.

I was asked to write about how HIV has affected my life. I told my editor no. I told him I couldn't do that, that I've spend nine, ten years trying to live my life, live the life I have with my best friend, on my terms and not on the terms of that virus. He looked at me for a long moment and then told me that was exactly what he wanted to hear. So that's what this is. My life. My life, written down on my terms.

end.


I wrote this all while working (at Michael's x_x) on a snowy, slow Thursday night. I was remembering this couple from the Eric Johnson House, a local facility that provides housing and work for AIDS and HIV positive people until they can get on their feet. The guy reminded me so much of Roger. About 15, 16 years ago he got HIV through a dirty needle. He thought his life was over and just used harder and harder, until finally, his dad brought him out of Brooklyn and into Morris County. His doctor kept telling him he only had a few months left to live, so he used harder. Eventually, he looked back and saw that while his doctor initally said he had only eight months to live, here he was, almost eight years later. So he entered the Eric Johnson program, got clean, and is now married with twin babies. And generally healthy.

So, I was thinking about that, and about how he and his wife (also HIV positive - they met at Eric Johnson) had come to our school to tell us that they're just the same as everyone else, they just have to take... more pills ^_^;; (their words) and. Yes. This happened.

Comments to kait@frowl.org.