Woof!

Strange thing. I’d been anxious and depressed all day about everything related to the previous entry… but then I came back to my parents’ house after work and wound up saving our dog’s life.

I’d come home from work, gone out for a walk, come back, and then put food in her bowl. I went into the next room. After a few minutes I heard a thud, and I ran back in. She was lying on the floor, on her side, choking. This is maybe the third or fourth time this has happened in the last few months; the poor girl is 14 or 15 years old. But this was the first time I’d been around when it happened. I did what my brother had done in the past — I stuck my fingers down her throat, pulled out a big chunk of half-digested dog food. Got a rush of adrenaline. Called my brother to see if I should do anything else, half-frantic. He asked if she was breathing… she was. I got her to stand up and walk around, and she seemed okay. Whew.

Anyway, strangely, the adrenaline rush made me feel physically, mentally and emotionally better. It’s amazing how anxiety and depression are not just mental phenomena but also physical ones. I realized how pointless it is to worry about something that probably hasn’t occurred. I will continue to be careful sexually, and I will not be punished for having gay sex. If I get infected it will be tragic, but I will still be a good person. Life will still be worth living. And anyway, given the odds, chances are I’m okay.

Nothing like a good adrenaline rush.

The Greatest Fear of All

This morning I made an appointment to get tested for HIV on Monday evening. I don’t engage in anything particularly unsafe — I’ve always used condoms when I’ve had anal sex, and I’ve rarely let guys come in my mouth — but from time to time I develop a great, overpowering anxiety that I’ve caught the virus. I’ve tested negative twice before, but the anxiety’s still there. (Of course, I’m a worrier anyway.) I try to play mindgames, I try to calculate probabilities, I try to relive in my mind the encounters that could have been the most potentially unsafe, trying to convince myself that there’s no way I could have gotten HIV from them, reminding myself that as far as I know, I’ve never even been with someone who had HIV. I try to convince myself that I’m most likely fine. But the anxiety doesn’t go away. Finally I get to the point where I know that the only way I’ll be able to alleviate my anxiety is to be empirical — to get myself tested so I can put my mind at ease.

(By the way, ever notice how when you see the word “HIV” or “AIDS” in a paragraph, your eyes are drawn to it? All those uppercase letters together, so loud, so blaring, so uncouth and impolite, so disturbing.)

I’m feeling slightly nauseous just writing about this. I don’t even really know if I want to blog about it, because it means that people will want to know the results, and if by some quirk of fate I tested positive, I’d either have to talk about that in the blog, or I’d have to lie. But something is compelling me to write about it here. In a weird way it makes me feel better. The sense of community. I want and need the moral support. So if you have anything inspirational to say, anything that can help alleviate my anxiety, feel free to say it.

Now, I learned recently that it’s harder to get HIV than I’d previously thought. And I read recently that only seven percent of gay white men in the New York City area have HIV. But rational considerations don’t play a part in my anxiety. Rather, I feel that I deserve the disease somehow, because I’ve had gay sex — and especially because I’ve had casual gay sex. Even if it was safe, I feel like I have to be punished. And I worry that if I relax, if I convince myself that I don’t have it, then God or whoever will decide to give me it — retroactively. To spite me. Like the outcome of the test will depend on my emotional state. More mind games. Isn’t that weird?

To a large extent, this is so obviously caused by internalized homophobia.

I would rather die of cancer than of an AIDS-related illness. At least with cancer, there’s no shame. At least with cancer, you’re not stigmatized. If I developed cancer, at least I’d know that it wasn’t because of something I did. At least I’d know that my parents wouldn’t be furious with me. I can’t think of a worse way to die. I mean, there are physically worse ways, but mentally, emotionally — I would feel such incredible shame if I developed HIV. Plus, there’d be the big wait — I’d constantly be wondering when I was going to deteriorate and die. This link from Dean drives it home.

A year and a half ago, after I came out to my parents for the second time (long story), my mom told me that her biggest fear was of someday sitting by my hospital bed, watching me die of AIDS. Her eyes were welling up with tears and her voice was shaking as she said this, and it broke my heart. I wanted to bawl. All I could tell her was that I wasn’t stupid and that I didn’t want to get AIDS either.

And yet the safest way to avoid getting HIV is to not have sex at all, and yet I’ve still had sex. Gay sex, at that.

It’s a cruel irony. Sex is one of the greatest pleasures imaginable; it’s a human instinct. We are biologically programmed to engage in an activity that, at least heterosexually, propagates our species. And yet the same instinct that encourages you to create life can also kill you. Freud would have laughed; how poetic! Western society has always been ashamed about sex, but now we actually have a reason. It’s like being diagnosed as paranoid only to learn that the CIA really is after you.

Sex can kill you. Think about that. Sex can kill you. That’s so fucked up.

A year ago, when I was going through this same anxiety — before I got my beautiful negative test result back — a friend played me a song by Alanis Morisette, That I Would Be Good. I need to remember this song. We all need to. The italics are my own:

that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing

that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy

that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you

That I would be good.

Afternoon Off

At around 10:30 this morning, the lights flickered at work, and then the power went out. We all wondered what was going on, and we looked out the windows and saw tons of people outside, and some firetrucks, and thick billowing smoke, well, billowing from a building across the street. We’re right above a Newark city subway stop, and there have been renovations going on for the last few months; apparently, someone cut a cable or something, causing a power outage and some sort of explosion. There was apparently also a car on fire, but I didn’t get to see that. Anyway, seeing as how we had no power, they decided to close the office for the rest of the day. I love working for the government!

So I got home (well, back to my parents’ house, where I’m dogsitting), but not before stopping off at a great sandwich place near the house called The Cheese Shop. Great sandwiches. I had smoked turkey, havarti, honey mustard, lettuce and tomato on peasant bread. Mmmm.

Got to eat the sandwich. Got to watch a little bit of the afternoon soaps.

Which reminds me, I got an e-mail from a friend this morning telling me that his sister, Eden Riegel, has just been nominated for a Daytime Emmy for her role as Erica Kane’s lesbian daughter Bianca on All My Children. Erica Kane, if you don’t know, is played by venerable daytime diva (and finally an Emmy winner!) Susan Lucci. I feel kind of cool that I know Eden’s brother. He and I sang in the same college a cappella group — well, actually, he joined the 15-man group the year after I graduated, but I was still around the campus then, and we’ve mingled and sung together at alumni events and such, and all of us alums are pretty close. Of course, none of this really has anything to do with me, but I think it’s cool nonetheless.

(As for me, my mom raised me as a Days of our Lives fan, but more on that some other time.)

Later on in the afternoon, I went to Tower Records in New Jersey (the third Tower I’ve been to in several days) and bought a couple more CD’s — recordings of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 and Symphony No. 9, conducted by Leonard Bernstein. I think this almost completes my collection of Bernstein’s later recordings of the Mahler symphonies under Deutsche Grammphon. Lately I’ve wanted to re-read this great biography of Bernstein that I bought several years ago. Last night I was walking through midtown Manhattan, past Lincoln Center, right near Central Park West and lots of tall apartment buildings, and I thought about a few things: 1) I need to spend more time in Midtown, 2) this area used to be Leonard Bernstein territory, and 3) I want to make friends with older rich gay men who love classical music and have amazing apartments where they throw wonderful parties. Ahh, the life.

So anyway, it’s been a nice day.