WHAT! Another diagnosis?!

I stayed in bed most of the day. I feel like garbage. I finally got out of bed around 6 pm, that was to answer the door to obtain my McDonalds I ordered. I ate too much because I'm depressed. I'm trying not to beat myself up. It's hard. I'm really angry with life always feeling so difficult. Angry I have so much wrong with me.

Recently I was diagnosed with FND - Functional Neurological Disorder. For about a year and half I think (if I think back, my migraine stroke symptoms in 2012 could be a part of this), I have been having involuntary muscle movements.

At first my family doctor thought I was having seizures and told me he was going to have my drivers licence revoked. I cried in my car. Thoughts of how much more difficult my life was going to be because I wouldn't have the freedom of driving - the transit system here isn't great. Thankfully, he consulted with a  neurologist first and called me and told me the neurologist didn't believe I was having seizures and didn't recommend revoking my drivers licence. He said he was going to refer me to the movement disorder clinic, it could take a year or so to get in. Wait. Waiting is all I could do.

My symptoms were getting worse. They were happening almost everyday. Somedays worse than others. My eyes will clamp shut. My jaw will contract to the left or right. I will twitch throughout my body. I will lose my balance as I walk. A few times I had full body episodes. Twice, I had seizure like episodes but I was fully aware of it, I didn't lose control of my bodily functions. I couldn't stop them. After they finished I felt really out of it. Couldn't think straight and felt really tired. A couple times I got up off my couch and as I went to walk my muscles starting contracting. My body was being ridiculous - I felt like a marionette, my limbs moving around, out of my control.

I made an appointment with my family doctor to let him know my symptoms were progressing. He called the neurologists office and within a couple of days I got a call, they had a cancellation and  they could get me in a few days later. That was fortunate, we all know seeing a neurologist can be a long wait. This was my 1st appointment with the neurologist. He did a bunch of movement tests and said he felt what was happening was psychological. He prescribed me clonazepam and told me to take .5 mg a day, if after 3 months my symptoms seemed to have somewhat improved, to take the medication twice a day. I ended up going to twice a day and my symptoms improved quite a bit.

A week ago I had a follow up appointment with the neurologist. He was happy to hear that my symptoms were improving. He said since the medication was working that showed him that it was on the psychological side. He stressed that doesn't mean I am making the symptoms happen, it means they aren't caused by a neurological disease but the symptoms are real. He told me to check out the website fndhope.org and that if my symptoms do get worse, to call his office to see him again.

My symptoms have been shitty this weekend - but I'm not surprised. I had a stressful week at work and realized how much I hate my job. The workload is insane, my manager is toxic and I left a toxic job believing this one would be better. On top of the stressful week at work, I get diagnosed with yet another illness.

I have HIV, Asthma, IBS, Anxiety, Bipolar, Borderline Personality Disorder, and now Functional Neurological Disorder. Oh, I also have a Hiatal Hernia, Tinnitus and sometimes Gout - might as well list them all right? Haha.

Today, I stayed in bed most of the day, ate a lot of McDonalds and then put my ass on the couch and watched t.v. And you know what, I needed today to be a depressing day. I needed today to be a woe is me day. It's been a rough week and it shouldn't be unexpected that I feel overwhelmed and sad.

The Happiest Depressed Person I Know

My previous family doctor was the first person I told I was depressed. He put me on Zoloft and I would continue to see him until he retired several years later. (It would be a few years later that I would be diagnosed with bipolar and realized Zoloft was a bad idea. Oops.)

He had a wonderful nurse that worked for him (all of the staff were amazing) and she once told me "you're the happiest, depressed person I know." She said this because even though I was diagnosed with depression and even if I was in an episode of depression, I would always say hello with a smile on my face. I was always friendly, laugh if someone said something funny and crack my own jokes as well.

I've thought about that statement off and on over the years. Originally, my first thought was "I have to be like that, it's my way to survive. I'm putting on a brave face."  

But that's not true. I've been thinking about that statement recently, because I've been in an episode of depression and I've realized in those moments, when I'm being nice to people, when I'm laughing, making jokes and so on, it's genuine. I'm not acting. Depression conned me into believing I was putting on an act.

Lately I've been very depressed. One moment, I can be cracking a joke, dancing around and then when that stops "the weight of depression returns."  Thoughts of hurting myself or moments of binge eating return. The laughter, the joking, the interacting with people, doesn't get rid of my depression, it temporarily pauses it. Then the depression rushes back in like one of my IBS attacks, fast and furious.

It's amazing how depression can be so deceptive. My depression loves to tell me in those moments when I'm interacting with people, laughing, helping, whatever it may be, they are fake, they aren't real. Only the depression is real, everything else is an illusion.

When I remembered that statement and had the idea to write this post, I realized, that's bull shit.

It's not an illusion. It's the depression part of my brain trying to win over the healthy side of my brain. It's the depression part of my brain trying to mess with me. Telling me lies. Making me believe that I can't actually achieve feeling good. But, it's bullshit. Those moments are genuine, they are real and I need to remind myself of that. I need to keep reminding myself to try and hold the depression at bay. 

Depression is a crook, it's trying to steal my good moments, it has a strong front and it's relentless. To build up the defences and create a strong front for the good part of my brain, I need to allow myself to acknowledge those good moments are real, they are genuine and they can continue to happen. 

So when an employee tells me "I love how excited you get about things", I am going to tell myself "that statement is true and I bring joy to others" instead of "they are trying to tell me I am over the top and they don't like me."

When someone tells me "you are always so friendly when I see you", I am going to tell myself "I am friendly to others and it makes a difference" instead of "they think I'm miserable and I need to be happier."

When someone tells me "I really appreciate your help." I'm going to tell myself " I was helpful, I am knowledgeable" instead of "I'm stupid and they feel bad for me, they are just being nice."

I am going to allow myself the opportunity to acknowledge the truth. It won't be easy. At times, depression will do what it does best, attack me, to bring down my defences. 

There will be times where depression is an A+ con artist that pulls one over on me. My challenge will be, when that con artist does pull one over on me, not to take the blame. It's not my fault. Depression is a thief, a con artist, a liar, a manipulator and more. 

I can be happy and depressed, that is valid and I will make the effort to acknowledge the happy moments and when the negatives ones creep through, I will attempt to make the effort to wade through the shit and find the truth. 

And if I can't wade through the shit, then at the very least I need to know, it's not my fault, the fault belongs to depression. 

Depression is not me, it's a separate entity that has squatter rights in my brain. Get the fuck out, you have overstayed your welcome, you weren't welcome in the first place.

Forgiving Myself - A letter from my adult self to my adult self

I've been struggling lately. I'm depressed. In my last post, I wrote about an experience I had at the bathhouse. This most recent experience made me re-live being raped there. I left the bathhouse upset. Instead of blaming the guy who didn't want to accept my no, I blamed myself. I told myself that it's my fault that this happened to me. It's my fault because I'm a whore for going to the bathhouse. It's my fault because I sleep with too many guys, I'm disgusting because I use sex as an escape.

In my last therapist appointment I brought up how I was feeling. I got really upset. I was shaking because I was so angry with myself. I wanted to hit myself I was so angry. I talked about how I keep watching more extreme porn, using bigger sex toys and having so much sex and making more extreme sex choices because it's like trying to achieve a high. I'm trying to numb how I feel. I know the numbness from the sex is only temporary but it's better than nothing. After my appointment, I realized something. I need to forgive myself.

I previously wrote a letter to myself, my child self writing my adult self, forgiving me for everything I had been through and forgiving me for how I felt. I realized I needed to write a letter from my adult self to my adult self for what I've been through as an adult, choices I made to help me survive my feelings.

The letter:

You're hurting, a lot. You're sad. You're angry. You feel ashamed. You blame yourself. You're disgusted with choices you've made. Sexual choices. You've been chasing a high to avoid how you feel. It hasn't worked. It just makes you feel worse. You keep making extreme sex choices because you feel lonely. You feel empty. Because it takes away the pain even knowing it's only temporary.

I forgive you. I really do. This isn't your fault. You do it because you don't know what else to do. I forgive you. You do these sexual things because of your past traumas. Being raped, having an alcoholic, angry father. A sister who committed crimes. Being bullied. Feeling abandoned. Feeling unwanted. Feeling unloveable. Feeling worthless. Feeling like an inconvenience.

Watching porn, using large sex toys. Going to the bathhouse and having sex with lots of guys. Putting on a blindfold and letting guys fuck you. You did all that because you blame yourself for everything. Because of what you've been through. I forgive you. You are not worthless. You're not an inconvenience. You're not unloveable. You are worth everything. You are loveable. You are worth kindness. You are worth respect.

You don't need to be extremely sexual. You don't need to escape your feelings anymore. You are capable of managing your feelings. You are capable of changing your circumstances. Your family loves and cares about you. Your friends care about and love you. I care about and love you.

Your past doesn't have to weigh you down. Your past doesn't make you less than. You are worth loving. I'm excited for you to accept and move past this. You've been surviving for so long. You have permission to live your life. You deserve happiness. You are forgiven. I love you.

Overwhelmed with Feelings

Fuck. The darkness is back. It's heavy, it's exhausting, it won't leave me alone. I went grocery shopping today. It felt like I was trying to complete a marathon. I kept wandering around aimlessly, forgetting what I needed. A mental fog slowing me down, my brain tingly with confusion. There was one point where I wanted to give up shopping for groceries and just sit down in the aisle. I didn't. I pushed through and got back to my car. I sat in my car for a few minutes, I was so exhausted.

I tried to give myself credit. Credit for getting out bed and showering. Credit for buying groceries and putting them away when I got home. I know those are accomplishments when I'm feeling like such garbage but the negative talk takes over. I start telling myself, people do these things everyday. They are expected of us. People do these things with kids and other obligations. I'm pathetic. I'm not, but I am, but I'm not. Fuck off negative thoughts. Fuck off.

The darkness, the depression, the negative thoughts are because I've been avoiding something. My previous post was about writing a letter to the man who raped me at the bathhouse. I was finally starting to free myself of that. It wasn't consuming my thoughts, every minute of every day anymore. I was breaking free of it's grip until I was at the bathhouse a couple weeks ago. I was laying on my stomach, this guy was fucking me. I wasn't enjoying it and I wanted to take a break. I said "I need to take a break." He responded "ah, really?" in an annoyed tone. "Yes, I want to take a break."

When I tried to get up he wrapped his arms around me, his arm pressed against the front of my neck and said "shh, shh, just lay there, lay there, it's okay, it's okay." I froze. I wanted to move, I couldn't. My brain, my body, wouldn't let me. When I was raped, I was also on my stomach. I said I wanted to stop. When I tried to get up, he pushed me back down.

As I laid there with this guys arms wrapped around me, his arm on my neck making it uncomfortable to breath, I was frozen. I wanted to yell. I wanted to get up. I couldn't move. I wanted his dick out of me. Instead, I laid there, replaying what happened to me the last time I said no. Remembering when I said no and tried to get up, the guy pushing me back down. Remembering when I tried to get loud, the guy putting his hand over my mouth and biting his hand didn't stop him. Not just remembering but reliving it.

This guy kept kissing me and telling me not to move, to just relax, to wait a moment, saying to me "it's okay." I finally was able to speak, I said "I want to stop, I don't want to do this anymore." He said "ah man!, fine!, lame!"in an angry tone and finally got off of me, got out of me. I laid there, unable to move, waiting for him to leave the room. He slowly wrapped his towel around him. His tone changed. In a friendly tone he said "okay, well have a good one, oh, oh, here's your lube, don't want you to lose it." After what felt like an eternity, he finally opened the door and left.

I stayed motionless, thinking to myself, how many times is this going to happen? I thought about the past, when I wasn't comfortable saying no, before I had the courage to withdraw consent, before I was able to assert my needs. I thought about all the times I wanted to say no and I didn't. The times I wanted to stop but I let the guy finish because I didn't want to make him mad. If I would have been able to say no, how many of them would have kept going?

(On a side note, I am listening to music while I write this and "Do what you want with my body" by Lady Gaga came on - bad fucking timing).

I know I shouldn't blame myself.  I shouldn't blame myself but I can't help it. I keep thinking, that it's my fault, my fault because I'm a slut for going to the bathhouse. It's my fault because I let him climb on top of me and fuck me, without even saying a word, without getting his name. I keep thinking about what a whore I am. I'm angry. I'm hurting and directing it all inward.

When these negative thoughts manifest, I become overwhelmed. I want them to stop. I keep imagining myself walking into the bathroom, grabbing a razor blade and sliding the blade across my skin. Anything to make the pain, the feelings stop. I would rather the pain of the blade than the pain of what I'm feeling.

It's been almost a couple years since I've cut myself. The last time I cut myself, I cut the word whore into my left thigh and the word faggot into my right thigh. The urge to do so again is strong, so strong. I resist because I don't want the scars. I don't want the daily reminder of what I did. I am lucky, the cuts healed last time, what if they don't this time? Instead of cutting, I eat. I eat too much. Too much fast food. After I gorge, I hate myself and I want to cut myself.

Instead of cutting myself, I am writing. I am talking about what happened. Sharing my feelings in the hopes of lifting some of this weight holding me down. Letting it out. However,

I'm... I'm... just so tired of trying to survive. When will I feel like I'm living and not just surviving? Will that ever happen? Is it possible?

The Shackles of Anxiety

I'm driving in my car, thinking to myself "I can do this, I can do this." I round the corner and my heart   beats faster every block closer I get to my destination. I attempt to turn into the parking lot, I jerk the steering wheel in the opposite direction and think "park across the street so you can see who is going in."

I'm so nervous. My anxiety is through the roof, my heart beating fast, mouth dry, palms sweaty. Mom's spaghetti? Wait that last part is from a song. Concentrate. It feels like there is a lump in my throat. I think my co-woker said that is called globus. Sounds like a travel agency.

I see a few people go in. I can do this, I can do this. I stare at my runners on the seat, just pick them up, open your door and go into the school. Nope not yet, I got here early for a reason, so I can work up the courage to go in. A couple more minutes pass, it's an all or nothing moment. I grab my shoes, open my car door and cross the street.

I open the school doors and walk down the hallway. My heart beating fast, nauseated, and the globus in my throat. That reminds me, I should plan my next vacation. I round the corner and I see a few guys sitting outside the gym. I try to make eye contact and smile, they look away. I nervously grab my phone and start looking on Facebook.

In my last therapy session we talked about how I need to be physically active. It will help with my joint pain and my mood. I've been wanting to go to recreational volleyball which is run through a local gay and lesbian sports league. Meeting new people isn't easy for me, you know with the anxiety and all. Hard to make conversation when you have a travel agency, I mean globus in your throat.

A few more guys show up and they all know each other. Everyone is laughing and hugging and catching up since the last time. Fuck. This is what I was afraid of. Afraid it was going to be a close knit group and I would have to awkwardly wiggle my way in. I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack and freak out. I try to covertly control my anxiety and tell myself, breathe, breathe. I manage to calm myself down. I tell myself once were in the gym and we get setup and were playing I will be so happy I did this.

The doors open, everyone goes into the gym and starts changing. Okay, so change rooms aren't a thing, nice underwear. I'm awkwardly standing against the wall while everyone is still chatting and having a gay old time. My anxiety is going through the roof again. Two of the guys are setting up the net, people start getting together and practicing. Do I just walk over an join them? I would, but my feet are stuck to the ground. Can globus travel to your feet? Who is running the volleyball? Who do I give my money to? Why are they spiking the ball? I thought this was a recreational league. TOO MUCH!

FUCK THIS! I can't do this. Grab my shoes, stare at the ground and I walk out of there. As I open the gym doors, my lip is quivering, I'm doing everything I can not to cry. My eyes are tearing up, I get out of the school and there are some junior high kids hanging outside of the school. I look to the side, I don't want them to see me, this pathetic old man about to cry. I speed walk to my car, come on globus lets pick up the pace! I get in my car, slam the door shut and start crying. I slam my fist on the steering wheel and yell FUCK! What is wrong with you?!

I'm crying because I feel pathetic, I feel stupid and embarrassed. It's just recreational volleyball, what's the big deal? This shouldn't be so hard. A normal person would of just said "Hi, I'm here for the volleyball, who do I pay my money to?"

But. I have to give myself credit. I drove there. I got out of my car. I went into the school. Hell, I went into the gym. Yes, I left but I made it farther than I thought I would. I tried, I gave it my best. Each attempt is a step in the right direction. Do not give up.

Take that globus, not telling me I can't cancel my flight without penalty. Shit wrong globus.

Label Me Please

I'm cranky today. I'm sad, I'm angry. I woke up today and hate the world. I didn't want to get out of bed. I pressed snooze, over and over and over again. I finally rolled out of bed and dragged my ass to the shower. I got in my car and drove to Tim Hortons, I got myself an iced cappuccino and breakfast sandwich, hoping it would make me feel better, it didn't.

I arrived at work and was not motivated to work at all. I spun around in my chair a few times, I stared at the wall, went to the washroom even though I really didn't need to go. My co-worker and I went on a Tim Hortons run for everyone, at least I wasn't the only one not in the mood to work. Finally noon arrived and I got to go home - I am still only working half days due to my medical leave.

I'm feeling shitty and hating life, so what do I do, I go to the food court at the mall. I go back to one of my bad behaviours and get greasy bad food. This time I select Chinese food, I haven't had Chinese food in a long time. I take it to go and head home. I go to my room, throw on a Criminal Minds dvd and eat my Chinese food in my bed. Was the Chinese Food worth it? Yes and no. Yes because it was damn tasty. No because it made me feel all gross and made me feel bad about myself.

I hate these ups and downs I have. Yesterday I was in a great mood. I got home from work and decided I was going to cook. I made myself a bacon carbonara pasta and home made garlic bread. It was super tasty and I was impressed at how well it turned out. I don't normally cook. I was so jolly yesterday and now today I feel miserable. How the hell does it turn off and on that quickly? I hate it!

There have been so many times I've been convinced I have Bipolar Disorder. When I went for an assessment at the Psychiatry clinic to get into the group therapy program, the Psychiatrist quickly dismissed the idea of me being Bipolar. She asked me if I go days on end with no sleep. I said no and she quickly replied with, well then your not bipolar. I was angry. I felt like she quickly dismissed me and what I was feeling and had to say. I shut down and I immediately hated her. Just a minute before I really liked her and thought she was awesome. Looking back that was obviously my Borderline Personality Disorder kicking in.

I've been thinking about why I am so desperate to be labelled as Bipolar. I have enough labels already, don't I? I'm HIV positive. I'm a gay man. I have Major Depression. I have Borderline Personality Disorder. Why then do I want to be labelled as Bipolar? Because I want to be fixed. I want someone to give me some pills and say, take these you will be fixed. You will be normal - another label. I know in reality that's not true. I know with Bipolar disorder, trying to find the right combination of medications is difficult and involves a lot of trial and error. And even though you are on medications it doesn't mean they will always work.

I guess I am just frustrated that my depression is kicking in today. I am frustrated that I went through four months of group therapy and I am not normal. I need to remind myself what one of the therapists said. He said "your not going to change overnight, it's going to take practice. You are trying to change decades worth of behaviours, you need to take baby steps." He's right I need to take one step at a time, and realize setbacks will happen.

I'm a flavour whore!

I feel tired and depressed today. It's all my fault really. I was hanging out with friends last night and we were drinking. Usually if I only have two to three drinks I am fine, but any more than that, I usually end up feeling depressed the next day. I'm not surprised, it's commonly known that alcohol acts a depressant. Probably not the best thing for me to be drinking since I have had bouts of major depression. I just can't help it though, I love the taste of red wine. Mmmmm so delicious. Probably didn't help that I had two beers and a tequila sunrise on top of that, oops. I am such a flavour whore - I love tasty stuff. The neurons in my brain get going, and they chant "give me more!" Give me more!"

If I stick to wine then I am usually fine the next day, I don't usually feel depressed. It's funny how alcohol can effect people differently. Because I was feeling down today, what did I do? I went and got fast food. At first I was ready to beat myself up for eating the fast food. The last two days I had been eating healthy and exercising. But I didn't beat myself up. I gave myself a pat on the back. Prior to this week I was eating fast food, everyday, sometimes twice a day. I just went the last two days without any fast food - that is awesome for me. So I had fast food today, oh well, life goes on. And to be honest, I enjoyed every freaking bite of it. It was damn delicious I tell you! I also know from experience, that if I try to go cold turkey cutting out the fast food, I fail miserably... every time! Like I said in my New Year's resolutions post, I will not overdo it, I will take it slowly. If I can go eating fast food every couple of days, for the next couple of weeks, that's a huge achievement for me. Then maybe I can go three days without eating it. One step at a time.

HIV and Mental Health

Whenever I see campaigns for HIV/AIDS awareness, whether it be on television or online it never seems to focus on mental health. It mainly focuses on prevention and treatment of HIV/AIDS. Don't get me wrong, it is extremely important that we educate about HIV prevention and treatment, but it seems a lot of times those messages are going unheard. Or ads using scare tactics by showing how sick HIV can make someone. How can someone focus on prevention and treatment for themselves if they don't have sound mental health? If they have any issues with self worth and loving oneself, then why would they care about prevention and treatment?

I'm biased on this issue, as poor mental health played a huge role in why I contracted HIV. I recently went through a four month group therapy program, it did wonders for me. For me I had a shaky childhood. When I was seven my drunk neighbour physically assaulted me, because I locked him out of his house when we were having a water fight. When I was around seven or eight I woke up to my Mom and Dad fighting. My Dad was drunk - as per usual - and was yelling he was going to kill himself. My Mom yelled to my sister to hide the knives, my Dad grabbed his shotgun and threatened to shoot himself. My sister called the police, and the SWAT team showed up. Not a very nice experience for a seven year old. After my Mom left my Dad she was very depressed. She dealt with it by ordering us fast food all the time and working from five a.m to eight at night. She would watch t.v and then go right to bed. She was miserable. My sister dealt with it by getting involved with the wrong crowd of people, she got involved in crime. There's nothing like having to visit your sister in the young offenders centre. My brother dealt with it by getting a job and moving out. I was all alone, I basically had to raise myself. I had no one to teach me how to cook, how to deal with my feelings, how to live a healthy life. I had no one to go to when I was being bullied at school. I was alone. When I was twelve, I was in a washroom in a mall and was raped by a man in the bathroom stall. I didn't have anyone to tell, I ended up becoming very sexual and put myself in dangerous sexual situations after that, all the time. I felt that it was my fault that I was raped and hated myself for it.

This set the stage for my adolescence and adulthood. I am a true believer, that our childhood, our environment and experiences shape us an adult. Whenever I was feeling bad about myself, I would turn to sex to get rid of those feelings. If I was feeling unwanted and lonely, I would turn to sex to feel wanted. This all started after I was raped at the age of twelve. This followed me into adulthood. I wrote in a previous post, that the effect of having sex to cover my feelings would start to wear off. So I went from just having oral sex, to anal sex with condoms, then having sex with multiple men in a night, to having sex with no condoms and so on. Trying to chase that illusive high to get rid of those feelings I had. In the end I was punishing myself. It's no surprise to me that I contracted HIV. I had no self worth, I didn't know how to love myself.

I truly believe if people valued themselves, if they had self worth, there would be way less HIV infections. When we know that having unprotected sex can lead to contracting HIV, and there are so many people engaging in unprotected sex, can you say that they truly love themselves? Can you say that they have a high sense of self worth? I doubt it. If someone is perfectly mentally healthy, they love oneself, they value themselves, then wouldn't instinct kick in? Wouldn't a persons need for self preservation stop one self from engaging in such a risky behaviour. A behaviour that could potentially kill oneself. I am constantly working on changing my negative behaviours. I am not perfect. Sometimes I slip up. Sometimes I feel down and have turned to sex or food to get rid of those feelings. But the difference is, that is happening less frequently. One of the important things I learned was that, I am going to make mistakes, I will slip up and that's okay. I am trying to change decades worth of behaviour. That won't happen over night.

I don't write this to say that we need to divert all our attention to mental health issues, in particular mental health and HIV. I write this in the hopes of starting a discussion. Mental Health is just one of the many issues involved with HIV. Hopefully one day soon we can get ahold of this disease, hopefully we can beat this disease. Until then, let's help each other out, share our experiences, and do the best we can. Let's learn to love ourselves.

It's 2013...ACK!

I can't believe it is 2013. It's true, every year you get older, every year goes by faster and faster. It's like the Japanese Bullet Train, I swear last year went by at 300 km/hr. At the same time though, there were times it felt very very long, as long as the Nile river.

I've been through a lot in the past year. I went through a bout of major depression. It was so bad I was off of work for three months. I slept most of those three months. I ended up getting into a group therapy program to deal with my issues and depression. The therapy program was four months long. Just like this past year, the therapy went by fast and slow at the same time. It was one of the best things I have ever done, but also one of the hardest. There were a lot of tears and a lot of anger. A lot of uncomfortable, awkward moments. I told my Sister, Brother, Mom and Dad that I'm HIV positive. I went back to work, working part time. It's been an eventful, arduous year.

I have never been one to make New Year's Resolutions, but this year I decided I will. I was on UKPositiveLad's blog (http://www.ukpositivelad.com/blog/) and he inspired me to do some resolutions.  I deserve to have a great year after everything I have been through. A great year isn't going to happen by sitting back. I need goals and need to proactively try and reach those goals. My New Year's Resolutions:

1) Be Physically Healthier:

This doesn't mean going on crash diets. This means eating healthier and finding activities I enjoy doing, instead of forcing myself to go to the gym. Currently I drink way to much Pop - I LOVE PEPSI!!!!! - and eat way too much fast food. Also these last few months, I haven't been active because I had undiagnosed Asthma. My Asthma was so bad it was making me sleep all the time and always short of breath. Now that I know I have Asthma and I am on an inhaler and I am slowly starting to feel better, it's time to get back in to being active. I also pledge to become active in a healthy way. What I mean by that is, not to overdo it. I am the type of person that goes big or goes home. I tend to overdo it. I go gung-ho and then get burnt out and go back to my old ways.

2) Be Mentally Healthier:

I've already started achieving this by going through that four month group therapy program last year. This year I would like to work on more positive thinking and expressing my feelings more. I am the type of person that holds everything in and then I end up taking it out on myself. If I am feeling angry or sad I am going to say so. If something is bothering me, I am going to let it out - in a healthy way.

3) Discover More About Myself:

I've spent so much of my life with no self worth, that I have never been comfortable with who am I. How can I be comfortable with who I am, when I don't know who I am in the first place? And how can I discover who I am, when I had no self worth? Thanks to the group therapy, I dealt with the issue of having no self worth. I'm not perfect, I still have my days where my lack of self-worth creeps in, but I also bounce back from it a lot quicker. I've always wanted to take singing and acting lessons, so I am going to look into that. I've also been teaching myself to draw and realized I'm not half bad, and would love to take some drawing lessons. (I will post a picture I drew of Daryl from The Walking Dead)

I am going to stop at three New Year's Resolutions, that way I can stay inline with not over doing it. I think three is a great start. I am excited for this year. I am a confident man and I am excited to find out more about myself!

Group Therapy Post #6 - Support Group

I'm at my next appointment with Bob. It's just a quick appointment today. He let's me know that I have been accepted into the Evening Treatment Program. They just have one condition, that I stop drinking alcohol one month before I start the program and no drinking during the program. I tell him that is no problem. I actually hate drinking when I am depressed. He asks me how the Zoloft is going, I tell him it is fine. He lets me know that there is about a two to three month wait to get into the program. They will call me in a couple of weeks, before my start date, to let me know when I will start. He lets me know that there is a support group every Friday that I can attend while I am waiting to get in. It's completely voluntarily. I tell him it is something I will definitely take advantage of. I leave his office smiling, I am excited that I got accepted. I am nervous as hell but ready to deal with my demons and move forward.

It's Friday and I am getting ready to go to the support group. I am feeling extremely nervous. Am I really going to sit in a room full of strangers, talking about our problems? I get in my car and head to the hospital. I park my car far away in a neighbourhood so I can get free parking. I am walking toward the hospital and every foot I get closer the more my heart beats. My heart is pounding, I am freaking out. How many people are going to be in this support group? Am I going to be the one with the most issues? Am I the most fucked up? Should I even do this? I get to the hospital early, it's still a half an hour till support group starts. I keep walking by the Psychiatric Clinic doors like a creepy stalker.  I tell myself I can just run away, I don't have to do this. The support group is voluntary I am not even required to go to this. But then I think to myself if I can't even go to the support group, what makes me think I can go to group therapy five days a week, every evening.

I finally walk through the doors. I always worry that someone I know will see me walk into the Psychiatry Clinic. The stigma around mental health is just as bad as the stigma around HIV. Mental Health = crazy. HIV = dirty. There is quite a few people in the waiting room. Is everyone waiting, here for the support group? I guess not all, some are probably here for just regular appointments. All of a sudden two therapists show up and say, everyone here for support group follow us. A whole whack of us follow them to a room setup for the support group. I take a seat and wait for everyone else to get seated. I am nervous, there are a lot of people here. At least with a lot of people here, I can probably get away with not talking. One of the therapists passes around a sign in sheet, and goes over the rules of support group. A woman all of a sudden starts crying and talks about why she is there. (To respect privacy I won't mention details about people), she talks about how she was diagnosed with an illness recently. She is worried about how it will affect her life and what people will think about her. She was diagnosed with MS. A few people speak up and offer her words of encouragement. Some people share stories about how they relate. I am trying to work the courage to speak up. I can relate, I have HIV. I want to help her, I don't even think about how sharing will help me, the thought doesn't even cross my mind. I feel so bad for her and want her to feel better. But at the same time, am I really going to tell a room full of people that I have HIV? A disease that has such a huge stigma around it. I finally speak up and tell her I can relate. In March of 2010 I was diagnosed with HIV, it was a few months before I told my closest friends. She asks me how they took it. I tell her they took it really well, they felt really sad for me. They were also angry that I waited to tell them, that I held it in for those few months. They don't treat my any differently. They still treat me as the same friend I was and continue to be. One of the therapists asks me if I would like to hear feedback from the group. I say yes I guess. I think to myself, I thought I was just relating, not really trying to share. A few people talk about how brave I was to share with the group, how it took a lot of courage. A few relate with illness they have. I sit there, relieved that everyone was so supportive, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, it is called support group.

Even though I am relieved, my face is burning with embarrassment, I feel embarrassed that I shared that with complete strangers. Support group ends, we all leave the room, we quietly and awkwardly (awkward for me at least) walk down the hallways and out of the Psychiatry Clinic. We all go our separate ways. I let out a huge sigh of relief and feel proud of myself. Now to try and keep that courage and show up to next weeks support group.

Did I do it to myself?

I came across the quote "It's no fun to have HIV even though it's viewed as a chronic, controllable disease. It means being wedded to the health system." A man by the name of Phil Berger is credited as saying this.

I thought about this quote and how it applies to me. There have been many times I have felt guilty about contracting HIV, especially when I was first diagnosed. I've spent a lot of my life putting myself down. There has been many times when I take my medication that I think to myself, I am a burden on the health care system. Where I live, my medication is paid for by the government. Every cent. I know I am very fortunate that my medication is paid for, but sometimes it makes me feel guilty.

I have lost count how many times a friend, family member or doctor has said to me at least it's not a death sentence. I know when someone says this to me, they say it as a sign of support. But at the same time I feel like they are downplaying my illness. This says more about me and my insecurities and issues with the disease. To me it's a big deal. I have this disease that is trying to kill me. It's roaming around in my bodily fluids, attacking my body trying to destroy my immune system. I take these medications every day and everyday I have diarrhea. When I first started taking HIV medications, the first week was hell. I was extremely nauseated and vomitting. It was horrible. It was like the worst flu I have ever had.

A question needs to be answered. Did I do it to myself? Is it my fault I got HIV? Some people would say that's an easy question to answer. They would simply say yes. Yes it's your fault you got HIV. You knew that having unprotected sex could lead to you having HIV. You are the one who let the guy insert his penis in you without a condom. Do I deny that? No I don't. I did know that having unprotected sex could lead to contracting HIV. I did let the guy insert his penis in me without a condom. I didn't ask him what his status was. Other questions need to be asked. Why would I have unprotected sex, knowing I could contract HIV? Shouldn't it be human nature to protect oneself? If so, why would I risk getting HIV?

I didn't have any self worth. If I had no self worth why would I care about getting HIV? I didn't care about myself, didn't love myself. I have battled major depression throughout most of my life. As every year passed, each bout of depression got worse. As the darkness inside me grew, the more destructive things I did to try and forget about those feelings.  I would eat a lot of fast food to try and make the bad feelings go away. I would eat McDonalds, KFC, Taco Bell; as long as it was greasy I would eat it. The cravings I would get for fast food while I was depressed were intense. I felt like an addict. I would take that first bite of food and instantly I would feel better. The salt, grease and sugar would give me a temporary high. A high that didn't last very long. I would go home and go to bed feeling disgusting. These feelings would follow me to the next day. I needed to get rid of these feelings so I would go and have sex.

When I first started being promiscuous in high school, I would mainly just have oral sex. Once in awhile I would have anal sex. If I did have anal sex it was always with a condom. As the years went on, once in awhile I would have sex without a condom, but I would tell the guy he couldn't ejaculate inside me. Then that didn't give me the high I need to mask my feelings, so I started letting the guys ejaculate inside me. Sometimes I would freak out that I might get HIV, but normally I wouldn't. I didn't give a fuck, I didn't like myself, a lot of times I hated myself. This was my punishment. I never thought to myself, I hope I get HIV, or I am going to have unprotected sex to get HIV. But deep down I thought to myself, if I do happen to get it, I would deserve it.

After awhile the high was weakening, so I was having sex with more and more guys, more often. I would meet guys from websites online and I would go to the bathhouse. I would try and have sex with as many guys as possible. I needed to keep the high going. When I was feeling disgusted with myself for having unprotected sex, I would go and eat fast food. When I would feel disgusted with myself for eating so much, I would go and have sex. It was a vicious cycle I was caught in, I couldn't get out. I couldn't tell anyone, because I was too embarrassed, too ashamed. HIV has a stigma attached to it, so do mental health issues. I didn't feel like I could tell anyone, I would be judged, I would be hated. No one would understand. So I kept it all in. Because I kept it all in I kept acting out in destructive ways.

Why didn't I have any self worth. For me to answer that question I need to look back at my childhood. Just a few months ago I wouldn't have been able to answer this question. After spending four months in an intensive group therapy program I can answer it. My parents fought, they fought a lot. I remember when I was seven, I was in my room sleeping. I woke up to my mom and dad yelling at each other. I could hear my dad threatening to kill himself. I heard my mom yell to my sister to hide the knives. Then I heard my mom yell, call the police. My sister did call the police, apparently the SWAT team showed up. I was upstairs all alone, frightened not understanding what was going on. I have another memory from when I was seven. It was summer time and the neighbourhood kids and I were having a water fight. One of the neighbours, a grown man joined in and was shooting us with a water gun from his back door. He kept running inside and closing the door so we couldn't get him wet. Well being seven I thought I was all smart, and decided to engage the lock on his door when he wasn't looking so when he closed the door behind him so we wouldn't get water in his house, he would be locked out so we could get him wet. I didn't think about how he would get back inside - I was seven. Well he tried to go back inside and the door was locked. He lost it. He came out of the back yard, started yelling and yelled who the fuck locked my door? The kids pointed at me. He came at me, grabbed me and started walking towards the managers place of the townhouse complex we lived in. I was scared and I was screaming and crying. I kept asking him to let me go, he was holding me so tight it hurt to breathe. He told me to shut the fuck up and slapped me across my face and side of the head. I told him if he put me down and let me walk I would stop crying. He put me down and I made a break for it. I didn't get very far, he grabbed me and hit me again. My friends ran to my house and got my dad. My dad came flying around the corner. My dad told me to go home. Surprisingly my dad somehow kept his temper in check and  didn't kill him. My dad called the police and I had to tell them what happened. It turned out the guy was drunk. After that it was never spoken of. My mom and dad never asked me if I was okay, it just was never spoken of. My mom and dad split up when I was eight. My sister rebelled my getting into crime. My brother dealt with it by getting involved in sports. I was the forgotten one. My mom worked all the time, because she was depressed. She would go to work at five in the morning and not get home till eight or nine at night. I basically raised myself. It was very lonely. I never had anyone to talk to, I never had anyone teach me how to deal with my feelings properly. I was bullied a lot in school. The boys would take my clothes and put them in the shower so I would have to walk around in my gym clothes all day. The one time I tried to tell my mom what was happening the response I got was "other kids have it worse. It can't be that bad." So I held my feelings in, no one cared. My teachers knew this was happening, they didn't do anything. No one cared, why should I? When I was twelve I was raped in a public washroom by an older man. I kept that in, again why would I tell anyone? No one would probably believe me. There are many other traumatic events that have happened but the point is, my childhood had a huge impact on who I am today. So when someone says how could you be so stupid for contacting HIV, you should know better? My response is going to be "no I shouldn't have known better. How could I have known better. No one taught me any different. No one was there for me. Going through the group therapy program and looking back at my childhood I am not shocked that I contracted HIV. I am shocked I didn't contact any other diseases, I am shocked I didn't develop a drinking problem or a drug problem to cope.

My point is contracting HIV is not a black and white issue. There are a lot of grey areas. A lot of it comes down to circumstance and mental health. There will never be an easy answer, but if we never talk about it honestly and openly then we will never find an answer. This has been extremely difficult for me to write. Even though my blog is anonymous, I still find it embarrassing to admit some of these things. At the same time, it has been therapeutic and if it can just help a few people by sharing these intimate details then that makes me happy. It's funny, I didn't originally plan for this post to be so long and so detailed. I originally just meant to write about what the quote meant to me and how I feel like a burden on the healthcare system. It's interesting how a simple quote was able to bring up so much for me. Thanks for listening.

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Group Therapy Post # 5

It's February 21st. I have my follow up appointment with Bob, the therapist at the Psychiatry clinic. I am sitting in the waiting room, waiting of course. I hate sitting in the waiting room, so awkward. I like to look at everyone in the waiting room and think about why they are here. I like to assume they are worse off than me, it temporarily makes me feel better, temporally numbs the pain. TEMPORARILY. Bob appears from around the corner, calls my name and says "come with me."

 I stand up from the uncomfortable chair and follow him to his office. I take a seat and he closes the door. He asks me how I am doing. I respond with "meh, still feeling crappy. He says to me unfortunately that is to be expected, it can take some time for the increase in Zoloft to take effect. He asks me if I am having any side effects from the Zoloft. I tell him, this will sound weird but my brain feels fuzzy and tingly. It's like I can feel the changes taking effect in my brain. He says hmmm I've never heard that before, if it's causing you any issues we can change your medication. I say no, no issues, just feels weird.

He then asks me what my childhood was like. I tell him, my mom and dad fought a lot. He asks me to tell him a time I remember them fighting. I tell him when I was 7, I was in my room trying to sleep and my mom and dad were fighting. I could hear my dad threatening to kill himself and my mom yelling to my sister to hide the knives. Eventually the SWAT team showed up, after my sister called the cops. Rod looks shocked and says that must have been scary. I respond with yeah I guess, shit happens, you deal with it. He asks me what I want to work on in therapy. I stare at him with a deer in the headlights look. After an awkward silence, I say I just want to be happy. I want to stop feeling depressed and hopeless. I want stop doing destructive things. He asks me what destructive things I do. I say um, well for one spending money I don't have. I let him know that I ruined my credit. I tell him I racked up my credit cards and student line of credit. He asks me how that happened. I tell him when I got laid off from work, I was really depressed and unhappy with life. I found a new job right away, hated it and quit after a month. I used my severance pay to support myself when I wasn't working, and also used it to buy myself a computer and take a trip to California. By the time I found a job I was behind on my credit cards and was unable to get caught up. I tried to make payment arrangements but the companies wouldn't help me. Eventually I met with a bankruptcy trustee and she told me I couldn't afford to file for bankruptcy, that my only option was to hope they don't take me to court and garnish my wages. He says wow that must have been a difficult time, I say it was.

He asks me what else I do that is destructive. I know what I want to tell him, but I am embarrased to talk about it. I know I need to be honest to get the best help possible. I sit there silent, trying to talk, Rod sits there patiently, waiting for me. I finally say, well, I do tend to, um turn to sex when I am depressed or stressed out. He says in a calm and professional manner "you tend to be promiscuous?" That's how he phrased it last time we met. I don't know why I am so embarrassed to talk about it this time. Probably because he will want to go more in detail. I respond yes. I say that's what led to me getting HIV. He asks me "have your ever had a long term committed relationship?" I respond with no, I have never had a romantic relationship. He looks at me, he is trying to keep his face looking neutral but I see the sadness in his eyes for me and says "would you ever want one?" I respond with yes, I do, but I'm scared, I'm broken. I feel sad after I say that, I hold back my tears.

Our time is up and he sets up another appointment for next week. I walk out of the room, down the hallway and out the doors of the Psychiatry department. I take a deep breath and head to my car in the parkade. I open my car door, I sit down, put my hands on the steering wheel and stare out the window. I think to myself, Jesus I'm fucked up. I go home and go to sleep.

Group Therapy Post # 4

I'm at my Family Doctor's office for a follow up appointment. Sitting here staring at the ugly pink walls, waiting for my name to be called. It's been a crazy couple of days. Going on Short Term Disability, going for an assessment at the Psychiatry clinic. How did my life get here? Is my life ever going to be a happy one? I'm so tired of feeling like this, sometimes I wish I wouldn't wake up.

Jared! I jump up startled, I was so deep in thought, my name being called startled me. I follow the nurse into the room and she tells me to have a seat, she closes the door behind me. I wait, and wait and wait, and wait some more. He's really going to keep me waiting this long? I am having mental health issues, you don't want to piss off the crazy person. I laugh to myself, this is how I normally deal with things, make a joke, make light of it. My doctor finally walks in, he asks me how I'm doing. Really, how am I doing? My hair is a mess, I haven't shaved, I'm doing wonderful! I respond, still feeling depressed. He asks me how my appointment at the Psychiatry clinic went. I tell him that they told me I have major depression and that they have a program called Evening Treatment Program, it's a group therapy program. He says that sounds good and that should help me. He lets me know my insurance company sent more forms over to be filled out. Of course they did. We go through the forms together and he has his staff fax them over. I say to him, oh I forgot to tell you, they increased my dosage of Zoloft from 50 mg to 100 mg, hopefully that will help me feel better in the meantime. He responds, I hope it does. I go home and sleep for several hours.

Group Therapy Post #3 - One Step at a Time

It's Valentines Day. Fucking happy people in their fucking happy relationships. I choose to believe they are pretending to be happy. I see a couple walking, holding hands, smiling at each other, I want to vomit. Secretly, I choose to believe they hate each other and get into fist fights every night, no one can truly be that happy. I find it easier to judge others and be angry at others than deal with my own issues.

The walls are supposed to be white, they look like they haven't been cleaned in years. The chair I am sitting in is extremely uncomfortable. A butt plug with spikes on it would be more comfortable in my ass than this chair I am sitting in. Maybe these chairs are part of the process, if they make you angry enough and you go postal they commit you. I am sitting in the waiting room of the Psychiatry clinic at the hospital. I am here for the assessment. Am I Bipolar? What if I am? It would explain my crazy mood swings, but I don't go days on end with no sleep. I love sleep! Sometimes I sleep for 16 hours. If I am sleeping I don't have to think about my horrible life. If I am sleeping I don't feel the pain, the sadness. If I am sleeping I don't have to think about the dark gloomy cloud hanging over me. If I am sleeping, I can hide. It's 8:15 am, the assessment doesn't start until 8:30 am. There are a few other people in the waiting room with me. One person in particular stands out. I look over and in the corner sits a man, looks like he is in his late twenties maybe early thirties. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept in days. He has dark brown hair and his face is stubbly. He looks miserable, I feel sad for him. 8:30 am finally rolls around and the receptionist pulls back the beige partition that closes the receptionist desk. Looking at the beige partition it just confirms that they haven't done any renovations since 1985. The receptionist says anyone here for the assessment, please come here and sign in. I leap out of my seat and rush to the receptionist desk. I want my name to be first on the list, I want to be out of here as soon as possible. She hands me a clipboard with papers to fill out. When I first called the clinic they told me the assessment would take between 2-3 hours. Looking at how many pages I fill out, I might be here all week. My anxiety is through the roof. I sit back down and nervously wait for my name to be called. I start filling out the paper work.  My brain is running a mile a minute. Why am I here I think to myself? Is that what they are going to ask me? I am here because I am severely depressed all the time, I am stressed out, I have anxiety, I can be super happy and hyper then go back into a deep depression. But why? Why am I like this? I don't fucking know. I guess if I knew I wouldn't be here. Jesus I'm crazy. I really wish I had a giant iced cappuccino right now. When my anxiety is running through me I like to eat and drink unhealthy. I sit in this torture chair and think to myself, I can run away. I don't have to do this. What are they going to do? Probably just increase my anti-depressants. Tell me it's all in my head. 

Jared, please come with me I hear. Fuck it's now or never. I stand up and look at the person who called my name. It's a man, he looks nice, hair a little weird, probably in his 40's. Fuck it, I have nothing to lose, I follow him. He takes me to his office and tells me to have a seat. His office is depressing. It's small, it also looks like it is from 1985 and the lighting is brutal. He says his name is Bob and he is one of the therapists at the clinic. He starts off by asking what brings me here. I reply with I keep going through bad bouts of depression. As the years go on the bouts get worse and last longer. I went to my family doctor and told him I can go from being super depressed to really hyper, happy with a positive outlook on life and that it is mentally exhausting. I said my family doctor felt like that sounded like Bipolar but he isn't an expert in that and advised I should see a psychiatrist. Bob replied with do you go days on end without any sleep? I said no I don't, but all my life I have always slept more that normal. I tell him when I was a baby my Dad told me I slept so much that he would panic and wake me up to feed me. Your not Bipolar if you don't go days on end without sleep, he says. He proceeds to ask me many questions. I am pissed off that he dismissed the Bipolar disorder so quickly. If I'm not Bipolar then what am I? There has to be a reason, why I am like this? 

He asks me what my childhood was like. I tell him I was bullied a lot in school. He asks why I was bullied? I replied with I was a dork and people liked to pick on me. Also people would say I'm weak and call me a faggot. I mention that in gym class some of the boys would take my clothes and soak them in the shower so I would have to walk around in my gym clothes all day. He asks me are you gay? I said yes I am. He asks how do you handle feeling depressed? I replied I normally would hide in my room and sleep. I will sleep anywhere from 10 to 16 hours. When I am not sleeping, I will eat fast food, drink pop, slurpees, iced capps. I will have sex, a lot of sex. He asks you can be quite promiscuous? I said yes.  He asks, I see you put on the form you have HIV? Yes I do, I was diagnosed March 1st 2010. How has that been for you? he asks. It hasn't been easy, I say. I am angry with myself for getting HIV. He asks me what I would like to get out of therapy? I struggle to find an answer. I say I just want to be happy, I want to learn coping mechanisms to deal with the depression, anxiety and stress. He says do you know why you go into bad depressions? I said I don't know, I just do. I hate life most of the time. He asks, have you heard of the saying, don't cry over spilled milk? I reply yes. He asks me what does that mean to you? Don't sweat the small things I say. He asks me have you heard of the saying the river runs deep? Yes I say. He says I think with you, the river runs deep, very deep. He mentions to me that they have a program, call the Evening Treatment Program. It is a group therapy program, it is very intensive, it runs for 18 and a half weeks. It's requires quite a bit of commitment. It looks at your childhood and how it's impacted you. Is this something you would be interested in doing? I said yes if you think it can really help me. He said well let me talk to the Psychiatrist and review your file with her and we will meet with you at 10:30 am? That’s about an hour and a half away so if you like, you can go grab breakfast, just make sure you’re in the waiting room for 10:30 am. I said okay sounds good. I walk out of the office, down the hallway and exit the psychiatric clinic. I let out a huge sigh of relief. I say to myself, good job Jared, I'm glad I did this. Even though I am glad I came here, my anxiety is still through the roof. 

I walk across the street to Tim Horton’s and get a breakfast sandwich and a giant iced capp. I sit down and take my first sip of the iced capp. The sugary, creamy, coffee flavour hits my tongue, slides down my throat. Ahhhh so good. I'm nervous about meeting with the Psychiatrist. I've never met with a Psychiatrist before; I have heard mixed reviews from people about Psychiatrists. It seems sometimes you get someone who cares and sometimes you just get a dick head. I really liked the Bob guy, he seemed like he really cared. In the assessment he asked me if I wanted to stop being promiscuous and have a committed relationship. I looked at him embarrassed and said yes, but I'm too scared. Why would someone want to be with me if I am so messed up? I sit in Tim Horton’s, drinking my iced capp, staring out the window, thinking about my meeting with Bob. What the fuck has brought me here? Seriously, what has happened that I get so depressed? Why does life have to be so fucking hard? 

It's time for me to meet with the Psychiatrist. My heart is ready to jump out of my chest. I'm sitting in the waiting room, waiting for Bob. He shows up and asks me to come with him. I walk behind him down the hallway. We go around the corner and into the office. It's a woman Psychiatrist this relives me. I prefer a woman to a man, except for Bob, there is something about him that makes me feel instantly comfortable with him. The Psychiatrist introduces herself and asks me to take a seat. I go to sit down and I fall into the chair, holy crap this chair is low I say. She starts asking me some of the same questions Bob asked me. Why am I here? What has been going on? What happens when I feel depressed? She asks me about the stress at work and why I am on Short Term Disability leave. She tells me that the 50 mg a day of Zoloft I am on is a really low dose, that we should increase it to 100 mg a day. I am fine with that I say. She tells me to take 75 mg a day for two weeks and then 100 mg a day going forward. She asks me how I found out about the Psychiatric/Therapy clinic. I told her I had an appointment with my family doctor, and how he thought maybe I was Bipolar and he mentioned there was walk in clinics at the U of A and Royal Alex. So I researched it online, came across the U of A one, called and then came in. She asks me questions to figure out if I am Bipolar. She says the same thing as Bob, I don't go days on end with no sleep so it doesn't sound like Bipolar. She agrees with Bob's recommendation, that the Evening Treatment Program would be beneficial for me, to figure out the core issues related to my depression and to work through the feelings. She says she will forward my information to the Evening Treatment Team and they will contact me to setup an appointment to meet with them. I leave the clinic with my prescription of Zoloft and a follow up appointment with Bob next week. I am scared but also looking forward to getting past this depression. I go home exhausted and sleep for several hours.

Health Update - Fake stroke and falling asleep while pooping

I had my latest appointment with my HIV specialist a couple of weeks ago. CD4 cells were 640 and my viral load is still undetectable. YAY! I was on Atripla for over a year, but I couldn't handle the side effects anymore. I kept having such vivid, intense dreams every night it felt like I wasn't sleeping at all. In August I told my doctor and we switched my meds to Truvada, Reyataz and Norvir. I haven't been having crazy dreams and my sleeping has been much much better. Going through group therapy made me realize, I need to learn to speak up. Just because I have HIV doesn't mean I don't deserve to have a good quality of life. I've spent a lot of time feeling guilty for contracting HIV and group therapy has helped me learn how to forgive myself.

In other health matters, things have not been going so well. Starting in September I started having fatigue. I assumed that it was from being in group therapy four hours a day and once I was done I would start feeling better. I finished group therapy at the end of September and the fatigue has been getting worse and worse. I am extremely exhausted every single day. Thankfully I am still on medical leave from being in the group therapy, so I am only working 4 hours a day. I work from 8 am to 12 pm and it feels like I worked a sixteen hour shift. I go home and nap for 4-5 hours and then I have no problem sleeping my regular 7-8 hours a night.

Everything I do makes me tired and short of breath. Walking to the basement to do laundry, makes me tired and short of breath. It's ridiculous. A couple of weeks ago I shovelled the side walks and thought I was going to die I was so tired and out of breath. I went in the house (I can't believe I am going to share this) and had to go to the washroom. I was sitting on the toilet and...... I fell asleep! Yup that is correct, I fell asleep while pooping. WTF?! Who falls asleep while pooping? Not normal. I told my doctor about all this and his response was that it was probably my depression that was making me so tired. He suggested I go back on an anti-depressant. I told him I wasn't feeling depressed, I told him that I don't feel sad and I'm not withdrawing from friends and family. He said to just give the anti-depressant a try. I filled the prescription for the Celexa and after a few weeks, I let him know my mood was really great on the Celexa but I was still feeling exhausted and sleeping a lot. (My friends said I seemed so cute, happy and jolly - tee hee) I had also been to the hospital in that time because I was having troubles breathing and having chest pains.

The hospital ran a lot of blood tests, checked my thyroid, checked for infections, all came back normal. They took a stool sample (the highlight of that was when the nurse yelled down the hall to me - while I was waiting to get my chest x-ray) - she yelled "Jared is this your stool sample in here?" Yup, thanks for letting everyone know, I crapped into a container. All the tests and chest x-ray came back normal, they sent me home. Most recently my doctor sent me for a sleep apnea test and stress test. I have an appointment with him on Tuesday to review the results.

Then I have been having weird, creepy stroke symptoms. A few weeks ago I woke up and I had this weird numbness on the left side of my face and my left arm felt a little weak. I went to work and joked with my co-worker that I was probably having a stroke. After work I went to Arby's, I'm sitting there eating my sandwich and my hands won't work. I am trying to pick up the sandwich, I know how to pick up a sandwich, but my hands just won't do what I want them to do. I am freaking out, trying not to cry. After a couple of minutes I finally manage to get the sandwich into my hands,  but my mouth won't work. I am trying to bite and chew but my brain says nope, not today! The food just falls out of my mouth. After a couple of minutes my hands and mouth start working again but now I feel dizzy and really out of it. I keep thinking to myself, I need to get home, need to get home. I get up and drive home. Thankfully I made it home safely. I walk in the door and my roommate (my friend of eleven years), can instantly tell somethings wrong. She looks at me and says "what's wrong." I'm trying to respond but I can't find the words, all I can get out is "my brain won't work." "Umm what happened" she responds. I try to tell her about the Arby's incident, later she tells me I was talking really slow and slurring some of my words. I tell her about my hand's and mouth not working, she says "umm I think your having a stroke, I am taking you to the hospital."

Off to the hospital we go. I had to wait an hour to get in, which is extremely fast compared to the time I had appendicitis and had to wait seven hours to be seen. The triage nurse is asking me questions, it's taking me forever to respond. She asks me to spell my name and I just stare at her blankly. I get brought in and they do some neurological tests. My left arm, hand and left leg are considerably weaker than my right side, which worries them. They shine light in my eyes and I want to punch them in the face it hurts so much. The week before when I was in the hospital, they put the light in my eyes and I didn't even flinch. They give me two chewable advils and tell me they are going to send me for a CT scan. I see the head doctor in the distance, my he is good looking. I am wheeled to the CT scan and the CT technologist is also quite good looking. I think to myself, is this Grey's Anatomy? They complete the CT scan of my head and send me back. The guy taking me back is very cute. Do they schedule all the good looking people to work at the same time? Or is my stroke making everyone seem good looking? Who knows. My friend and I wait and wait and finally the neurologist comes.

CT scan came back normal, which is good but a CT scan won't always show if there is a stroke. They want to do an MRI but can't do one till morning, so I was admitted and had to stay overnight for observation. The next morning I have my MRI. Oh my lord, the MRI machine is loud. It sounds like someone is doing construction right next to your head. Is this machine from 1935? After thirty minutes the MRI is finally down. Back up to my room I go. The head neurologist comes up and says my MRI has come back normal. Definitely not a stroke. She says they think my symptoms are being caused by a migraine with aura. I respond with "but I don't have a headache." She tells me that can happen sometimes. I look at her skeptically. She asks me how the numbness is and I tell her it's still there but not as bad as the day before. She said that's good, that they are going to send me home. She tells me if it doesn't go away in a couple of days or get's worse to come back to the ER.

Well two days later it's worse. My hand keeps seizing/locking up, the numbess is in the left side of my neck, my ears, and the back of my head. I am nauseated off an on. I go back to the ER, wait three hours to be seen. The doctor says they are going to give me some migraine medications via IV and an anti-nauseant via the IV. I get my IV, I get my meds and the numbess starts going away. Yay, maybe it is just a creepy migraine with aura with no headache I am having. The doctor writes me a prescription and I leave. WELL! I am driving home and the numbess comes back with a vengance. It goes from my left temple, my left ear and to the bottom of my jaw. I am angry and refuse to go back to the hospital. I go home and go to bed. The next day, I decide to fill the prescription, maybe it just needs a few days to work. NOPE! Medication was definitely making it worse. I stopped the medication and went to my family doctor. I told him what happened and he looked at me with a WTF look. He prescribes me a different migraine medication - Flunarizine. I fill that medication and start taking it. I have been on it for two weeks now and no improvement. On the plus side it hasn't made things worse. If this truly is a migraine with aura with no headache, is it then the longest migraine ever? This past Friday my symptoms were really bad. Numbness on the side of my face, my left hand kept seizing/locking up, especially when I had to do things at work like remove a paper clip. It's been extremely frustrating and scary. Whenever I google/research my symptoms, MS always comes up. Whatever it is, I hope we figure it out soon and hope it's treatable.

Group Therapy Post # 2

It's Saturday, I am nervous heading to my doctor's appointment. My anxiety is through the roof. I hate talking about such personal issues. I hate admitting it's a problem. I want to give up. I walk into the doctor's office and check in for my appointment. I sit in the waiting room, staring at the ugly pale pink wall colour, thinking about what I should say. I am shaking my foot up and down trying to control the anxiety, it's not working. Jared, come to room two I hear. I walk into the room. The nurse asks me what I am hear for, I nervously say "depression" in a weak voice. She tells me it's okay, that it takes courage to come in and get help. She closes the door and I wait for the doctor.

I am staring at the poster on the wall, it has pictures of damaged ear drums. It's quite disgusting, it temporarily distracts me from my anxiety. My doctor walks in, he asks me how I am doing. I tell him horrible. I say to him "I feel depressed, I am stressed out and have constant anxiety." I tell him that one moment I can be super happy, very hyper and on top of the world. I will eat healthy, lose weight and be productive. Then the next moment I will hate life, eat really poorly and want to give up. It makes me feel like a crazy person. My doctor responds with "it sounds like you might have bipolar but I am not sure as that is not my area of expertise." "That is what I have been thinking as well, I have been reading up on it and I was wondering if I should see a psychiatrist" I said. He said that might be a good idea and advised me that there are Psychiatry walk in clinics at the U of A hospital and at the Royal Alex hospital. I also told him I can't go back to work, it's too stressful. My blood pressure has been through the roof. A couple of weeks earlier I was at the Endocrinologists office and they took my blood pressure and they were so concerned it was high, that they didn't want me to go back to work for the rest of the day. I asked him if I brought short term disability forms would he fill them out. He said yes. I asked him if he could write me a doctors note stating I need to be off work immediately.  I left the doctors appointment with my note and went straight home.

 As soon as I got home, I pulled out my Macbook and typed in Alberta Health Services in google. I went to the website and starting searching. A couple of hours later (it felt like a billion years later) I think I found what I needed. It was titled Psychiatric Treatment Clinic - U of A. It was the weekend so unfortunately they weren't open. As soon as Monday morning rolled around I gave them a call. They explained I would need to come in for an assessment. They do assessments at 830 am and 1230 pm daily. I went to work and told my manager I need to speak with her in private. We went to a meeting room and I told her I can't handle the stress anymore. I told her I also felt exhausted all the time because of my "chronic illness". She doesn't know that my chronic illness is HIV. I told her I have a doctor's note advising I need to be off work immediately. She told me she understood and hoped I felt better soon and asked me if I would be staying for the day. I said my doctor wants me off immediately but I will stay for a half a day to wrap things up. I went to my desk and wrote up instructions for a certain type of invoices that I am the only one that processes. I changed my voicemail to say I will be out of the office until further notice and put an out of office reply on my e-mail. I left work and felt relief I wouldn't have to be going back for a while. I went home and slept for twelve hours.

Group Therapy Post # 1

I've decided to write about my journey going through group therapy. Participating in group therapy was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was also the best thing I have ever done. I am going to chronicle my experience from when I decided I needed help, till now.


It's Thursday February 2nd 2012. I am at work, I am sitting at my desk, turned away from my computer. My phone is ringing, I am choosing to ignore it. It's another supplier calling to yell about not being paid. I have a window seat, I am staring out the window at the parking lot, fantasying about how I can escape. I imagine myself taking my chair and smashing it through the window. I am only on the second floor, the drop wouldn't be that bad. I would tuck and roll as I hit the ground. I would stand up and brush myself off and make a mad dash for my car. I would jump in my car and peel out of there, not looking back. I hate my job. Last July we transitioned to a new system, the new system wasn't ready, it's been hell ever since. I don't deal with stress well. It is now seven months later, the flood gates were opened, and we are still dealing with the aftermath. I hate life, I hate my job, I am depressed, stressed out, constant anxiety, I can't keep doing this anymore.

I grab my cell phone and go out to my car, I think about driving off but I realize that isn't rational. I call my doctor's office instead, asking them when the next available appointment is. They tell me this Saturday. "I'll take it I say." They ask me what I need to see the doctor for, I say "depression, stress and anxiety." Last May I went and saw my doctor about having depression and he put me on 50 mg a day of Zoloft. It helped in the beginning, a little bit, but not really. I just want to be happy. Fuck!

It's been quite awhile

Wow, I haven't written a post in over two years. It's been an intense two years, but I truly can say I am a better person. I've changed jobs a few times, went through a group therapy program and more. I've decided I will revive the blog. I was shocked to see how many people have viewed it.

After my last blog post, I quit writing because I felt that writing about having HIV was letting HIV define me as a person. I have realized that HIV doesn't define me as a person. Only I can define me. Yes, HIV is a part of me, but I don't have to let it make me who I am.

I will talk about having HIV in this blog but I will also talk about going through group therapy and my life in general. The group therapy has helped me realize, holding in my thoughts and feelings is unhealthy. I am entitled to my feelings and entitled to express them. I've spent most of my life punishing myself and I am finally realizing I don't deserved to be punished. I have been through a lot of traumatic events in my life. Everyday is a challenge but a challenge I now feel I can face. I hope by writing this blog it will be therapeutic for me and help others as well.

Can't I just hide in my bed?

I just want to stay in bed, everyday, all day. I don't have the energy to deal with all this crap.

Let's take a step back and update what has been going on, since it has been a while since I have posted. I went to the Infectious Disease Specialist on March 31st. My blood tests weren't too bad. My CD4's are 450, normal levels are 500 - 1500. While mine are below the normal level, it isn't so low that I have to start HIV meds right away - yay! My viral load is 21000, which isn't great but isn't horrible as well. My uric acid levels came back a bit high - so I have to cut down on the red meat and booze - sadness - 2 of my favorite things haha.

The ID doctor was really nice. At first I thought, hmmm the appointment went really well, But then I had a few days to think about it. I realize the appointment was really quick - less than 30 minutes. He went over what HIV is, how it affects my health, that I will have to go for blood tests every three months, and that I don't need to go on medication right away. He asked me if I had any questions - my mind was blank - I was so nervous I couldn't remember what questions I had. I even wrote them down so I wouldn't forget.... but I forgot the paper with my questions in my car lol. He said okay see you in three months. The nurse came out and said okay, let's go get your hepatitis B shot done. While we are walking to the room, I ask "so do I make the appointment for my next blood tests right now?" She said "yeah if you want." I just wanted to get out of there so I said I would just call and make the appointment. During the appointment he asked me if he could send my family doctor a letter stating that I am HIV positive. I told him of course, it's important that he knows. Now that I mention that, I am thinking what things do I go to my family doctor for and what things should I go to my ID doctor for? Also during the appointment, when he was telling me I need to cut down on the red meat, I mentioned that I had been depressed lately and when I am depressed I eat a LOT of fast food. He said "you know McDonalds has salads right?" I wanted to be like "you know I could piss in your face right?" If if was that easy don't you think I would eat the fucking salad! And then I start thinking, ummm shouldn't you have maybe touched on the depression??? He didn't ask me how bad it was or if I needed help at all. Next appointment, I will remember my piece of paper with questions! And there will be many many questions. Also I realize I need to step up, grow a pair, and express what I need from him as my doctor. He's not a mind reader.

On to the next thing. So recently I was hanging out with a group of friends and our one friend was telling us about his crazy roommate and how he finally kicked him out. First I should mention this group of friends I was hanging out with do not know I have HIV. So my friend is talking about his ex-roommate and he mentions that he found out his roommate was HIV positive. It was hard for me not to react, hard for me not to give away my secret. I sat there, looking at everyone, palms getting sweating, heart racing, feeling like they know my secret, just because the word HIV has been spoken. My friend goes on to say that his mom bought him a new mattress because his ex-roommate had slept in his bed when he wasn't home sometimes and she didn't want him "getting" anything. The rage I felt. I calmly said "you know HIV isn't an airborne disease right?" They said, well obviously, but still. Then my other friend goes on to say "would you want to be living with someone who has HIV?" CRACK! my heart falls to pieces. I had to bite my inner lip so tears wouldn't come. I sat there staring at the roof, thinking, I guess I will never be telling her. It really hurts, because these are really close friends. I have a small group of friends all of them very close to me. I don't just have "acquaintances." I am so afraid I will lose them over this. All because of their ignorance, because they haven't been properly educated. A couple of weeks ago I was hanging out with them, and my friend was talking about how her brother was telling their mom he eats a lot because he is depressed. His mom said " what are you talking about depressed, only women get depressed." My friends thought this was the most hilarious comment ever. The one friend who said "would you want to live with a person who has HIV?" said haha I love it, it's so true, men getting depressed, that's stupid. I've only known for a month and half that I am HIV positive.... it feels like I have known for a year.

I am very behind on my bills... verrrry. I have three credit cards that I am past due on - that amounts to many many collection calls a day. I never answer them, but it still stresses me out when they call. I know I should deal with it, I just can't. I just want to runaway and hide. Maybe grab a tent and go hide out in the woods somewhere. I would call to make payment arrangements - but I don't have the money to pay anything. I don't have any money because of an evil thing called overdraft. Being depressed is a vicious fucking circle. When I am depressed, I usually go online to hook up(which led to me having HIV), after I hook up I am even more depressed so I go and get fast food, also I would spend money on stupid things, going to the dollar store and buying things I don't need, buying underwear at Calvin Klein because it's on sale, buying clothes at H&M - doing all this to make myself feel better. Well I ended up using my overdraft to pay my car insurance, rent and car payment because I had spent my actual money on all this stupid crap. Well now I can't get caught up. Overdraft is exactly like getting a pay day loan. I can't catch up. My paycheck is automatically deposited so when it gets deposited it goes right to the overdraft. Since it all goes to the overdraft, then I end up having to use the overdraft again to pay bills, buy food, etc. I keep meaning to call to make an appointment to see a bankruptcy trustee, to see if they can setup payment arrangements or see if I will have to claim bankruptcy but even then - until I can get caught up from the overdraft I can't afford to make payments or even if I claim bankruptcy you have to make a payment every month for nine months based on your income - I can't afford this payment - I can't afford to claim bankruptcy - hahahahaha life is so fucked.

Work is another difficult thing. I work in a call center taking complaints for pizza. For freaking pizza. Someone doesn't get their dipping sauce - well they think it's perfectly acceptable to yell scream, swear and berate me. Can't get your ham diced? OMG your life is over. Since finding out I have HIV, my patience is very thin dealing with these fucktards! I just want to yell out - I found out I have a disease that can't be cured and your yelling at me about pepperoni!!! I have been very short with customers. I wish I could take a month off, try and get my life sorted out, but as we know I am poor so it's not like I can afford to take time off work.

I am very frustrated with life and very angry at myself for letting this happen.

I fail.

I showed up for my appointment, yay!

So, I show up for my appointment. It probably helped that my good friend was coming with me for support. We met a half an hour before the appointment at a coffee shop.

I started the day, not wanting to get out of bed. I love sleep and I love my bed. I truly do. BUT, I got my ass out of bed at 11:30 am, I can't remember the last time I got out of bed before noon. Oh wait I remember, it was when I had a horrible experience at an employment agency and I was told I couldn't have the job because I had two late payments on my credit report... but that's a whole other story.

So, I got out of bed and had a shower. I then blow dried my hair and decided to flat iron my hair... I know, could I be any more gay! My flat iron is awesome! My friend bought it for me, she's a hair dresser, it's so tiny and cute. So anyways, after flat ironing my hair I realized I was behind schedule, so I didn't have time for breakfast.

I was two minutes late meeting my friend; I was late for good reason though, I parked 10 blocks away for free parking and walked all the way to meet her, it was a way to get exercise..... yes that's why I did it... exercise haha.

I ordered a caffee latte, I should mention I hate the taste of coffee. I was assuming it would be creamy like chai lattes I get, but oh no, I was wrong. Coffee to me, tastes like dirt. So I went to the counter to get sugar; well I almost put salt packets in my coffee, but thankfully the coffee gal working pointed me in the direction of the sugar. I put some sugar and milk in it... and then it tasted wonderful. Now I was all jittery from not eating and drinking coffee. My appointment was at the STD clinic... they have a doctors clinic there. To get to the reception desk, you have to walk down a long hallway. I like to call it the "walk of shame". One of these days, I really want to burst to in an exam room and say "how's that q-tip in your penis?".

So we get to the reception desk and the woman in the chair looks at me and then walks away. There are 6 other people and they are having a conversation. All I ask is to be acknowledged. Just a "hi, we will be right with you would suffice." But noooo that would be too simple. So anyways someone finally acknowledges me and tells me to have a seat.

S0 the doctor comes and gets me and we go to one of the rooms. She asks me if I have a list of my partners from January 2008, oops I thought they wanted from January 2009, not like it matters because I could only provide a list of three people. Unfortunately, most of my partners were anonymous that I either met offline or at a bathhouse. I'm not proud of it, I wish I would have had the ability to seek help for my depression, but I didn't. What's done is done. Need to look forward.

So then she asks me if I would like a book on HIV. I tell her yes I would . She hands me the book. This book is like a freaking text book! It has 22 chapters! Then I get on the bed thingy (I can't remember what it's called, I have had a couple of coconut rum and pepsi lime drinks while writing this... tee hee). She puts the rubber band around my right arm but can't find a vein. The she ties it around my left arm and finds a usable vein. While she is doing this I think about my appointment two weeks ago, when the nurse was trying to find my vein and kept calling my veins little buggers (best nurse ever by the way, I have never laughed so much at a doctors appointment). So anyways, she puts the needle in and jokes that I probably won't need a blood transfusion after. I ask her how many viles of blood she is taking and she tells me 11. I think to myself "shit, I should have had some breakfast." I am staring at the roof and the air vent catches my attention, it's effing crusty. It's all brown and dusty. What the hell?? It looks like someone took a shit on the roof.

Then she asks me what I do for a living. I tell her I work in a call center for a pizza company taking complaints. I go on about how people are passionate about their pizzas and that the world comes to an end when we forget their dipping sauce. She starts laughing and says she couldn't do my job, she would just end up telling people off. So finally she is done stealing all the blood out of my body. She leaves the room via the side door, and then come backs through another door. She says ha! I am houdini! I laugh, and think to myself, wow I am lucky that I have such awesome nurses/doctors to deal with. She tells me they take so much blood to test me for everything and anything such as tuberculosis and stuff. She hands me a form to go get chest x-rays taken, which also tests for tuberculosis.

A few thoughts go through my mind. First one is: this is what my life is going to be, constant medical test the rest of my life, fuck! Next I think thankfully I live in Canada and this is all covered by healthcare because right now I have no money (that is a whole other story I have to talk about).

So I leave the room and go to the waiting room where my friend is waiting for me. We leave and we go run some errands she has to do. We are at an office, she has some forms to fill out. I am standing beside her and start to feel light headed. I remember that I didn't eat breakfast and had 11 viles of blood taken, soooo maybe I should have something to eat. So when she is done, we head to the food court. This is the weakest food court I have ever seen. I am a food court connoisseur. I demand that I have selection! There is like 3 things to choose from. So I end up eating teriyaki chicken stir fry. It was good, but I still like to have options. I come home and take all my clean laundry off the floor and finally hang it up. I then watch the last half of hour of America's Next Top Model and realize why I stopped watching the show.... Tyra is freaking annoying!

Well that's my day, I know I rambled but it feels good to talk about what happened, to talk about the good, the bad and even the insignificant details of my day.

Tee hee. ( I love saying tee hee)