Fast Forward

This will be the last intro posting.  If you haven't discovered by now, I can be long winded.  I am striving for pith in this post.

I'm reclining on a sofa in Rome, banging this out on my keyboard, with my wonderful boyfriend Matt in the other room.  Matt doesn't know I'm doing this.  He thinks I'm working.  I'm not telling him about it just yet, so this will be our little secret.

After the John incident, I got to work getting my physical and mental health in order.  I haven't had a panic attack in five years, my viral load has been undetectable for nearly eight, and my T-cells have been high for a similarly long time.  I take daily HIV medication, but no longer take anti-anxiety or depression medicine.

College was tough.  I didn't get better immediately, and for a while my (mental) health got worse.  Eventually, I came out on the other side and had my first mature healthy relationships.  In the past eight years, I've fallen in love three times, each with men who are still very dear to me.

I graduated school, went into a typical over-achiever job, hated it, went and did something more entrepreneurial, loved it, and did that for a while.  After some very modest success, I'm taking some time to work in a field I feel passionate about, giving back a little to the world that has blessed me with a great life. Case in point: I'm in Rome on a month-long vacation with my boyfriend.

I say this not to brag, but to underscore a main point of ambivalence about my writing this blog.  I have a good life. I have a job I love, security, a great (and gorgeous) man, even a fucking perfect dog.  What do I have to complain about? When I was infected with HIV, I literally started planning my funeral. That this was in the cards for me is never something I considered.

Thank you for reading so far, now it's time for the real fun to begin.