Speedball

I have to get up early in the morning to go to a brand new job. Everything tells me I should be sleeping. But I can't sleep.

A year ago I came out to myself. Within the last six months I have come out to all my friends and to my family. My life finally makes sense to me. It is finally mine. Having allowed myself to be the real me, I have finally learned what it is to fall in love with someone, have crushes, have sex, and realize that all of this actually does have a place in my life. And not just that, I mean, I don't have to tell all of you what this is like. I no longer feel like an excluded bystander in life's ebb and flow. I have never been happier in my 28 years on this planet than I am now. Two of my best friends from college have also recently come out, and we have all had the time of our lives this last year, sharing this experience with each other, growing into our new lives, celebrating our friendship and our ever-widening circle of new friends and family.

Tonight, we went to see "It's my party." Right there, in the middle of our celebratory mood, we all sat in that theatre and sobbed, off and on, most of the way through that movie. I realize I am probably reacting a little hysterically to all the emotion of tonight, and I don't have any kind of statistics to back me up on this, but as the five of us sat there (Brandon and Jeremy had dates) I couldn't help thinking that it's inevitable that sometime in our lives, at least one of us is going to be faced with a partner getting sick and having to say goodbye. I suppose we're all pretty typical; trying to be safe as a rule, but really, what does that mean? My ex called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that an ex of his had tested positive a month before they broke up and he waited a year to tell him. "Don't panic, I tested negative last month, but I just thought you would want to know," he said. His words filled me with a dread the likes of which I have never experienced before. I got tested the next day.

Is this what it's like? Spinning the barrel and dodging the bullet every single time? Rich and I were always meticulously safe. But as he said, "I thought you would want to know," I couldn't help wondering what he knew that I didn't.... Had a condom broken once and he didn't tell me? Did I get anything on me once before the condom was on that might have been carrying something?

So I sat in that theatre and listened to all of those people saying goodbye to their friend, son, and brother, and I became so miserable at the thought that, sooner or later, that's going to be us. From their reactions, and talking afterward, everyone let on that they were thinking the same thing (but without actually saying it), and amid "drive safely" and "are you going to be ok?" we all drove home alone, pondering the disaster that might await any one of us. And just this weekend we were sitting around getting all fired up about Pride Day in three weeks, the first one for all of us. For the longest time, we have all been so giddy at the exciting turn our lives have taken, and how fortunate we are to be able to take our best friends with us on this journey. I don't think we ever stopped to consider that the road may have some bitterly disappointing turns.

I know about HIV transmission. Straight people get it too. Blah blah blah and all that. But somehow, pondering tonight, nothing I tell myself seems to make it better. Maybe I was being naive and arrogant to think that as long as I had a girlfriend I was immune, but now that I'm letting myself fall in love with men, suddenly every little kiss is deadly.

Funny how I can sit here and still feel so blessedly ecstatic at finally being out, while somewhere in the back of my head this irrational sort of fear and dread is starting to grow....

Author Unknown. From a recent Usenet post.