December 1st, 2002 - 6.44 pm
World AIDS Day.
Again.
And I hate it.
Fuck this, you know?
I keep hoping that one of these days, I won't wake up December 1st and rustle around for a black shirt and a red ribbon.
One of these December 1sts, I won't tie my hair back with a red ponytail holder.
One of these December 1sts, I'll know that no one will die of this goddamnawful disease ever ever again.
One of these December 1sts, I'll just be able to revel in the holiday season and not write these entries.
I'd rather write about my tree and the kitten, and my football team and la de dah.
But no. I'm writing about World AIDS Day. I know there's a movement to not capitalize the letters, to give them less power, but I don't buy that. AIDS is an acronym, it's not just one word. It's four. Accquired. Immune. Definciancy. Syndrome. AIDS is a syndrome, a collection of symptoms, not a disease itself. You can't "catch" AIDS. ("How'd I ketch it?" TLS) You can contract HIV, Human Immunodeficancy Virus, the virus that is thought to cause the symptoms that make up Accquired Immune Deficiancy Syndrom, but you can't "catch" AIDS. And for that dumbass kid in my sexuality class, there IS NO FUCKING CURE! There are treatments that will make you fucking sick, but there's no cure. I know more about this disease than I ever wanted to and I still haven't even scratched the surface. I know the drugs, I know the comorbidities, I know the drugs for those
(I was almost put on glucophage for insulin resistance and the first thing that popped into my head was "That's Steve's diabetes medicine.)
I know the activist groups. I know what Kaposi's Sarcoma is. I know Riley and his battle to write Dickie's play.I know that every time I see RENT, I gasp when Angel is put on that table with her white pajamas. I know that there are people out there every day who are LIVING TLS. People living last sessions in whatever they do, because they don't know how long they'll have to DO it.
FUCK.
I can't even write what I'm feeling.
I've been looking for a quote to sum it up and I can't find one. It's like I'm drowning in feeling, and I'm grasping for words, and I can't find them.
Here's what it comes down to --- I miss Jesse. I think about this disease and these faces pop into my head, this picture of Dickie and Riley, in Dickie's kitchen, I remember how much Riley loved that picture. Caroline, this baby, three years old. With purple leasons on the tops of her arms. Steve, who has a devilishly handsome eye patch because of the drugs he takes. I see my Jesse, his dark hair falling over his eyes, I see him shaking it out and smiling at me. And I ache. I just ache.
