Ive sort of decided not to tell my parents, but I will tell my brother. My parents have had a bad year, with my god father committing suicide and my uncle suffering from mental illness, so I dont think they would be able to take this in the way that they normally would.
I just feel so lost, and completely angry at myself.
Alan-
I have been infected since 1984, when I got a little too drunk and brought someone home from a bar who didn't believe that I'm a non-versatile top. He held me down, rode me roughly, came and left. About two weeks later I had the worst flu of my life which lasted for ten days.
As there were no effective treatment options, I declined getting tested at the time, even as everyone I knew seemed to be dropping like flies: I stopped counting the losses at 60, and it was still not even 1990 yet. By 1992, three of my exes were already dead, one was infected and one, though negative, was shell-shocked into a massive depression.
In 1996 two things happened to that changed my life: the first was the introduction of Protease Inhibitors and the resulting "Lazarus Effect", and the second was that I suddenly fell quite ill. As otherwise healthy 36-year olds don't normally get what I had, my doctor at the time suggested that I get tested. Both my then-partner and I came back positive, and I was mortified: crushed in a way that I've never really gotten over, though eventually I learned to move on.
Due to his inherently dishonest nature, I'll never know precisely whether I'd infected my partner or whether he'd already been infected when we met. But he would alternate between reassuring me that I was blameless with accusations that I'd been reckless with his health (an earlier broken condom certainly muddied the waters). That relationship, toxic as it was, endured for eight more years.
We found that not all support groups were the same. When we were diagnosed, we lived in Boston, which is a large and very cosmopolitan city, and took part in an excellent group for several years. When we moved to suburban Connecticut we found that the group was a haven for addicts and the mentally ill and dropped out pretty quickly. But by then, we'd talked the whole HIV thing to death anyway, and found private, individual therapy much more productive.
In the aftermath of that break-up, I eventually found an online support site called
AIDSmeds.com; it had been founded by one of the original organizers of ACT-UP New York. I lurked for a bit, read lots of great information (still the single best resource for HIV/AIDS info on the web, IMO) and eventually joined. Like every other community, it has its strengths and weaknesses but there is no place on Earth where such a diverse group of people living with HIV/AIDS can congregate. There are men, women, neophytes, dinosaurs (like me), black, white, asian, people from every continent except Antarctica. The politics of the place means that I rarely contribute there anymore, but I do still post a few times each month.
Starting treatment in 1996 as I did means that I was subjected to just about all of the more lurid and gruesome side-effects imaginable, and all of it has taken its toll. One thing I've read here (and see everywhere, even at the HIV-related conferences I attend now and then) is that it's a "manageable" condition, and for many it is. But I am not now nor have I ever been an AIDS minimizer. People still die everyday from AIDS-related conditions in fully modern Western hospitals (or, if they're lucky, in hospice), under careful observation and all the latest treatments.
As we age, we dinosaurs are teaching the medical establishment about what it takes to truly thrive as a long term survivor, both physically and mentally. Our bodies are aging more rapidly than normally, and depression takes a dreadful toll; there's evidence of cognitive impairment and other signs of neurological issues that had never been noticed because most everyone before us died before they could be observed.
I'm not writing this because I want to frighten or depress you; I really just want you to know that there's another side to the story. But everyone's different, the virus mutates differently in everybody, and everyone responds differently to specific meds. Generalizations about living with the virus are dangerous things, because everyone needs to be every alert to his/her own body and how it responds (or doesn't) to different therapies.
Remember: you are the CEO of your own health care, not your doctor(s): he/they work for you, and you have the final say in treatment options. If I had adopted that strategy from the beginning, my overall well-being would be quite different now, I assure you.
As to disclosure: that's an extremely personal matter. At the beginning of my diagnosis, I only disclosed to those from whom I required understanding and support. For me, that included my sister, my landlord and the small staff in the store I worked in (including my boss). It took years before I was comfortable or proficient at it. These days I disclose to everyone, as there are no negative consequences in my life for doing so. But it remains an intensely personal decision.
Sure, HIV isn't technically a ticket to death anymore but,
it sure is going to scare people from having sex with you.
<Spits>
It needn't frighten anyone, but there's always an enduring stigma among the uneducated and afraid.
I made up my mind about six years ago to restrict my dating/sexual options to those who are already poz. It's a practice called serosorting, and I'm firmly in support of it. At least here where I live in South Florida, there's an embarrassment of riches in that regard; the poz/gay community here is huge. I understand that not everyone's quite so lucky, but I also know that I'm hardly living in some isolated Nirvana of erotic potential. When you're ready to dive back into the pool, do so in as rich and as inviting a pool as you can find.
PM me anytime.