DyingIs an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well
-Lazy Lazarus (Sylvia Plath)
Yes, I just quoted Plath, but trust me, things are very far from being that bad. Just thinking about writing after the comment on the last post about journalism. I don't think I should feel guilt for taking opportunities that are offered to me because of my status among other things, I just think it's a slight shift of thinking to go from the virus being something that threatens to destroy everything I have (which it never did, but I think we all have that fear somewhere) to being something that opens up doors for you.
So, with that bouyancy in mind, it was probably a good time to visit a friend of mine in hospital in Hampstead with Hep C (they think) and some other bizarre complications. He wasn't restricted to the ward, his condition having improved quite a bit, but still he was very obviously ill, his eyes were golden irises against whites of lemon. His skin was bronzed even though he's not been in the sun for weeks. The colour of Dettol, I'd guess. He'd lost a lot of weight since I last saw him, and he'd lost a lot of weight then, something like a quarter to a third of his former body weight gone in the last six months or so.
While obviously I'd known he's been ill, he made mention of being on the transplant list and how he was being moved over to long-term benefits, which I'd interpret as meaning that they're not expecting him to get any better in a hurry, which must be hard on anyone. My boyfriend came with me to meet him, but although the three of us were chatting, drinking fattening Starbucks drinks and went to the cinema as a group while I battled jetlag to stay chirpy and my friend battled fatigue to bring humour, I could see my boyfriend was processing a lot while we were all together. I am not particularly phased by people who are ill or disabled, although I was a bit squeamish when a friend sent me a photo of his broken wrist scar this morning, but I'm sure he was struck by it.
It wasn't easy for me, either, to see someone ill, knowing that in part I have the same thing within me. I'm hoping that I can avoid the same fate, although I can't rule out that possibility completely. I've never been so good at towing the line, so I don't know how adherant I'd be to medication, or how responsive to instructions about avoiding possible harm to myself. That said, after diagnosis, I've taken much better care of myself than I was doing beforehand, cutting out the recreationals and the parties and the orgiastic life, walk most of the journeys I make and generally manage my life a little more sensibly than I was doing before, so I can't say my prognosis for life is one of terrible decay and unstoppable doom or anything like that.
And hey, if I get ill, I get ill, it's hardly like I'm going to be kicking myself about it, just like I'm not wagging my finger at my friends who have been ill with this thing. That Good AIDS, Bad AIDS thing really hacks me off, I tell you that for nowt. Besides which I think I have BadGood or GoodBad AIDS because I could either have caught it while recklessly fucking around on drugs (BadAIDS) or from my ex (GoodAIDS) but it's moot. Sure as eggs is eggs, I've got HIV and there ain't a great deal I can be doing about that.
My friend might die. That happens. If you're deterministic enough to say that it's possible for actions to bring specific consequences, then you're deterministic enough to acknowledge that those actions were in themselves consequences, so coulda and shoulda can't really be applied with any sense of meaningful authority.
Barebacking is to HIV what a short dress is to rape?
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2 comments:
Do all female rape victims wear short dresses? Is being violated by a man against your will the same as participating willingly in an unsafe sexual practice with a person whos serological status we may or may not know? We make the decision to wear what we wear based on...the weather...our mood...the occasion. We make our decisions to practice unsafe sex...for much the same type of reasons...I often used to go out with condoms and a half baked intention to use them, knowing full well that in the heat of the moment they would be trampled underfoot in the rush to connect in a more direct way. Was I "asking for it"? Undoubtedly. But could the "perpetrator" have known that until the ultimate moment? No...I was a willing participant and in the heat of the moment, willing to take my chances. If you're going to make it as a writer you're going to have to back up even the most conflictive or controversial of theories.So...
It's kind of late but your reponse is interesting to me on many levels.Firstly because you have actually given a context to the original statement and secondly because you have given me information that I didn't have before. Is this(to me quite shocking) response of women towards rape a true response to the situation, or a washing of hands "I don't do that and so I don't identify with it" sort of behaviour that we are often prone to adopt?
It's amazing how a soundbite like "she was asking for it" can pass into the national consciousness and shape how people react to things.Perhaps it's because of the media, and the shockingly low conviction rates. Then we have the anti women (to my mind) backlash that seems to accuse women of trotting of to the police screaming "rape" when they're just a bit pissed off at having had sex with someone who they'd rather not have.
It curdles my blood to read those words. I'd be interested to know the age range of their sample group. Apart from certain often reported statistics(victim usually knows perpetrator etc) I know little about the subject. What can I say to your closing comment...I don't know if I can hazard a guess about most hiv infections. Maybe taken on a global level what you say has resonance...I guess it depends on what criteria we base "knowing" somebody. The semantic choice of the word "victim" here intrigues me.But as I said, it's late...and I'm sure I've had my "victim" moments in my time.Oh...and you're right about the flagrant recklessness...was relating on perhaps too personal a level.
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