Pandemic

World AIDS Day is December 1. In past years, I've spent the day with friends, mourning our community, and pandemic the caused the death of elders. The reason we have so few queer role models is because when AIDS hit, the world thought we were getting what we deserved and let members of our community die. Alone. In pain. Afraid they would never be remembered. This year I spent it alone. Because I tested positive for COVID. And the reality of the situation of those men and women hit me in a whole new light. Suddenly I knew the feeling of being young and afraid. Unable to have my partner hold me and comfort me. The fear that grips your heart when you see that bold type positive. Even though you've been as careful as possible. The feeling is all too reminiscent for those of use are in a community where we do not have elders to look up to. Faceless masses lost to neglect from the systems meant to protect them but turned a blind eye.

And the trauma that the lgbtq+ community holds deep inside reared its ugly head and knocked me to the floor. Being gay and sick from a disease that the government turns its head from is not only scary. It's isolating. It's painful. It's heartbreaking. Because it is not just being sick. It is carrying the weight of the thousands of people who died not knowing what was coming next.

I don't know what's coming next. Every time I cough, my anxiety kicks into overdrive and all I can think about is that any breath could be my last. When my ribs ache with every movement, I'm scared I'll never dance or run again. When I get lightheaded, I'm terrified that if I pass out it'll all be over. No one knows what this virus does. And no one knows how it's going to affect my body. And the fact that I have a family history of COPD and asthma just makes the fear more pronounced. Just like no one knew then. One moment you're alive, young and wild. The next you're stuck in your bed feeling your insides break with every breath. But you never know when it's going to show up. How it's going to hurt you. What's happening inside your body.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring. No one does anymore. With the year we've had, tomorrow we could all killed by the Yellow Stone Caldera blowing up or get dragged into World War III or get hit by a meteor. I don't know if I'll be okay six months or a year from now. The after-effects of this disease are a mystery. But what I do know is that this has changed me forever. I feel closer to my community than ever. Because when life brings challenges, it also brings lessons and perspectives. When I'm better, strong again, I'm going to grab life with both hands and experience everything it has to offer. When the world is safe again, I'm going to hold my friends and family tighter. Forget dancing like no one's watching. I want everyone to see me. Because I am strong. Because I am a survivor of a community that has faced heartache every day and a time that no one ever saw coming. And I will wear my rainbow patches like a badge of honor. Because I am here. And I will always be here. Because we are here. And we will always be here. I take nothing for granted. If not just for me, then for those who no longer have a life to chase. Then. And now.