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Washington, DC has lots of attractive men. Men on the subway, men on the street, men in the train station. Cute men. Sexy men. Younger men. Older men. Intriguing men. I love seeing these men. I love standing behind a man on the subway, dreaming about placing a feather-soft kiss on the back of his neck.
After I learned that I have HIV, my whole life shifted. It was as if I was thrust into a world where everything looked the same, but nothing felt the same. HIV was a collar and leash. When I saw a cute man on the street, there would be the familiar attraction, then the leash would jerk, reminding me that I was now infected and squashing my response to him. It was like being slapped in the face.
Then there was a period where I would see a sexy man and think to myself, "I'd like to infect him!" Not that I actually wanted to give him HIV. It was as if I had equated sex with infection. I wanted to have sex with him. Maybe I was identifying with my virus a little too much.
I had this daydream of living alone on a tropical island, swimming in the ocean, bathing in a spring, eating bananas or something. Maybe that's why I like to watch Lost. However, after my diagnosis, I couldn't even indulge in this daydream without the leash jerking, reminding me that uninhabited tropical islands don't have pharmacies.
It took me months to realize that this is just a fantasy. Why not imagine that I'm on the island without HIV? But it's not that easy. The leash still twitches. I try, but I don't seem to visit that daydream that much anymore. I suppose I learned how far the leash extends and I don't try to test it.
I have new daydreams now. In one of them, I can heal HIV and AIDS with a touch, and I share this gift with my friends at the HIV socials and support groups. Others come to me, men, women, children and I heal them all. For some reason, I don't (or can't) cure myself; I cure everybody else. Sometimes the fantasy is different: I take their sickness into me and it's killing me. Who would I heal first?
As I'm writing this, I'm realizing that I don't fantasize about being disease-free. Ever. Hm.
Over the past year, I've been challenging my fears. Every time I found a man that desired me and told him that I have HIV, I was wrestling with the fear of rejection, the fear of being alone. And yet, none of them have pushed me away. I have learned that I can still find love and comfort. I'm not going to be alone.
These days I can walk down the street and smile at cute men walking past me like I used to do once upon a time. I'm still wearing the collar, but I'm beginning to learn that I'm the one holding the leash.
After I learned that I have HIV, my whole life shifted. It was as if I was thrust into a world where everything looked the same, but nothing felt the same. HIV was a collar and leash. When I saw a cute man on the street, there would be the familiar attraction, then the leash would jerk, reminding me that I was now infected and squashing my response to him. It was like being slapped in the face.
Then there was a period where I would see a sexy man and think to myself, "I'd like to infect him!" Not that I actually wanted to give him HIV. It was as if I had equated sex with infection. I wanted to have sex with him. Maybe I was identifying with my virus a little too much.
I had this daydream of living alone on a tropical island, swimming in the ocean, bathing in a spring, eating bananas or something. Maybe that's why I like to watch Lost. However, after my diagnosis, I couldn't even indulge in this daydream without the leash jerking, reminding me that uninhabited tropical islands don't have pharmacies.
It took me months to realize that this is just a fantasy. Why not imagine that I'm on the island without HIV? But it's not that easy. The leash still twitches. I try, but I don't seem to visit that daydream that much anymore. I suppose I learned how far the leash extends and I don't try to test it.
I have new daydreams now. In one of them, I can heal HIV and AIDS with a touch, and I share this gift with my friends at the HIV socials and support groups. Others come to me, men, women, children and I heal them all. For some reason, I don't (or can't) cure myself; I cure everybody else. Sometimes the fantasy is different: I take their sickness into me and it's killing me. Who would I heal first?
As I'm writing this, I'm realizing that I don't fantasize about being disease-free. Ever. Hm.
Over the past year, I've been challenging my fears. Every time I found a man that desired me and told him that I have HIV, I was wrestling with the fear of rejection, the fear of being alone. And yet, none of them have pushed me away. I have learned that I can still find love and comfort. I'm not going to be alone.
These days I can walk down the street and smile at cute men walking past me like I used to do once upon a time. I'm still wearing the collar, but I'm beginning to learn that I'm the one holding the leash.
