© 1991 Rich Grzesiak, all rights reserved.
Despite my protests, he insisted on demanding more. I lunged at him again, this time more furiously, sexually impaling him against the corner of a wall in my Silver Lake loft.
it was late June. It was 5 AM. I was drenched in sweat.
I had just seroconverted.
As a graphic designer, I had surrounded and even barricaded myself with the tools of my trade. Digital cameras. Three Macs. Scanners. Two printers. DSL access to the World Wide Web. I'd created the Crystal Meth Temple of Graphic Design, and under my moniker of 'Bunsie,' was busily applying the liabilities of my rapacious addiction to my reputation and trade. Humanity lost its appeal. If you weren't a toy, I had zero recognition of your worth.
Ultimately, my world became little more than images of meth and sex and sweat and abuse, of myself and others. I filled no less than four gigabytes with imagery of me and my insatiable sexual obsessions.
Sigh.
It wasn't until Labor Day of this year I got the news. In true melodramatic fashion, I decided, during day fifty-eight of my sobriety from crystal meth amphetamine, that it was time to get tested.
Actually, I almost didn't take the rapid testing offered through the Jeffrey Goodman Clinic at the LA Gay & Lesbian Center. I was in the neighborhood in Hollywood, close to the Schrader Boulevard, and decided I'd have enough time to do one of their rapid tests.
Several hours later, seated in a room with one of their counselors, I got the news.
In giant red letters, the word POSITIVE was spelled out, literally larger than life.
How many of these tales have you heard or read, with the individual reporting that pivotal moment in his life, his seroconversion, adding candidly that he almost passed out?
I almost passed out.
HIV-negative Joseph had died, ground down by three and a half years of very aggressive crystal meth use.
I mourn him. I mourn my innocence, my totally unfounded (and arrogant) assumption that somehow I'd be spared.
But this it was staring me in the face.
POSITIVE
Weeks later, after going through not one but two confirmation tests (one for the rehab I am currently in, which was a confidential test (as opposed to anonymous)), I'd learn the Western blot results would show severely elevated levels in eight of the bars — meaning, my seroconversion was very recent.
I cried. I cried for what seemed like endless days. How could this happen? To me? As Web master for a well-known LA AIDS charity, I'd posted hundreds of articles documenting the scourge of crystal meth use. Shit. How couldn't I have known better? How couldn't I have acted better? How dare I? How could I have been around AIDS for so long and not even have the common decency to use a condom?
Sigh.
Today, a day at a time, as I re-explore these events and issues which led to my tweaking and my crystal meth usage at Silver Lake's Alternatives (the rehab I'm in), I find I'm re-educating myself about the me who was, and is, and remains. I'm coming, slowly, to realize HIV is a gift from my Higher Power, a gateway to a new awareness of myself, my soul, my loves, my hurts, and my dreams.
If you're out there and you're HIV-negative and you're reading this online or in print, I hesitate to write, "Don't think it can't happen to you," because you already know this. It's a cliché of the times.
And if you are HIV+, please practice safe sex, because many lives may be affected by your self-knowledge.
If you're a tweaker like me, take a moment and just reflect on the people you're having contact with and think of them, too. Think of your dreams.
Get tested.
HIV is a life gift. Together, a day at a time, we make a difference not only in our own lives but those of the sisters and brothers we tread the road of happy destiny with.
Joseph Andrews is a pseudonym.