But because this blog is about me being notperfectatall, I will go ahead and post anyway.
Venice was a blast, a word which has 2 connotations (at least in the land of suicide bombings). Yes, it was awsome, and the most beautiful place I have seen out of many, many (though not enough!) beautiful ones. Pics don't amount to a fraction of the 'sphere of the place. Of course, being with my lovable family wasn't easy, for almost a week. I kind of lost the plot, not in public, but within myself, and ended up completely over-reacting to a random text by P., in which he wrote that he misses me some of the time, not all the time. I cried, I couldn't sleep in my room in a beautiful apartment right on the Grand Canal, I contemplated suicide (yes I was menstrual), I felt physical pain whenever any Italian man stared, commented or touched, because I felt like a facade of some kind of beauty, rotting underneath, and if they only knew... I had the usual issues: envy of my sister in law, awe of my brother, and a terrible consuming fear for my wonderful parents. I missed P. I was not able to spend any time online save for the random minute, and I chainsmoked and ate tons of wonderful cholesterol laden food. And I got an email from my Thai ex whom I apparently, though not certainly, have infected. I am not sure, I am not even 100% sure if his prognosis is correct (no Western Blot where he is, and he has been diagnosed right in the middle of a hospital stay for malaria).
My mind blew... surrounded by all this beauty, and the people I love most in the world, and without any of my usual remedies, save for the smokes and some wine/beer, without even work to distract me. Thank God I had my most excellent Zadie Smith book, as well as Anthony Kiedis' autobiography.
I want to write about the issue of infection. When I was diagnosed, having had a Thai BF, I first assumed he had infected me, although he swore over and over to have been pronounced negative just before we met, and although we never had unprotected sex and there was never any condom disfunction of any sort. To get right down to the gritty details, I have never let him come in my mouth either. I told my doctors this, and in combination with my counts they said that it wasn't there and then that I was infected. But did I infect?! He used to give me oral sex. But then, oral sex (at least the way we did it) surely can't be that infectious? When I started going with P. we went to a sex councellor from the local aothority and told her in detail what we do, and she set no restraints on that.
It could of course be that me and my ex were infected in 2 different places by 2 different people. But if his negative result was accurate (and that only way that it could be inaccurate was if he'd had sex with a poz 3-6 months before its date), then it is me, me who infected him. And although he isn't mad at me, I am mad at me. And this adds up to me getting an email from a seemingly nice poz while I was away, having my disbelief-in-P. crisis, and makes me think I should stick to pozzes only. But whenever I had this kind of thought in the past, my social worker at the hospital, whom I meet Thus thank God, did her best to dismiss them. She doesn't believe that pozzies should stick with pozzies. And anyway, I am on meds and undetectable now which reduces the chance of infection (something which the sex councelor also pointed out).
I thought a lot about whether I want to post this. I didn't tell P. about my ex, because I don't want to bring someone else into our bed and because him and I have consulted with the relevant people, and I am not keeping any details of my condition away from him. I know this is controversial. I know a lot of people, maybe most people, would tell me to F off and be celibate. But I am in love. And though it would be easier to be in love with a poz, I am in love with a neg. So, when I came back late last night and he came over with a salad, we made amazing love (no oral... I felt unable to recieve.... have to talk to my social worker first). We slept together like siamese twins. And if the rain stops, we'll cycle together this evening, practice so I can cycle to the horse farm and ride horses sometime. And tomorrow, I will take it easy, go to the gym, try to get my health back on track, try to catch up on rest, try to breathe which is so damn easy to forget when life is rushing past me, try not to fear so bloody fucking much for my parents, for my brother and sis-in-law (and no I do not want them to seperate!), try to enjoy the beautiful, painful gift of my life.
I have also wired my ex some money, not for comepensation, but to help out, because he is alone, his circumstances are so hard, and he had to borrow money from his boss for his malaria hospitalization. But I feel so dirty, so guilty, so... rotten, yes, rotten from the core.
I have to go lie down for a bit. Everything hurts, but mostly my heart.