One of the side effects of maturing into an adult is realizing, perhaps sadly, that everything in life happens for a reason. The fact that I am awake now at almost 04.00 when I have to be up in 4 hours has a reason. The fact that I have HIV has a reason.
I watched Short Cuts with P. It is not my favorite movie but is becoming the best movie I have ever seen with the more times I view it. Like the Bible it is an intricate web of stories, all somehow connected, all happening for a reason. The aging waitress who ignoring her daughter’s story of childhood abuse and choosing to remain with an alcoholic partner kills a boy with her car, but reamins unaware of it because he picks himself up and says he is alright and walks home, only to die from brain damage later. The daughter, who is involved with an irresponsible cheating dodgy makeup artist, portrayed by Robert Downy Jr., just drags by on the verge of tears, always turning to people who can't or won't listen, or who want to know for the wrong reasons, repeating the pattern. The singer who is so engrossed in past fame, singing “they know me in Paris, they know me in Rome” and living the past of her lover’s demise from an OD in Amsterdam "where they appreciate jazz musicians" loses her daughter when again and again she ignores the warning signs of an upcoming suicide as well as the beauty and talent of her daughter as a classical string musician. The guy who bottles up all the anger inside at damaged (I don't know another way of putting it, one of those vacant women you sometimes meat who is so hard and opaque from such a young age it seems to be unpenetrable and irreversible) wife who is makes hardcore sex calls from home while obviously disturbed children are present (“it goes into one ear and comes out of another”) bottles it all up ends up randomly murdering a young woman. Otherwise, all the characters are bottling things up and, ironically, or fittingly, reaching for a bottle or a cigarette, taking it in deeper and deeper, suffocating and drowning their own truths. The only persons redeemed when the movie comes to a close are the ones who are able to cry, shout, confess, hear the truth, and to a certain degree laugh, and only the truth redeems. The movie shows how even random, apparently inexplicable acts of violence have deep rooted reasons both in people’s behaviors and decisions and in events that trigger them.
I have been corresponding with someone who contacted me through a HIV (or HIV anxiety/phobia?) forum and is waiting to see if he is positive or not, although he has been tested negative. I don’t believe that he will turn out to be HIV+, but I find his inner logic and way of dealing with things to be similar to mine. I appreciate the way he is handling his fate, which is, like mine, mighty odd. I want to ask my doctors about him tomorrow, if we have time – after all I will need my own results explained, prescriptions filled, queries answered – he was told by doctors in Israel that because he was sprayed with a tiny amount of blood from an unknown source on his clothes during his work at a hospital he was somehow infected through layers of cloth and healthy skin. I don’t believe he has HIV, I think these doctors are full of crap and prejudice, and my first reaction was anger oat the blatant lack of professionalism and knowldge on their part and on the other hand the abundance of smug, insensitive confidence that allows them to put him through this mental hell, but regardless of my anger, I believe that there is a reason why his doctors are fucking with his head like this. Nevertheless, at his current condition he will not be able to see it, perhaps sometime in the future, and that is a dark alley that I am not sure I will have the mental resources to spare going into either. That is his journey, sadly because he has to go through it alone, since he hasn’t told anyone but me and those jackass doctors. I think he is dealing well with his difficult situation, since it is obvious that he does have some sort of serious health issue going on. But neither he nor I have reached that point yet where things converge and where we are able to face reality. Reality is being revealed one small section at a time, when we are ready for it, when it wants to be revealed, and the only thing we can do is not stand in its way.
My guilt over having told my mum about my way of infection dissipates, even though I know I caused her grief. But I am still teriffied I may have triggered a chain event of chaos and inflicted the big C on her or something, with the grief I habitually caused her through life. It was not my fault, since I didn't have it easy myself in any way, shape or form, but there are reprecussions.
I only regret having once again asking her to shelter my dad. I ask to shelter my dad because I have always felt he is more vulnerable and somehow more innocent, and that if he knew the truth he would be so disappointed with his profession, with his calling, that the break will be too huge. But somehow I fear that with all the protection of my dad it is my mum that will go first, because strength is ultimately a weakness.
I need to talk to my doctors first about my abortion hypothesis, because so far I have only talked to T. my social worker, though I know she has as much experience in the field as any of them and if she says that it is likely, and under my own personal circumstances highly likely, that I was infected through this dirty abortion, then they won’t say anything different.
I spent this evening worried that P. had forgotten to buy me a plane ticket. He hadn’t. And that he had forgotten about my birthday this week. He hadn’t either. I smoked and ate tons of junk tonight, blaming it on PMS, and as a result couldn’t fall asleep when I got into bed at one. Everything happens for a reason, and if I die of respiratory disease, or my skin ages, or I gain even more weight than I did lately (admittedly while doing shitloads of sport) I will know what to blame. Yes, everything happens for a reason, but not everything is controllable, and to err is human. Not fixing the mistakes though, repetition, addiction, these are the worst enemies, but sometimes (and my own life is a good example, especially the first half), we can only counterbalance the pain with poison.
Since my 1-2-3 cigarettes a night are a habit, I have to substitute them with another one if I want to quit. Something like doing a yoga routine for 5 minutes instead, jumping up and down for 5 minutes, whatever. As ridiculous as that might be, it is the only way to kick a habit, an addiction – to replace it with another, not just to be left with the aching gaping need.