The first time I got tested I thanked God for giving me a second chance, and it was a joke. I am thankful for being negative, but I have never really put myself in a high-risk situation to suggest I’d be anything but. My logical mind doesn’t know how to communicate with my freak out mind. I memorize facts and visit the doctor, but it means nothing. I go home and it spirals off again. I’ve thought about becoming a monk because then I would be a lot more secure in my HIV status. I’ve been thankful that they offer the service of contacting your lovers for you if you have the great misfortune of being positive. I’ve considered how my life would be different, what I would do, and how I would go on. I spend hours rationalizing and practicing deep breathing in between my Benzodiazepine breaks. Everyone is frightened. Our fears build, from insecurities and events in childhood and on. Eventually manifesting themselves into neurosis, phobias, anxiety disorders. A very real concern is magnified, absorbed, and worshiped. Illegitimately fearing for your life and the potentially life-threatening illness you’ve “probably” given to others is somewhat uncomfortable. Maybe I will get a hold on it, like Trevor. I bet he doesn’t go back every 12 weeks. In the mean time however, I have some lymph nodes to inspect and several medical websites to ruin my day.

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