The End of the World, Two Years On

It's been two years since I was diagnosed and I'm not really sure how much longer than that since I got infected. As before, there's not an awful lot to say, which is why this blog's been quiet. After the 300 moment, my counts went back up to 500 and I've just given bloods to get an email in a couple of weeks with where it's all at now. I'm not really sure how much more there is to say about any of it at this point. After diagnosis, I was caught up in the vortex of the breakdown of the relationship I was in and the descent of my then-partner into dark places where I couldn't bear to follow him, then the struggle to come to terms with the infection and the break-up. After that, there was the strange joy of dating someone negative who was utterly freaked out by my status, which left me feeling more diseased than ever. Now, two years on from the end of the world and I'm in a solid, happy relationship with someone who isn't freaked out by my status (and isn't bugchasing either) and a trip to the clinic feels like a trip to the hairdresser's, where it's chats about work, holidays, boyfriends and a quick jab and you're out of there. I'm not sure why there was a point where I thought I was going to need a psychiatrist to help me come to terms with that.

While I was at the clinic last week, I talked to the nurse about how the messages given to my boyfriend about HIV differed so much from the ones I get. He laughed and told me that he thinks it's a bit mental that a doctor told him off for telling a negative client that it wasn't the end of the world if he was diagnosed with HIV.

"Young people don't realise how bad it used to be!" said the doctor.

"Why should they? It isn't that bad any more." said the nurse.

Having grown up in the shadow of THAT tombstone, I can agree. It really isn't all that bad. It's horrible that it's something I have no choice about and it's horrible that it's hassle and some people are horrible about it, but the thing itself? It ain't so bad.

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Went for bloods last month and, well, I've only got a few more little soldiers than Leonidas had. Soon, it seems, my viral load shall blot out the sun and we shall fight in the shade. Got to repeat the blood test soon but sounds like those years I thought I had left before I'd have to start on medication are fewer than I'd hoped in number.

The Western Front

...all quiet.

The clamour, the shock, the newsworthiness of it all fell away. I had a boyfriend who was so terrified of infection that he started to desire it, I had another boyfriend for whom I was his first, which was weird - the virgin and the whore - then I think I've given up looking for salvation between the legs of innocent men. This is no bad thing, I reckon. I'm just ticking over now. Considering what's important. Stability, unfortunately, doesn't seem to automatically include someone else as part of that equation. I'm getting places career-wise I'd not thought I'd get to. I get on better with my ex now than I think I did when we got into all this silly mess. My heart's in a holding pattern. Sure, I do keep finding myself spending time with this one guy, but I think the slightest whisper of belonging would be enough to send me running for the hills right now.

I'm slightly annoyed with myself for over-disclosing in the earlier stages of this. People I barely know start asking me how I got it.

"I know this guy who said he got it from a blow job. I mean, is that possible? How did you get it?"

"Bareback double anal."

The conversation doesn't often go further than that. Funny, really, how people's perceptions of you change according to how they think you were infected. I'm a nice man - now, at least - so surely I'm a victim of this. Heh. As if. If anything, as I mentioned before, this saved my life in several ways. Or, least, it shook things up a little bit.

Anyhow, hello. As I said, nothing really to report here just yet. Am going with a friend for him to get tested in a couple of weeks. I'm not really sure I'm best qualified for this, only that I'd be able to find good things in either result. It's odd, though, that sense of seeing someone's fear of becoming what I am already. Strange days.

Updating You

Not sure if this blog fell off everyone's radars this last month or two. When I changed over to blogger beta, it linked everything together through my gmail account and it became quite easy to get to my identity through this, which isn't something I was really prepared to risk, so I made the blog private for a little while. It's sorted now, so things should be ok.

That said, as much as no news is good news, good news is no news, so there's not been that much to say on here of late.

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These results are starting to sound like buses. Another set of bloods back, another reassurance that nothing's happening yet that needs any kind of intervention. Given that there's plenty of friends of mine who have had it for a decade, or longer, who don't need medication, I wonder if perhaps I was a bit of a fool to think there was any point in thinking about the infection at all. Sure, it's a pain, and it's certainly a factor that damages relationships for me - not because of their fear of me infecting them, but more because of my own anxiety about it meaning I'm left overcompensating, hoping that they'll like me in spite of the virus.