[Jack] So I'm dead.
So I'm dead.
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be surprising, but this hadn't been what I was expecting.
I contracted HIV four years ago, my junior year at USC. It was the reality that finally came crashing down on me after two years of what had essentially been a non-stop party for me. Looking back on it, I can't say I'm surprised. I was completely irresponsible. I slept with anything that moved (using protecting irregularly) and experimented with nearly every drug available. Because I came from an upper-class family, I've always had more money than I needed and I had an apartment all to myself. It was a recipe for disaster.
I can still remember the day I got the news.
Earlier in the month, a group of us donated at the bloodmobile parked behind Leavey Library. As usual, I lied about all the important questions and let them stick me. I remember that time especially because they somehow ended up taking more than a bagfull and had to fill a couple of test tubes to get the overflow. I remember that the chips and juice I drank had actually been the first food I'd eaten that day because I'd slept in and hadn't gotten around to eating yet. Despite that, I wasn't woozy at all and when I told my buddies later, they thought I was nuts.
I remember getting the phone call telling me to visit the office. I remember the healthcare worker telling me what the tet results meant. I think she was surprised at how well I took the news.
I took another test at the Out Of The Closet on Sunset Boulevard.
I went to my family doctor and had him test me for everything under the guise of "being sensible." It wasn't until the results came back that I told him everything. I told him I wasn't going to tell my parents and I told him not to, either. He frowned, but agreed.
I'm sure the guys in my frat noticed that I wasn't picking up on women the way I used to at the parties, but they didn't say anything. I'm sure some of the guys I screwed semi-regularly wondered why I stopped calling, but they never called to ask. When I started bleaching my needles, none of my fellow junkies said anything, either.
I didn't bury myself if junk, though. I buried myself in schoolwork. When I'd started college, the idea was to get myself into med school because that's what my parents wanted and because I had an aptitude for science. I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do with myself, but I was a good student and damned smart. It was my aunt that told me that even if I didn't know what I wanted for a career, I'd figure it out before the four years were up. She was right.
I finished my last two years and got accepted to USC's Keck School of Medicine. By this time, I was barely participating in anything more out of control than burgers-and-beer Thursdays at my frat and I hardly had time to get high. I was lonely, though. I didn't want to deal with any of the counseling or any of the groups on campus, so I had no one to talk to about it. I didn't feel like I could date anyone and I was sure I didn't have the time anyway.
So, I'm not sure how she found me, but we met over the summer and it was...amazing. I've never met anyone more beautiful, intelligent or insightful. She told me that I had potential and that I was destined for something great. I believed her.
I dropped out of medical school. I spent two days indulging in all my old habits. I showered and shaved, making sure I'd be a good-looking corpse. I was ready.
And it's only gotten more interesting since then.
[Cross-posted to writing_101]
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be surprising, but this hadn't been what I was expecting.
I contracted HIV four years ago, my junior year at USC. It was the reality that finally came crashing down on me after two years of what had essentially been a non-stop party for me. Looking back on it, I can't say I'm surprised. I was completely irresponsible. I slept with anything that moved (using protecting irregularly) and experimented with nearly every drug available. Because I came from an upper-class family, I've always had more money than I needed and I had an apartment all to myself. It was a recipe for disaster.
I can still remember the day I got the news.
Earlier in the month, a group of us donated at the bloodmobile parked behind Leavey Library. As usual, I lied about all the important questions and let them stick me. I remember that time especially because they somehow ended up taking more than a bagfull and had to fill a couple of test tubes to get the overflow. I remember that the chips and juice I drank had actually been the first food I'd eaten that day because I'd slept in and hadn't gotten around to eating yet. Despite that, I wasn't woozy at all and when I told my buddies later, they thought I was nuts.
I remember getting the phone call telling me to visit the office. I remember the healthcare worker telling me what the tet results meant. I think she was surprised at how well I took the news.
I took another test at the Out Of The Closet on Sunset Boulevard.
I went to my family doctor and had him test me for everything under the guise of "being sensible." It wasn't until the results came back that I told him everything. I told him I wasn't going to tell my parents and I told him not to, either. He frowned, but agreed.
I'm sure the guys in my frat noticed that I wasn't picking up on women the way I used to at the parties, but they didn't say anything. I'm sure some of the guys I screwed semi-regularly wondered why I stopped calling, but they never called to ask. When I started bleaching my needles, none of my fellow junkies said anything, either.
I didn't bury myself if junk, though. I buried myself in schoolwork. When I'd started college, the idea was to get myself into med school because that's what my parents wanted and because I had an aptitude for science. I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do with myself, but I was a good student and damned smart. It was my aunt that told me that even if I didn't know what I wanted for a career, I'd figure it out before the four years were up. She was right.
I finished my last two years and got accepted to USC's Keck School of Medicine. By this time, I was barely participating in anything more out of control than burgers-and-beer Thursdays at my frat and I hardly had time to get high. I was lonely, though. I didn't want to deal with any of the counseling or any of the groups on campus, so I had no one to talk to about it. I didn't feel like I could date anyone and I was sure I didn't have the time anyway.
So, I'm not sure how she found me, but we met over the summer and it was...amazing. I've never met anyone more beautiful, intelligent or insightful. She told me that I had potential and that I was destined for something great. I believed her.
I dropped out of medical school. I spent two days indulging in all my old habits. I showered and shaved, making sure I'd be a good-looking corpse. I was ready.
And it's only gotten more interesting since then.
[Cross-posted to writing_101]