Bi-Yearly HIV Appointment - Abnormal cells, medication change & more!

I had my bi-yearly appointment with my HIV doctor yesterday. My appointment was in person, not a telephone appointment. At first I was annoyed by this, I didn't want to drive all the way downtown. However, getting to see my doctor and nurse was great. They are both so kind, friendly and energetic. It was also good to get out and have a regular appointment which provided some normalcy during these uncertain times.

My viral load is still undetectable woot woot! We are going to switch my medication from Triumeq to Dovato. Apparently,studies show that three medications in one aren't needed for people who's HIV has been stable. I'm down for that! It's still only one pill but the less medication I need to take feels like a good thing since, I take quite a few for different issues. 

Unfortunately my liver enzymes are still high. Three years ago my family doctor sent me for an ultrasound, I was told I have the beginnings of non-alcoholic fatty liver disease. Well, three years later my enzymes are still high so I have to go for another ultrasound. Thankfully I don't have to wait too long, my appointment is on August 24th. I've been trying to eat healthy, the struggle is real.

I LOVE fast food. My Mom barely cooked when I was a kid, so we ordered out a lot. Our fridge and pantry were always full, my Mom bought healthy things but when we had pizza pops and wagon wheels in full stock all the time and she was at work all the time, choosing healthy was rarely a thing. My poor brain has been loving fast food since I was a kid. When I'm happy I want fast food. When I'm sad, I want fast food. When I'm angry, I want fast food. 

I've tried over the years, many, many, many times to stop eating fast food. My doctor was like you need to eat healthy, exercise and lose weight. I said "I'm trying." I've been going for long walks. I've been increasing my fruits and veggies but sometimes the cravings for fast food are so intense. Lately I've been working on self-compassion and working on my anxiety. I keep reminding myself every time I try to quit fast food cold turkey, I always crash. So I am trying to make small changes and increase them over time. I rarely drink alcohol anymore. Last year I decided to limit drinking alcohol to help my physical and mental health. I realized even if I just have a couple of drinks, my mental health would be impacted negatively because of it. 

I also have to go see a gastroenterologist because my anal pap smears keep showing abnormal cells (atypical squamous cells of undetermined significance - ascus). A few years ago I had to have some of the cells removed for a biopsy (side note: the doctor accidentally shocked my asshole and then I awkwardly had to figure out how to put a maxi pad on - (I'm a guy) - with no help from the medical staff, I realized it attached to the underwear haha). Thankfully the biopsy didn't come back as cancerous. Fingers crossed that will be the result again.

I also have to go for tests for blood sugar and cholesterol because I haven't had those done in quite awhile.

It was quite a jam packed appointment, usually I go in and it's:

💊 Any issues taking your medications? / How many doses have you missed?

💊 Your viral load is undetectable

💊 Your shots are all up to date

💊 Here is your prescription, see you in 6 months

I am thankful that I have an awesome doctor and an awesome nurse. I am thankful that anytime I've needed a shot, the cost is covered by our healthcare. I am thankful when I've needed a procedure, I didn't have to worry about going into health care debt, that our taxes go to our healthcare. I am thankful that I can discuss my HIV and my other health issues and needs with my family and friends.

Stuck in Between - I'm a Large and a Half

I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm sad. I am tired of being rejected. Whether it be trying to meet people for dating or getting laid, I get rejected...all the freaking time! I've been told, "sorry I'm only into white dudes." I understand that people have preferences, but when I look at myself in a mirror and see a white dude looking back, I wonder, what the hell is wrong with you. Then I will hear "sorry I'm only into fit guys" but then the next guy says to me "sorry I only like bigger guys." Is there no in-between category? Is there any in between sized lovers out there? Then I get told "I'm only into young guys" and then I hear "sorry I'm into older guys only." Is there no one that likes a guy in his early 30's? Next

I hear "sorry I'm into masculine guys only" and then I'm told "sorry I'm into a more feminine guy." Should I tell them about the time, when MSN Messenger still existed, that a guy said to me "is that your sister in that picture, she's really pretty." I responded with "that's me." The guy messaged back "oh, well you look nice, oh phone call, gotta go." It's like when I go shopping and try on clothes, a large doesn't fit but an extra large is way too big. I am always stuck in the middle!

When I do finally find a dude that is into a guy that's in-between all the preferences, a guy that is into a large and a half, I then have to tell them about being HIV Positive. So, I have passed the first 20 damn hurdles, received some scrapes and bruises along the way and now it's time for the pole vault and I have to vault over 20 feet to get over the next one.

If one more guy asks me if I am "clean" I am going to lose my shit. I have started responding with "yes I am clean, I have a shower every day and make sure to clean my ass before sex, now if your wondering if I am HIV Positive, the answer is yes. I am on medications and my viral load is undetectable, if you are unsure what that means, please feel free to ask questions. All I ask, is you stop asking if someone is "clean", just because I have HIV, it doesn't make me dirty."

I feel my response works two-fold, one I get to provide the sarcastic response which satisfies my bitterness and immaturity, but then I also try to educate them. I understand I am probably negating the education part by having the sarcastic response, but frankly I don't care it feels good, ha! I sometimes mention to them, that being with a guy who is honest and open about being HIV Positive and is on medications and their viral load is undetectable and you use a condom, you are going to be just safe or even safer. With someone who says they are HIV Negative, unless they are providing you a very recent copy of their test results and you can verify their id against the information on the test results, you have no way of knowing if they are telling the truth. Sadly, most of the time, they respond with sorry I just can't do it with a Poz guy.

I recently downloaded Tinder, big mistake. I quickly deleted it after a guy messaged me and said "you should be like that Subway guy Jared and eat at Subway so you can lose weight." I was on Match.com for a while and had no success. I don't know where to meet people, it is very frustrating. At this point, I have been kicked so many times, that I am starting to give up. Just resigning myself to the fact that I probably won't ever be in a romantic relationship or even get laid. Fuck.

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 # 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.

My Disease is worse than yours

Yesterday I was reading various tweets on Twitter and clicked on a link to an article about HIV. It talked about how HIV isn't a death sentence anymore. It also talked about how HIV is compared to having diabetes - both are considered manageable diseases. In the comments section of the article, people were arguing about how their disease is worse than HIV. Specifically there were people arguing about whether having HIV or Diabetes was worse.

When I was first diagnosed with HIV a few thoughts ran through my head. How bad is this? Am I going to die right away? If I go on medications will I have horrible side effects? Will my friends and family still love me? And so on. The next week I met with my HIV doctor, an infectious disease specialist. The first thing he said to me is, HIV isn't a death sentence, it's like having diabetes. Both are manageable chronic illnesses. Both require daily medications to control the disease. Both can result in death or other illnesses if not managed properly. Type 1 Diabetics have to inject insulin everyday. I get to swallow pills. Both HIV and Type 1 Diabetes have no cure.

According to the Mayo Clinic website, the theory behind Type 1 Diabetes is the immune system destroys insulin producing islet cells. Complications of Type 1 Diabetes include:

• Heart and blood vessel disease
• Neuropathy
• Kidney damage
• Eye Damage
• Foot Damage
• Skin and mouth conditions
• Osteoporosis

According to the Mayo Clinic website, HIV destroys CD4 cells which play a roll in protecting the immune system. When CD4 cells are destroyed, the immune system becomes compromised. Complications include:

• Tuberculosis
• Cytomegalovirus (can cause damage to eyes, digestive tract and more)
• Neuropathy
• Kidney Disease
• Cryptococcal Meningitis
• Kaposi's Sarcoma

You're probably wondering why I am comparing the diseases. The reason I am comparing them, is I want to know, is one disease truly worse than the other? I don't believe so. Both diseases are horrible diseases to have. Both diseases affect quality of life. Both diseases can lead to serious complications and/or death. Looking at the complications, they are quite similar and serious in nature. Both can result in neuropathy, kidney damage and damage to the eyes. Is it fair to say my disease is worse than yours? I don't believe so. Is it fair to say some diseases are more serious than others? Absolutely. At the end of the day, how bad a disease is for someone is for that person to decide. 

I was shocked to see how many people in the comment sections of that article were trying to say "their disease was worse than someone else's, or worse than HIV. I think as human beings, not all, but a lot like to have a pity party. It helps us deal with what is affecting us. I don't agree with saying my disease is worse than yours. I don't know how your disease affects you, I am not you. I only know how my disease affects me. If it's horrible to me, then it's horrible. If your disease is horrible for you, then it's horrible. It's all relative to that person, to their circumstances, their life. 

Instead of judging each other and trying to compete with each other, using are diseases as a game, let's show compassion for each other. Let's try to understand each other and be there for each other.

Medications

I just took my HIV medications, as I normally do every night, around this time. After I downed the third pill, I sat there, staring at the prescription bottles. I realized how fortunate I am. Yes I have a horrible disease. Yes the disease isn't a "death sentence" anymore, BUT it's still a very serious disease that kills too many people. At the same time how lucky am I, I only have to take three pills a day to control the disease. In my province where I live, they pay for my medications. I don't pay a cent - in the beginning I had a lot of guilt over this. But as I went through group therapy and explored my issues, my mental health and childhood, I realized getting HIV wasn't black or white. It was a lot more complicated than just saying "I did it to myself." As I ramble on, my point is, I hate having this horrible disease but at the same time I an consider myself fortunate.