What's a blog to do?

So, it's been since Sunday morning (well, Saturday nightish...) that I've written. Its been a busier week at work, save for yesterday, and while I should have written, for some reason, I just didn't feel much like it. I guess I'll start with what I wanted to mention the next time I blogged. The other night, Jamie and I were flipping stations on TV and came across an interesting show called Degrassi on the N. The show apparently originated on CBC, and basically is about the life of a bunch of teenagers in High School. The commercials looked powerful. It reminded me a lot of my high school days. Well, the first episode we watch, and the head cheerleader gets raped. Not by a random stranger, but by someone she wanted.. just not to have sex with.. yet, at least. A rival team came to a game, and she developed quite the crush on the star player. Deciding to ditch her boyfriend and run off to a party at the rival players house, she text messaged a horrible excuse that her grandmother was in the hospital, so she wouldn't be able to get together that night. Somehow, her boyfriend made it to the party, and in an effort not to be seen, she snuck off upstairs with Dean, the boy she had a crush on. Moments later, they were kissing, which she was fine with... but then she said "your going a bit too fast" and then when he pulled out a condom, she freaked and said "no!" more than once. Date rape. It's a horrible thing. And while I'm sure it's devistating for anyone, it must be that harder on virgins. All this culminated in my mind and brought me reeling back to my high school experience. At only 16, the first guy I slept with... I didn't want to either. And as excited as I was to have met someone who was gay, I wasn't attracted to him. And, I didn't want to have sex. I'm pretty sure he used a condom, but that wasn't the point. I remember crying. And I remember all the angst and hurt. What's worse.. I didn't even hate him.. I hated myself for somehow having allowed it to happen. I didn't even tell anyone it had happened for nearly a year, when I finally came out to my mom. I'm sure many of you reading this will for the first time be hearing this. Statistically, those raped are three times as likely to develop HIV not as a result of their rape, but sometimes after. I feel like a broken record fitting in with some silly statistic. I do know that after it happened, I hated myself so much, I actually wished I'd be infected, so I would die and never have to tell anyone that I was gay. I felt like an abomination. I just wanted to die, and I could never understand how God would create someone like me, if we really were that horrible. It took a long time for me to forgive myself. And, finding out that I was negative was a huge relief. I guess that's why I took getting infected so hard. Once you appreciate how worthy life is, it's harder to accept that yours might be cut short. Especially by something you could have pretty easily prevented with just some simple common sense. Why, then, did I not choose to use protection that night? I knew HIV was real... but part of me did feel somewhat invincible to it, since I'd managed not to get it after such a horrible experience. And, he said he was negative. And, maybe I just needed to believe in people again. Life certainly has a way of teaching people lessons. Ever since, I've had a hard time really trusting. I find it difficult to be honest, but I feel like I have to be. So that maybe there can at least be one honest person on this planet... So.. Degrassi. Thank you. Thank you for showing a realistic portrayal of how simple it is to be raped, how unlikely people can be to believe you, how difficult it is to prosecute, and how tragic the emotional process is afterward. Finally, it felt like someone else was showing my story, and I'm sure the story of millions of others, in a realistic manner.

On a ligher front, things seem to be looking up for me. The weather is going to be nice for a change. Sunny and 73. With all the smells of autumn. What could be more perfect? My folliculitis is finally starting to clear up. Thank you Chlyndamycin! I'm feeling a bit more like me again, instead of broken me. Even with a cast to support a broken leg, the body must do the healing. The same can be said of a broken heart, and broken spirit. And for the first time in nearly two months, I feel like I'm starting to walk again.

Okay, Okay

So, I fell through on a promise I made... already. But not for the reasons one might expect. I just honestly.. haven't felt much like writing. There's been a lot going on in the world, most annoying related to evil politicians that I won't delve into at this late hour. I'm writing tonight, primarily, to confess. To confess a bit about what's going on with my body that I'm most uncomfortable with. It's these icky little pests we all get from time to time... Most commonly referred to as "zits." Diagnosed with "Foliculitus" a few months back, my doctor gave me a prescription to hopefully help clear them up. Well, the medication was too much of a pain in the ass to use, so ultimately, I gave up on it, and they went away on their own. See, in HIV patients, what happens is, Staff bacteria infects the hair folical, and causes it to swell up to a ugly little white head, puss, ooze, and infect more skin around it. Normally, your body does a pretty good job fighting off the bacteria and it just goes away for most people. It's not known why some people have acne problems and others do not, but hygene, and genetics certainly have something to do with it. Now, while blessed with good genetics, I have the unfortunate plague that affects those that have not been so blessed at birth. Basically, my body is too busy fighting off nasty little Immunovirii to bother with the staff... And what started as a small amount of zits here and there on my legs has now apparently taken over half my body. In fact, my legs itch like hell, and burn, and look red, sore, and swollen from the level of infection, which is really quite troubling. I feel like I'm being eaten alive by bacteria I can't even see. It's a horrible feeling. I don't know how I was so fortunate to have come across such a wonderful and supportive boyfriend before all these symptoms had started, cause I'm sure if he didn't love me so much, he wouldn't be here today by my side watching this crap take over my body. For better or worse, they say, right? Well, I've had the unfortunate displeasure of looking into what the future might hold if I don't keep up with this topical medication, and it looks pretty ugly. In fact, in two short days, it seems like the number of zits on my body has gone from 40-50 to about 150 or so.. Small clusters seem to be popping up all over, just as some go away. A simple google search will reveal what we're talking about here. Anyhow.. the good news to all of this is, as my immune system starts to pick back up from taking the meds, the frequency, severity, and ugliness of this stuff might never rear its head again. Yay meds. So what if I feel dizzy for an hour or so. And, quite frankly, I'm looking forward to dreams in technicolor and virtual reality. ;-) It's not so bad, is it? And, my mom gets to hear my voice at least 30 seconds before bedtime. I'm certain that has to make her happy. :-) [She calls to remind me, or I call her when I've taken them... since 100% compliance is an absolute must with these meds.] So, things aren't so bad, I guess.

I'm feeling incredibly greatful for the strength of this wonderful support system I have in place. I feel like I'm going nuts, but I know that it's just a temporary condition, and can bear it mostly because of the support that these people provide.

Signing off,

Zit Legs