“…Love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.…” The Honourable Jack Layton.

I had my first ever troll engage with me the other day on my twitter feed.  This person was full of vitriol and hatred, calling me a freak and consigning me to hell and damnation. We sparred back and forth some on twitter, him (I’m presuming male here) ranting and raving about the aforementioned hell and damnation, how The Church (in this case The Roman Catholic Church) has history to back it up (not that he was clear on that point) and reminding me several times that I was a freak and a sexual deviant.

It would have been very, very easy to take offense to what he was saying. It would have been easier still to consign him to the rubbish pile of village idiots and simply assume he was speaking out of mean-spiritedness and hate. After all, when I look back on what he wrote, there was nothing but hatred and intolerance in every post. Nowhere did I see a willingness to talk respectfully about our divergent views. Oh yes, it would have been very easy to hate this man.

Except, I don’t.  I don’t hate him; I don’t even dislike him. Truth is, all I feel for him is compassion and a deep and quiet sadness.

As some of you may, or may not know, I am a public speaker. I speak about what it’s like to live as an openly transgender man.  I tell my audience that no question is off limits, and I mean it. I’ve been asked about everything from masturbation (do I?) to organ donation (no, you can’t donate your penis to me, but thanks for the thought) and everything in between.  Several folks have asked me if I’ve ever been the recipient of hateful interactions. Until recently, I said no.  I would often then go on to tell them how I believed I would reply, should I ever be in that position.

As it turns out, I replied exactly how I figured I would. I found myself staying strangely calm and detached. Not dissociated but rather, removed from the emotional dung that he threw at me. I found myself reading the posts repeatedly, trying to parse out what the deeper message behind them was. I firmly believed, and still do, that one does not engage that much if there’s not something deeper driving it. I suspect part of that is having practiced that detached reaction with my 6yr-old son who deals with some profound behavioural issues. When he was younger, tantrums lasting a couple of hours were not uncommon. I learned that a cool, calm and collected reaction to his emotional firestorm was the best way to calm him down and re-ground him. I’ve spent several years perfecting that kind of reaction in the face of white hot, uncontrolled tantrums.

As I think on the interaction further, I realize there is something deeper at work in my non-reaction. It’s love. I don’t know this man and have no idea if he’s the kind of person I would choose to have in my sphere of friends though, given his reactions to me, I think it’s safe to say I wouldn’t. It wasn’t the charm, or the eloquence with which he presented his arguments. In fact, the arguments themselves were weak and didn’t contain a single shred of verifiable evidence to support them. It wasn’t his willingness to hear me as a person (there was none) or so see me as an intellectually competent contributor. Rather, my love for him was the love I would have for someone who is acting out of blind fear; lashing out at something they don’t understand and are too afraid to investigate.

In short, what I feel for my son when he loses complete control over himself and his actions is the same gentle, patient and sorrowful love.  I found myself wondering who had hurt him so badly that he was unable to see the humanity behind the words. I wanted to know what about himself did he see in me that provoked such fear. I asked myself to think on what it would be like to walk in his shoes; would I feel the same, as I believed he did. I caught myself hoping that if he had family, none of them would have to see this side of him. I found myself concerned that perhaps he DID have family, and had driven them all away with his soul-crushing fear. I realized that I felt indescribably sad if that was truly the case. I know what it’s like to feel utterly alone and isolated. I can’t imagine how it would feel to know that you’re the one who was the cause of your own isolation.

I also prayed for him. I prayed that wherever he was in his life, his road ahead be filled with healing and love. I prayed that if he had family, they would support him in his journey out of fear and hatred. I hope that if he ever is given a chance to leave this all behind, he takes it. I want those circumstances that change him in such a profound way to be gentle and done with love, not forced on him with anger and hatred. My heart says he’s had enough hate in his life to last several lifetimes; I want him to know peace and love.

Although he may hate me, I don’t hate him. Truly, love is better than anger, hope is better than fear and optimism really is better than despair. 

This article first appeared in Bob’s column on The Body here.

It's time, I'm afraid, to turn a critical gaze on those with HIV who smoke -- but more importantly those service providers who ignore that life-threatening issue. Because where we are now as a community on this issue, a community who should be leaders in promoting healthy choices is, frankly, third-rate.

There, I've said it. Stop reading, unfriend me. Call me a bore. But no matter, I'm joining the painfully thin ranks of those who say our community's lack of action has to be addressed. Simply put, we need to put smoking cessation programs front and centre. Turning a blind eye on smoking is destroying prospects of healthy living. Let's be big boys and girls. Let's be brave, be strong, acknowledge our vulnerabilities, individually and collectively, and care for each other and our community in ways we haven't tried before.

At one time I was more tolerant. We had excuses, lots of them. But some of those excuses seem weaker now. So I've become tired of AIDS service providers -- your local ASO may be one of them -- whose wellness problems ignore the biggest threat to wellness of all. There may be a place for acupuncture, massage therapy, wellness retreats and the A-Z range of therapies that crop up on the agenda of most ASO's, but don't include smoking cessation programs, or routine referrals to same, and ASO credibility suffers.

It's well known that smoking rates in people who live with HIV are high. A 2010 study of 1,094 people living with HIV in New York found an alarming 59% smoking prevalence rate. Interestingly, three quarters of those HIV+ smokers wanted to quit. But less than half of the 193 AIDS service providers surveyed indicated intake processes that include tobacco use questions, nor provided cessation programs or even referrals.

Why are smoking cessation issues so often ignored by ASOs? The same study suggests 65% of those agencies surveyed "perceived client resistance as a barrier to services." That's lame! I concur with the study authors who say "HIV/AIDS service providers are inadequately addressing the high smoking rate among PLWHA, despite being uniquely suited to do so. Efforts are needed to educate providers about the need for, and interest in, tobacco cessation." The need is described as "urgent."

It's important to contextualize all this and try to understand why smoking rates amongst people living with HIV are so high, though. One can't ignore, for instance, that smoking incidence in gay men is twice that of the national average, a consequence in part of bar culture which used to position smoking as a cultural norm. Everybody smoked in bars once, and some of us got addicted. I did.

The pressures of living with HIV which sometimes enhance the appeal of smoking can't be ignored too. Many HIVers perhaps need a crutch of some kind to get them through, to make the hurt feel less bad, to lower their stress levels, to provide pleasure in a world short of pleasurable experiences. One could argue that with advances in treatment and improving heath generally, that crutch is less of an essential for some. One way or another, HIVers are too often left with an unwelcome addiction to deal with -- and a strong one at that.

I know about nicotine addiction. I smoked two packs a day for years, including the first decade or so of my diagnosis. At first it didn't seem to matter -- I was going to die anyway. But things changed, and I wanted to quit. My early efforts were unsuccessful .But it's possible, I found, to learn from your mistakes. I found once I analyzed where my quitting efforts went wrong -- in my case it was the mistaken belief that "just one is OK" wouldn't result in more -- and omitted that behavior from my next attempt at quitting, it was in fact much, much easier. I quit cold turkey. So yes, I absolutely know that quitting can be hard, but with the right learned behaviors, tools and mindset, eminently do-able. My take -- and this is where we started -- is that AIDS service providers need, at the very least, to provide an entry point to the variety of programs available.

I'll be brutally honest. I'm alarmed by support workers who smoke along with their clients outside their building. Commitment to client wellness includes, I think, being a bit of a role model. Demonstrating to clients that smoking is OK just doesn't seem right.

I mean aren't agencies supposed to be sex positive? When was impotence -- a common side effect of smoking -- sex positive?

Wellness programs for HIVers should, I'm suggesting, always include smoking cessation. But look at most ASO websites and smoking cessation programming is largely missing in action. So we should laud the few shining exceptions, like the UK's GMFA where a clickable banner "Stop Smoking Help" is right there on their front page.

I think the solution lies in part with us. ASOs aren't providing these services, the research suggests, because they think we don't want them. Tell them -- smokers and non-smokers alike -- we DO want them.

We need hardly mention why and I'm not going to dwell on it. Let me just repeat what CATIE says: "Addiction to tobacco can cause devastating health problems, including cardiovascular disease, lung disease and cancer. Also, smoking harms nearly every organ in the body." Stopping smoking is often quoted as the best thing an HIVer can do for their health. If that argument isn't powerful enough, perhaps it's the social factors that will tip the scale -- the stigma of smoking today, for instance (why deal with more stigma?), or the cost, which I think was the tipping factor for me. But everybody is different and programs need to reflect that.

TheBody.com has had a large number of articles on smoking in the past. You can access a selection of them here.

In any event, it really is time to get serious about our response to smoking in our community. No ifs ands and definitely no butts. 

Earlier this month, I was honored to be invited to attend the screening of a film entitled “Even Me”.  I was first told about the film through a friend of mine. She and I share the same doctor and, like me, she is someone who is on the front lines, deep in the trenches in the battle against HIV and AIDS in populations where it is needed most. 

I was so excited that my friend was featured in this film. She’s someone I truly admire and respect as well as someone who fully understands that this battle against HIV and AIDS requires far more than stats and figures. She fully understands that in order to make a lasting change, we must meet people where they are and speak to them in ways they can understand, with love and respect.

I later learned there was a woman I had the honor of speaking with on Capitol Hill for AIDSWatch and even a woman I sat beside during the AIDS treatment education trainings, as well as women I currently sit with on two community advisory boards (CAB).

Film maker Megan Ebor, a graduate student at UCLA did an outstanding and, in my opinion, a job worthy of a Golden Globe and Academy Award in how she carefully and thoughtfully shared the stories of several women and one gentleman over 50 years old LIVING with HIV or AIDS. Her grace, style and great care shined throughout the film. I can see why these amazing individuals shared their souls with her in ways never done before on film.

Even though the film is a documentary, it didn't feel at all like a history lesson, but more of a valuable life lesson from people filled with knowledge and wisdom. It wasn't preachy or void of any substance, but was filled with real life stories from people who live amazing lives and do some pretty amazing things in their own neighborhoods. The film puts a clear face on those over 50 living with HIV and AIDS, but in ways that make you think and consider your own life and the choices you make, without being judgmental or feeling sorry for those in the film.

I had the pleasure of taking two friends with me to the film screening. They too loved it and felt it is a film that everyone should see. Not only that, this is a film that could be used in teaching sex education  and could also very much benefit those in the medical profession who for one reason or another always seem to overlook those over 50 years of age when it comes to things like sexually transmitted diseases. This movie will make you laugh with joy and cry with tears of hurt and pain, but most of all it will educate you in ways that have never been done before.   

After the film I had the chance to speak with my friends who are in the film as well as meet and speak with the film maker. What struck me the most about her was just how easy it was to talk with her. How she was so open to sharing her ideas and process about making the film. She wasn't stuffy or snobbish, but kind and caring. Even though she attends UCLA (my childhood gardener went to that school) she had the feel of a USC Trojan (FIGHT ON!!!) and one of the doctors in the film attended and now teaches under the USC Keck School of Medicine.

On the ride back home my friend Carlos and I began to talk about the film we are currently working on and just how much we both were so very encouraged by the film we just saw. We talked about how very important it is for us to make a film that allows people to share their own stories of living with HIV, while also educating those who are viewing the film.

I remember being told that there was nothing I could do to help those living with HIV. In fact, I was told that my thinking was backwards and that I should just leave it to the professionals. Well, for over 30 years we've been leaving it to the professionals and numbers of HIV infections and AIDS deaths in certain populations have increased.  So it would be in the best interest of all humanity to start considering new ways of preventing, educating as well as treatment, when it comes to HIV and AIDS. Granted there has been major progress in HIV medications, but there is still much work to be done.

Megan, the film maker, the women and one man in this film showed me something I already knew....You don’t need to have a title or position. You don’t need some office where you sit behind a fancy desk with pictures of you shaking hands of fancy people, to make a lasting change in this world. You just need to have the desire to do so. So it is with a huge desire to bring positive and lasting change and continue to press forward, doing all that I can to reach those who are often seen, but not heard.

I'm encouraged by this film, honored to have had the chance to attend the screening, but most importantly I am that much more vigilant in making certain that those without a voice are heard and have their needs addressed. This is a must see film and I pray that it becomes available to everyone.

This film was partially funded through the W.K. Kellogg Foundation and the UCLA Luskin School of Public Affairs. The films screening was generously supported by the UCLA Social Welfare Department and the Graduate Students Association. 

See an excerpt from Even Me here. 

There were no answers to this question at the world premiere of Positive Women: Exposing Injustice on June 14th at the Royal Ontario Museum, Eaton Theatre. In fact, at the end of the evening, the audience was left with more questions and increased concerns.

Richard Elliott, Executive Director of the Canadian HIV/ADS Legal Network opened the world premiere of Positive Women by acknowledging the courageous women who told their stories in the making of the film. The Legal Network produced the film in response to the inappropriate and damaging use of criminal law. The Human Rights of people living with HIV are at risk.  Fear, misinformation and prejudice about HIV prevail while the science of HIV is ignored.  Media representations fail to communicate effectively. By putting a human face on the issue the film counters the impact of sensationalized news stories.

For those who have been thinking about the issue for some time, the Legal Network and filmmaker Alison Duke introduce new perspectives.

Partnerships, expertise, lived experience, the principles of anti-racism/anti-oppression,the impact of colonization and a gender-based analysis together create a potent critical lens through which to view the complexity of living with HIV in a climate that sees criminalization as an appropriate response.

With an Advisory Panel that included COCQ-SIDA, CACV, ACCHO and PWN; Legal Network staff; expert testimony from PASAN, the Toronto Rape Crisis Centre, Women’s Health in Women’s Hands, Women and HIV legal and medical experts; and the presence of four women from across the country, this 45 minute film presents HIV disclosure and criminalization with attention to women’s dignity, right to self-determination and safety.

We can’t speak about women and HIV without looking at the entirety of an individual woman’s experiences, identities, dreams, joys, sorrows and desires. And we can’t speak, at least not effectively, about women’s realities without also looking at the impact of patriarchy and the systems that marginalize and victimize women.

This is a beautiful film that takes the viewer into the hearts and minds of HIV positive women who speak candidly:  about stigma and violence – from being beaten for being HIV positive, to being afraid of being branded a murderer - whether or not disclosure occurs, whether or not a condom is used, whether or not the viral load is suppressed; about stigma, isolation and rejection - relationships and disclosure are difficult, one woman says, ‘HIV was my best friend, it will be with me the rest of my life’; about stigma and women abuse – when the criminal justice system fails a woman who was assaulted by her intimate partner, a system that charged him with assault, found him guilty based on police evidence, then dropped the charges moments before sentencing on his sudden claim that she didn’t disclose her HIV status;  about stigma and assumptions; about stigma and our shared need for love, friendship and unconditional acceptance – we live in a society where we are all broken, says Claudia. See me says Lynn, ‘see me as a person, not as HIV Lynn, just as Lynn’. Dione asks ’have you ever been kicked out of someone’s home and called names because of something you can’t change?’; about stigma and assumptions – Jessica talks about how she isn’t read as someone who could have HIV and is often given labels, like ‘innocent victim’ which implies there was someone ‘bad’ who did something to her. She addresses this with self-reflective questions about personal responsibility.

The issues are complex; a woman can find herself on either side, as accused or accuser. The Legal Network and Alison Duke help viewers to understand the issues without victimizing or re-victimizing women. It is a challenge they rose to with eloquence and grace.

This article by  Roger Pebody originally published by NAM/www.aidsmap.com is republished with permission.

When asked by researchers to talk about their practice of having ‘bareback’ sex (unprotected anal intercourse), HIV-negative gay and bisexual men express a contradiction between their concern to remain uninfected and their simultaneous awareness that their behaviour may expose them to infection, according to a study published in the July issue of Qualitative Health Research.

The research suggests that, rather than giving factual information about risks, health promoters should create spaces in which men who bareback can talk about their behaviour and its justification, in order to explore inner contradictions and reframe their behaviour.

This isn’t the first study to show that many HIV-negative gay men who bareback remain concerned about the prospect of acquiring HIV and want to avoid infection. However, previous studies have given little attention to how men understand and deal with this tension.

Researchers at Columbia University therefore recruited men who self-identified as a ‘barebacker’ or someone who ‘practices barebacking’ to take part in a two-hour, face-to-face, in-depth interview about their sexual behaviour. Men were recruited from dating web sites associated with bareback sex in New York. Interviews were conducted in 2005 and 2006.

Although HIV-positive men were also interviewed, this analysis covers the 89 HIV-negative men who took part. Their average age was 32, four-fifths were employed and they were broadly representative of the ethnic diversity of New York City.

Findings

Timothy Frasca and colleagues say that they “observed contradictions in some men’s narratives between their wishes to avoid HIV infection and their simultaneous acknowledgment of the risks involved in their barebacking practices”. The researchers identified a number of ways in which their respondents dealt with these contradictions during the interviews.

Some men said that, on occasion, intense sexual sensations could overwhelm their calculations about risk:

 “Something happens. You know, you get to a point, it’s as if being sexually turned on – you know, they talk about how your judgment is impaired when you’re on drugs. I don’t need drugs. All I need is to be with a hot guy, and a good deal of my judgment gets put on hold.”

 Men who said that they were powerless in the face of sexual desire did not try to explain such incidents away as not really being risky. Instead they admitted that they were unable to carry out their prior intentions. However, the authors note that, like a number of others, this respondent used the present tense to describe this scenario. His language suggests a recurrent or habitual situation, rather than a specific and unusual incident. 

Other men described sexual practices – such as withdrawing before ejaculation or not barebacking on a first meeting – which they thought could reduce the risk of infection. But at the same time, they often expressed doubt about the reliability of what they were doing.

“I know that precum has HIV in it too. So you really don’t protect somebody by pulling out. But it’s kind of a pretence toward that.”

“You know, if you do an enema, then that kind of washes everything around, so, um, [a doctor] said that’s not, not always, you know, a sure way to make sure that even if someone does come inside you, to get that out, so, you know [inaudible] risk is still high.”

Given interviewees’ lack of confidence in strategies such as these, the researchers suggest that the beliefs about sexual risk did not determine the limits of the men’s behaviour, but helped to reassure the men about the behaviour they were engaging in anyway.

A number of respondents employ a strategy that the researchers describe as ‘compartmentalisation’ – contradictory thoughts and ideas were separated out and dealt with at different times. Typically, men pushed their thoughts about HIV and risk aside for the duration of a sexual encounter.

“Sometimes I just try to push it out [of my mind] so I can enjoy the sex, because that’s what I’m there for. I’m not there to freak out about my status.”

“If someone doesn’t put [the condom] on, then I actually get a little more excited, that, oh my god, he’s actually going to fuck me without a condom. And at that time, it doesn’t really come in my mind that, oh, I should talk to him first if he’s negative, or ... like, the risks involved, or does he do this often? Like, any of that stuff. I’ll say, like, no, no, no, it will just kill the moment. Let’s just do all that later.”

Some interviewees struggled to resolve the contradictions in their reasoning:

“Now granted, if, you know, a guy comes, and he fucks me, and I don’t have any other previous experience with him, nor do I know whether or not he’s taken loads, then I don’t know. So I know I’m at equally high risk, but I don’t know that I’m at that risk. Does that make sense?”

Others acknowledged the existence of contradictions, while expressing discomfort in doing so:

“You know what? I usually assume everyone is positive. Which makes it seem even more stupid of me to fuck without a condom, but I do it.” Researcher: Does it trouble you? “Eh, I tend not to over-process that sort of part.”

 “Life is filled with contradictions… I suppose I’m contradicting myself by saying that I’m super concerned. I am. Granted, I am very concerned. But then, if I’m so concerned, why do I have unprotected sex? I honestly don’t know.”

Finally, some men expressed confidence in their ability to remain uninfected based on their success in doing so until now. Some men felt ‘invincible’ or suggested that they had an approach that had worked for them so far:

“I mean, I always, always tended to go with the gut feeling. With the gut feeling. And in the twenty-five years I’ve been on this earth, it has never led me wrong.”

Interpretation

Timothy Frasca and colleagues believe that the theory of cognitive dissonance, developed by the social psychologist Leon Festinger in the 1950s, can be helpful in understanding these men’s accounts.

Festinger argued that conflicting cognitions about beliefs and behaviours (e.g., “I want to remain HIV negative” vs “I am engaging in risk that could result in HIV infection”) produce discomfort and motivate individuals to resolve the tension by bringing the two cognitions into agreement – especially when the contradiction threatens the individual’s understanding of himself as being a decent or rational person.

The tension often leads people to change their beliefs to fit their actual behaviour, rather than to change their behaviour (which may be more difficult). They may deny or distort certain understandings, or incorporate new beliefs to make their overall beliefs more consistent.

The researchers comment: “When questioned about barebacking in the research interview, many men who practice it offered a perception of their own risk that fit the behavior engaged in. That is, the barebacking behavior of men in our sample appears to have influenced their construction of risk-avoidance postures that are consistent with continuing the practice. This is quite different from the assumptions of behavior change models that address perceptions of risk as a precursor to risk modification.”

Other researchers have used cognitive dissonance theory to design interventions to reduce behaviours such as smoking and excessive online gaming. The interventions typically ask participants to describe and advocate behaviours they themselves do not practice, with the intention that this will help them re-examine their own behaviour and beliefs.

For example, in one study adolescent girls with body-image concerns (for example dissatisfaction with their own body, believing themselves to be too fat) were asked to write a letter to a hypothetical younger girl that discussed the costs of pursuing of the 'thin-ideal'. In another session, they described incidents when they felt a pressure to be thin - and were then asked to think up verbal responses and challenges that could have been used.

The authors suggest that a similar approach with gay and bisexual men who bareback could be more helpful than giving men information about the dangers associated with their behaviour.

Indeed, many interviewees commented that taking part in the study had provided a rare and welcome opportunity to consider and reflect on their sexual behaviours, attitudes, and needs. The authors note that gay and bisexual men currently lack social spaces in which collective discussion of sexual choices can take place.

“As opportunities for the shared processing of decisions about sexual risk and satisfaction decline, individuals relying on their own emotional and intellectual resources naturally will seek plausible explanations for their individual behaviour,” they say.

Reference: Frasca T et al. Inner Contradictions Among Men Who Bareback. Qualitative Health Research 22: 946-956, 2012.

copyright © NAM Publications, 2012. All rights reserved

It’s amazing to me what milestone birthdays do for the mind. I’m coming up on my fortieth and while I’m not having the angst I used to remember people having, when I was a child, I am certainly dusting off a lot of memories. Which is perfect as I was asked to do a bit of an introduction, here.

As long as I can remember I’ve been interested in stories.  Told in the dark ‘round the campfire, told in classrooms, the puzzles of words and ideas that twist around concepts beyond those that begin with “once upon a time”.  I’ve spent most of my life wanting to say something, anything of meaning. And while I still enjoy spinning a good yarn, I find myself more and more stringing together my own experiences.  

Half of the time I’m sure it’s just therapy, a sorting of the tangled issues of the day.  Equally I’ve come to learn that there is something to the incredible experience of just putting together the words and letting them go.  

In 2005, when I discovered one of the two men in my life at the time was dying, I turned to a little place on the ‘net called Livejournal.  I wrote ceaselessly about the experience of watching over him as he died.  I wrote about the battle to be a caring partner to two men equally, one living and one dying. Of the struggle, the odd growth into a person I wish I had been before such a horrible experience.  

I’ve been around HIV and AIDS since the early '80s.  It entered my life through my family. Michael, my father, was one of the first researchers in Canada to study HIV.  Of course at the time I had no idea how it would impact on my life.  Like so many, my “father’s job” was a subject of mild interest in that it was what he did for a living.  But as I didn’t come out or look beyond my own nose until 1995, I really only had a peripheral understanding of the disease. 

And here I was, years later, poz for a year and standing guard over the bed of a man as he withered.  

As much as I’m normally an incredibly private person, I wrote.  One of the greatest compliments I got were the people who cried when Little John died.  People who had never met him in life, but felt like he’d been shown in some small way to them through my journal.  People who turned to their own scrapbooks and photo albums and keepsakes, remembering their own experiences in hell. 

For years I’ve lived and worked alongside some of the most amazing activists, researchers, physicians and people living, breathing, dying from this disease.  Along the way I talked quietly to few about my own experiences.  When Little John died I realized how powerful it could be to simply share with others.  So I started to. 

Frankly there is often this interesting intersection in life between the things we do and what others see.  Invariably we turn to each other and say “I could not have” to the stories others tell us.  We think of ourselves as people divided by some sort of landmark of capability.  

Here’s the thing. The single greatest comfort isn’t that these experiences are unique, but that there is a commonality to having survived.  

Early on in my life I spent a lot of time looking for some sense that there were connections out there. To people, to perspectives, yes even to problems. Often when writing I find myself motivated by the idea that somewhere, somehow, there is someone who sees something they connect with in my own stories.  

There is never a way to speak for everyone. But there certainly are ways to talk to people. That, ultimately, is my goal. 

I’ve learned to laugh and share those moments.  How to cry in public and feel no shame.  To love, rise to anger, acknowledge fear. To keep going. This disease, as much as it can some days feel like the measuring stick that defines my life, has taught me a lot of valuable lessons.  One of them, the first? 

Keep talking.  Keep sharing.  

So . . .

My name is Mike.  I’m gay.  I’m a leatherman.  I’m HIV-positive. I was diagnosed in 2004. I’ve lost many friends and loved ones to AIDS.  I’ve gained as many back because of the things it’s shown me about myself and how I want to live my life.  Originally that was something learned from fear, but these days it’s either getting easier, I’m getting older or I’m just getting better at life.  

I like a good rum, a dirty joke and a cigarette.  I love men, the way they smile or the line of a naked body.  I love women, small children and crotchety old men. 

And despite living in Vancouver, no.  I do not love long walks on the beach. 

Most of the time. 

Let me tell you a story.......