Righto, lets delve into my life. Again. Ya’ll love to live vicariously. I know it. You know it. But do you also have the chutzpah to actually live it?
Living with HIV, being undetectable, and having bipolar disorder might sound like a tragic combo, but trust me, I’ve managed to find the humor in even the most absurd situations. And just regular situations where no humor at all was required and likely inappropriate. So, lets go on a short adventure of some of the dumb shit I have to deal with as an bipolar, undetectable human in the wild.
Save the world, save myself.
I’m actually a secret agent. I mean I get the idea that agents should be saving the world (go with me here). I’m an agent that takes a very real and tangible act of saving my own life – every single day. Swallowing the biggest pill most people would be grimace at evening is a life saving moment.
To keep my viral load undetectable, means I’m unable to pass on HIV. I mean that’s pretty cool right? Sure, but consider that every single time I take that pill is a reminder that I am HIV positive. While I’m not able to pass it on, I gave to live with it. With the constant reminder of the turmoil and hell I went through when I was first diagnosed and the self-stigma that is the result of an unkind, ignorant world.
Sorry, that got very serious very fast… I’m a superhero every time I take that pill. It’s a pill that gives me the power to keep others from going through what I have. It’s a lifesaving action that gives me enough space to keep making snarky comments at inopportune times.
I’m no superman, today.
OK, cool we’ve established that I am superman. Excellent. It wasn’t smooth sailing for superman in the dating game either. I have, contrary to popular belief, actually dated. I come flying in to have an ice-cream with a pretty thing, than BAM! I’ll enter with “I’m undetectable and unable to pass on HIV”. Small talk for who, for what though. Why go through that when you can push ice cream into one another’s face and grapple over the latest advances in HIV prevention and cure.
And I can see the date crash into an abyss. Despite my riveting take on the world, insatiable sense of and pretty face. But crash it will – blowing to smithereens on impact. People have told me it’s their loss. Cool story bro. That shit hurts. And it’ll hurt over, and over again, every time I take that bomber of a pill.
Pick a person, any person.
I mean, if it wasn’t bad enough that I have chronic allergies, the bipolar really makes for a fun time. OK, about 90% of the time. The other 10% of the time I’m writing blog posts telling people I’m superman, and the best catch for any man.
Assuming we’ve navigated the HIV bomb, a few days later I’ll be dancing with the wolves howling at the moon. And when I come down from that high that’ll be another “explainer”. Unlike the HIV though, the Bipolar is surly the most difficult of the conversations to have.
This time I’m only an agent when I’ve convinced myself that I am one. Like actually. This makes for a wonderful time finding work in the classic sense. So from on the top of the world to penniless and alone. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been able to bounce back from those dark times – but shit – it was hard. And harder still to have done it alone.
Now I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m having the best time. In the time I’ve spent alone, I’ve managed to find myself. I’ve a backstage pass to the James show: both a comedy and drama, with karaoke at interval.
As fun as all this sounds, being in the grips of my bed, unable to sleep, to eat and even to clean myself is not as fun. There is no “bright side”. There is no “snapping out of it”. And get fucked that person who says “get some exercise”. The clouds do lift though, but it’s taken years and three trips to loony bin to know this.
So yeah, I’m fun at parties. Or dead.
Man in the mirror.
Knowing oneself is about as useful as pissing in the wind when you don’t trust every move you make. The moments of joy I feel in the moment, often serve to constantly doubt myself. I mean, I am Agent, superman and oft melancholic comic.
Who am I actually? Who am I today? Those are the questions I ask myself when I take a basket of pills morning, noon and night.
Embracing the juxtapositions of tragedy and comedy has become my lifeblood though. I’ve learned to laugh at myself, find humor in the darkest moments, built up a thick skin against the detractors. I’ve managed to turn these moments of grief, low self-esteem, self-stigmatization into one where I’m able to see the world for what it truly is: a comedy of errors. Comedy has become my therapy, my way of reclaiming control and spreading joy in the face of adversity.
Keep up, join the absurdity.
I take great pride in sharing my experience of living with bipolar and HIV with the world. If I’ve managed to help one person laugh at themselves today, my job is done. I’ll keep smashing stereotypes. I’ll keep practicing at embracing my many quirks – even when it’s difficult to love what I see in the mirror as I take those pills.
So, if you’re following my life, share the pill that cures it all with me: laugh.
