Not a Waste at All,

Please have faith. At times like these parents worry about their kids, CEO's worry about their companies, and people who have managed to survive AIDS worry about their health and financial well being. None of these feelings are invalid or self-centered and we all have good reason to be concerned. Things are going to change and sacrifices will have to be made. The possible loss of one's life is no longer reserved for those of us with terminal illnesses. People the world over now know, on some level, how we living with AIDS feel. Globally there is fear and uncertainty. Even so, rising above all of that, we see the sheer strength of individual loving gestures. No terrorist or disease can take that away from us. So much about this most recent tragic loss of lives is reminiscent of a time in the early eighties when the gay community rallied to fight AIDS. The surprise attack, the fear, the staggering human toll, the grappling for answers, the solidarity to try to stop it and the strength of the human spirit lovingly collected together to survive it. Then the choice was fear or love. The AIDS movement now has to merge with a much larger movement that I have faith will benefit us all. Through this horrible event the world has an opportunity to learn compassion, tolerance, patience and most importantly unconditional love and it's many unrecognized powers. This time we have no choice but to choose love.

AIDS is the gay plague. God Made Adam & Eve, not Adam & Steve, and I hope before you die of AIDS (which you got from being a fag) you understand that.

Dear Fellow Human,

Your letter piqued my interest, not just because of the sheer hate, but because it was emailed to me one week to the day, almost to the hour, of the World Trade Center disaster. In other words, at a time when the rest of the world was preparing for a moment of silence for the countless lives affected, you -- a "straight" person were busy surfing gay websites anonymously spreading hate. Perhaps Jerry Falwell and others like him incited your cause or maybe you did it all on your own. Either way I feel for people like you. Rosie O'Donnell said on her show, in trying to explain to her kids the horror of that day, that Usama Bin Laden was a man filled with hate, to which her young son replied, "Mom we gotta get that guy some love." I know that won't sit right with many people, but when spoken with a child's purity I take it to mean that Mr. Bin Laden doesn't much understand love. I pray that someday before you die, of natural causes, you do.

Many years ago, my sister lived with this horrifying disease for three years before she moved on, and I believe the only reason she's not here today is because medication was very expensive back then. I still miss her as if she were gone yesterday, and I'm so angry that so many had to die because it's still all about the business and not about the human lives dying everyday. You are truly an inspirational person and your devotion to the cause still gives me hope that someday we'll all be rid of this murderer. I know you have the love and support of your friends and family, my question to you is: How do you deal with this internally? You seem fragile, yet incredibly strong, so how do you do it?

Dear Thanks for Asking,

In five years no one has ever asked me that before and with all due respect to those close to me, like lots of long term HIVers, I don't give myself enough credit. I think it's important to realize that while support from others can make the ride a helluva lot smoother, I am ultimately the driver. Whether I am too fatigued to walk the dog or always having my arm stuck for blood, there is much about this disease that I have to deal with that family and friends are powerless to understand. To begin with, I allow myself to cry. Everyday I get letters from loving people who have lost something or someone they hold dear, like you have. I empathize with you, but I also see that your sister lives on in your thoughtful letter. I believe that there is a beauty in everything, even sadness and loss, and that you have to allow for fragile moments even in a life made strong by self-esteem. I survive because I have developed that inner strength by exercising my capacity for love. When I first tested positive I went to a support group run by an organization called Body Positive and the group leader was a man named Victor. He taught me to listen and to recognize the positive side of any situation. These were important first steps that applied to living any life, not just a life with AIDS. When he left I ran the group and heard so many life-affirming stories. I watched people survive AIDS while in recovery, without families, without money. They helped me to recognize on a daily basis the love and blessings in my life. Then I read Marianne Williamson's "A Return to Love: Reflections on A Course in Miracles," which led me to "A Course in Miracles," a psychological self-study program that teaches a thought system based on love instead of fear. It maintains that you always have the choice, in any situation, love or fear. Since then I have been choosing love. Yet another book, "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron is a workbook that leads you to your creative self through exercises and spirituality. I think the reason this book is so insightful, besides feeding my creative and spiritual self, is that it helps you to see the beauty in everything around you. The answer itself doesn't lie in a book. It lies in whatever it takes to get you to realize that by developing self-love and accepting love in all it's forms instead expecting it from the same old sources, there is nothing you can't conquer. The other night I walked my dog at twilight and a quartet of 6-year-old boys were rejoicing in a simple firefly chase. They were shrieking with honest, heart-felt laughter that made me grin and think to myself, now that's love. Yesterday at the lab the woman taking my blood asked me if I was afraid, in a very loving way. I told her I have been through this a million times and she slid the needle in my vein so stealthily that I had no clue she had done it. She looked me in the eyes and smiled a big smile and said, "I'm Tina, like Turner, I like to think I'm like Tina Turner." And I said, "Good, you'll live till you're 106 and look damn good doing it." She made me comfy and I made her laugh and thanked her for expressing concern and empathy for all I've been through and I thought, hell, I'll take that love too! I am very lucky to have the support of my family and friends but if all were to fall away this is the love I would survive on. In my mind, there is no heartache that can't be replaced by the power of self-love and love that is always around us, in a child's pure laughter, or the kind ways of a stranger.

I'm on the living room floor with a distillation of my 20 years in New York in piles of diaries, news-clippings and pictures on the floor: pictures of my first boyfriend and me, alongside pictures my Mom took of me in the hospital when I had PCP. There I am, gaunt, forcing a smile, an IV in one arm, and flower arrangements that people had sent me in the other so I could thank them when I got better. (Mom's way of making sure I lived). Twenty years ago I was a teen who had just moved to New York City from the suburbs and realized I was gay. I had a handful of sexual experiences, and for one short year I experienced the freedom of sexual expression without the fear of death. Then AIDS came. For me it started with a tiny article about a "gay cancer" that was killing sexually active gay men. That first summer, unbeknownst to me, I sero-converted. Since then I have, like many, been to hell, and unlike so many more, back again. Close to half of my adult life belongs to AIDS and I hate that, but I am alive because the GLBT community saved me.