Lately, coincidence — or perhaps just being the mouthy broad I am — has brought me together with many new and veteran poz folk. After we’ve shared our stories and commiserated on issues surrounding poz life, a common thread — divinations and actualization of a new and better life — has been surfacing.
For many poz folk, contracting the virus was complete Armageddon. The same could be said for any of us who’ve suffered immense loss. In all cases, a choice must be made: to reconcile our losses and learn to be compassionate toward others and ourselves, or to despair in our grief and make everyone feel as miserable as we do.
In my experience, many poz folk have retreated to a psychological sanctuary of sorts, where happiness, although attainable, has a ceiling: It’s not like they’re racked with despair (though some are); they just believe they have to accept the table scraps from life’s greater banquet from which they’ve been exiled.
Obviously, this begs the question: Really? Is that what happens?
And the answer: No, not really. In fact, the opportunity that waits after becoming poz is no mere silver lining; it’s a blessing — a privilege, almost — if you choose to accept it.
By confronting your newfound pathos, you can consort with the most treacherous and beautiful parts of the human heart, the darkest pains and noblest of desires, visions tenebrous and luminous, unusual weaknesses and obscure strengths and those ineffable parts of human inner life that remind you that you know nothing.
There are people in this world who never have to grow up and, therefore, may never value or even realize that our inborn empathic sensibilities will yield more rewards than any party-of-the-year or material possession ever will.
Our society’s hierarchies, ranked by wealth, health and other indifferent factors, are pejorative in nature — yet greatly affect how we qualify our lives. It is very easy to attain ostensible happiness based on these factors, and eclipse a plentitude of tiny (and large) losses that, unless devastated by an exquisite trauma, a compassionate life may never become salient.
For some poz folk, contracting HIV was their exquisite trauma, engendering the deepest pangs of sorrow they’ve ever experienced, and coloring their lives permanently grayer, despite all awaiting supports.
With all the external and internal stigma brought about with being poz, it’s hard not to liken your sorrow with another’s, especially with other poz folk. At the same time, this might prove difficult if poz people hide or ignore their status, or remove themselves from society’s discriminating eye.
I know it’s easier said than done: Some poz folks are locked in such precarious living/social situations that disclosure of status would mean certain doom — figuratively and/or literally. And despite all harrowing circumstances, people can do whatever they want, including being miserable or envisioning a ceiling to their happiness.
But truly, the panacea for the ailing human heart is compassion. Some poz folk desperately need that panacea, as it is the cure to a virus that can quickly develop into despair.
I remember my mother saying to me, circa Y2K, “Honey, I’m worried that if you’re gay, your life will be a lot harder than it needs to be.” The same could’ve easily been said for Jews, blacks, women, old folks and others at several points in history, or even presently. Even the WASP-iest folks can be “othered” in some fashion and, therefore, have a harder life because of something about them society doesn’t accept.
Rejection, hatred, foulness and sorrow, all the fear-inspiring forces we receive from our interactions with people, will, no matter what, hurl themselves at us at some point or another. Unfortunately, despite the hosts of people who accept us, we often shape our self-image according to negative input from our environment.
In my mind, poz folk are especially aware of this negativity and, therefore, have unique powers and insight with which they can affect others — poz or not — for the better.
These thoughts may be fairly evident to anyone who reads this column, but I feel as though they need to be stated. My life has become exponentially better — not because I’m poz, but because of what the virus and everything that came with it awakened me to: the nature of humankind, how people relate to each other — for better or for worse. I ask that, no matter what your situation is, you take a moment to think about someone else in your life you may be able to comfort — or if anything, provide company.
We’re all in this together, folks. Now get out there and talk about it.
Aaron Stella is the former editor-in-chief of Philly Broadcaster. Since graduating from Temple University with a bachelor’s degree in English, he has written for several publications in the city and now devotes his life to tackling the challenges of HIV in the 21st century. Aaron can be reached at [email protected].