This year has been a difficult one for writing. I don't mean 2007, I mean the 2nd year of diagnosis. I moved into something else, and it's something I am particulalrly fond of. Unchartered terittory. What I meant to write in the previous post was so different from what actually appeared on the screen. I wanted to write about how all my feelings and way of living are different now than what I could possibly imagine, but what came out was a rant, a distraction. That's because life keeps distracting me. Real or virtual events interfere with what goes on when everything is quiet, late at night, my real existence.
I can't really explain it. I think it has something to do with being loved for the first time.
Not that my parents didn't love me, they loved me with all their heart, and then some. But they didn't know what to do with me, and I didn't know what to do with myself. That's why I kept getting into so much trouble, trouble that I created. I don't want to delve into these deep dark days and I rarely pause to think about them, but I know that I create struggles and hassles in a life which is nothing but hassle free, simply because I can't sit and absorb for a second the simple fact that I am just happy. Yes, asides from the constant noise of things that need to be done, which I don't quite know how to do, and then cacophony of anxieties and sorrows, I am just happy. Happy to come home to a messy house that can never be made to look tidy or clean, happy to see my less than perfect body and face in the mirror, happy to F up at work and be lazy, happy to be screwed by my bosses, because all of those things don't seem to touch me. Until they do, like yesterday, when that stupid buffed up guy at the gym kept insisting that my face has change and it is in fact much thinner than it used to be some months ago. That ruined everything for me. Or did it? I knew I was making some kind of choice by getting upset over that, and it was like, let's dive right in. A good excuse to buy a pack of smokes, a good excuse to let out the pain on the forums and get support, a good excuse to freak out. And I am freaking out, this should not be happening, not according to what the doctors say, but I do know enough now about HIV to know that even the biggest experts don't know that much as they appear to. And yet this doesn't change the simple basic fact that I am happy, happy to just sit on the couch and look outside at the joggers and the cyclists and smoke a cigarette with that pang of guilt that is getting weaker (because I am getting my fix of excercise still), happy to open a book and read it slowly, happy to let time toil by like an idle teenager, as though I had nothing but time. The panicky voices inside me know that it is quite the opposite, but the calm, sleepy alternative remains. So what if I don't know what P's gonna do, and he doesn't know either, and it's not that the deadline is approaching, the deadline's passed already? So what if I have no rights in this country if something goes wrong? So what if each menustration drains a little of my fertility away? So what if my friends at home ignored and avoided me the last time I was there, and my only contacts are with the people who surround me physically now? So what if my bosses shamlessly stole my ideas and capitalized on them?
Really, so what....? All we have is the moment.
I guess this is what happiness is... a freedom, a breakaway, from all the things you thought you must a should be, beautiful, smart, succesful, secure, protected.
I have everything that I need right now. Because of P. It did change my life, falling in love like this, and there is no other way to look at it. It makes everything more lucid, and everytime I turn back and fall on some familiar or urgent grudge or agony, it is because the air is so fresh that I have to pollute a little to be able to breathe it.