This post first appeared on the bloig of AIDS New Brunswick, here.

People sometimes ask me why we still feel it necessary to recognize International Day Against Homophobia. I’m never quite sure how to answer that question in a short concise way, so instead I tell them a story. In October of 2006, I was sitting in my (then) favourite study hall frantically looking for a topic for a soon to be overdue sociology paper. I was in my first year of university, I had been openly gay for about two months, and I was adamant that I was going to write a paper about something gay. I was reading something from some online source when I noticed an article about Matthew Shepard, and in particular about the eighth anniversary of his death. I sort of knew about Matthew but since I was only 10 when he died, my memory was sketchy at best. I began to read the article, and before I had finished I was in tears. I was in the middle of an unbearably quite study hall, surrounded by my peers, balling my eyes out.

If you’re not familiar with the Matthew Shepard case, this will serve as an introduction, and I encourage you to read more about the subject. Matthew was a gay male born in Casper, Wyoming in 1976. At the time of his death he was a Political Science major at the University of Wyoming in Laramie. The details are as such. On October 6th, 1998 Matthew was at a local bar in Laramie when two men approached him, told him that they were gay, and offered him a ride home. He never made it home.

Instead the two men drove Matthew to the middle of a field, beat shit out of him, tied him to a fence, and left him to die. Left there in a coma, he was eventually found 18 hours later by a cyclist who initially thought he was a scarecrow because he was beaten so badly. Matthew never regained consciousness, and died on October 12th, 1998. Incidentally, this story was the inspiration for Melissa Etheridge’s song titled Scarecrow.

It’s usually at this point that my audience interrupts me and points out that this happened more than a decade ago, AND it was in the States. They say we don’t have this type of homophobia today, and that “things have changed”. I agree in part, after all in 2002 Oshawa Ontario’s Marc Hall took the Durham Catholic School Board to court because he was not allowed to attend the prom with his boyfriend, and won, and in 2005 same-sex marriage was legalized through the Civil Marriage act in Canada.

However, more recently and more close to home, in the early hours of April 17th, 2012, Raymond Taavel was beaten to death while leaving a local gay bar in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Not Wyoming, not North Carolina, where they just voted to ban same-sex marriage, Halifax. Only four hours from Fredericton.

We are living in a world where people are killing themselves and being killed for being gay. We are still fighting for the right to get married, and have children. I grew up in a small town in Nova Scotia, only two hours from Halifax. I have friends and family who live there. In fact, Halifax was on my list of places to live after I finished High School. This didn’t happen a decade ago, and it wasn’t in the States. It was last month, and it was in the Maritimes, it was at home.

Raymond’s death saddens me and it angers me, but more than that, it scares me. I could have been the next Matthew Shepard, any of us could have been. We’re not done with homophobia yet. Raymond was just leaving a bar, walking down the street, and he was beat to death. Is it still necessary to bring attention to homophobia? I think so.

International Day Agains Homophobia website.

Listen, I get it! We are all doing our own thing. . . outreach, prevention, testing and much more. Kudos to all of you who are getting their hands in the mix of the work that is necessary to care for those living with HIV/AIDS and necessary to educate those not living with HIV/AIDS to prevent contracting this virus and other STI's / STD's as well as to combat stigma and to get tested!

On a serious note. . . I hear the following being repeated a lot (in fact I hear myself saying this too) . . . "UGH! Why, why, why is HIV/AIDS conversation swept under the rug? Why is no one talking about it anymore? Why has our nation. . . why has the world gone quiet on this epidemic?" And then we point the finger of blame. . .

So, rather than being one of the cooks in the kitchen complaining about the problem by pointing a finger, I have decided to team up with five other incredible HIV/AIDS activists/advocates to begin a global trend setting Twitter initiative and our vision is to reignite the conversation of HIV/AIDS: HashTag HIV: Let's Trend Until the End. Reality is, I need to point the finger back on myself, because I have not been much of a team player, because for too long I was doing my own thing. It is time for me to make a change and become a team player and that change starts right now and I hope you will follow.

Many of you probably know who we are: There is me - Daniel Bauer (escape artist and founder of LivingPozitively.com), Robert Breining (Founder and Host of Poz I Am Radio / Social Network), Jeromy Dunn (Founder of PozitivelySpeaking.com and Co-host, Poz I Am Radio), Mitch Knapp (HIV Activist in the rural south), Aaron Matthew Laxton (YouTube super-star and founder of My HIV Journey), and Kevin Maloney (Founder of Rise Up to HIV and an employee at Community Access National Network

So what's #HIV: Let's Trend Until the End all about: We believe as a team that millions and millions of people are using Twitter to quickly disseminate information about the hottest topics people are talking about! We believe that together, as a community, we can set #HIV, #AIDS as a Twitter trend catapulting awareness back to the top of conversation around the world!

So here's where you come in. . . it's time to become a team player. During the week of the International AIDS Conference (July 22-27, 2012 in Washington, DC) we are asking everyone with a Twitter account to consistently and frequently use the hashtags: #HIV #AIDS and #IAC in all your Tweets. If you do not have a Twitter account, maybe it's time to get one, even if it's just for the purpose of helping to set the trend. You can simply go to www.twitter.com and sign up!

The HashTagHIV Team will be Tweeting from now on (and forever) to help set this trend. . . so please follow @HashTagHIV to get the latest information, updates and stats about how we are doing! Also, please, please add yourself to the HashTag HIV Facebook event to let the world know you and/or your organization is signing up as a team player!

Reality is we [six guys] can't do this alone. YOU. . . YOUR ORGANIZATION. .. YOUR FRIENDS are going to be the key elements of making this CAMPAIGN A SUCCESS!

So TEAMWORK - ACTIVATE! Let's Set the Trend!!!!  Together we will reignite the conversation about #HIV #AIDS!

I am Daniel, and I am living pozitively! Thank you for following my blog.

HIV-positive New York magician and public speaker Daniel Bauer was interviewed by PositiveLIte.com’ Bob Leahy in September 2011 here.   Read about his upcoming New York show Beyond Belief here 

This article by  Paul Aguirre-Livingston  first appeared in The GridTO.  Republished with permission.  

This year marks the 31st anniversary of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. The issue, we know, is multi-dimensional and complicated. Even within my lifetime, the way we talk about it has changed from fear and self-loathing (riddled with homophobia) to far-reaching global advocacy tinged with optimistic complacency. On Saturday night, the Canadian Foundation for AIDS Research (CANFAR) dispatched its Young Professional Council to Airship 37 to host the second annual Our Future Without AIDS fundraiser. The volunteer-based organization was created in 2010 to bridge the gap between seasoned donors and the impressionable, to remind us why we need to keep talking about this, even if it means appealing to the pleasure principle of partying.

“Do you wanna go to the art room and be, like, classy?” asked one guy as he whizzed past us in the drink ticket line. With the event held in a stark white hangar, the young and the philanthropic gathered for modest amusement. Red lanterns were strung from above, with light to match; a good-times vibe all around. It was a fundraising initiative, and a damn good one at that, helmed by a multimedia-art silent auction. (With works starting at $10 and maxing out around $400, the auction would have been especially ideal for first-time buyers. And yet it was a shame to see so few red dots.) All the revelry was accented with photo-booth funz, a cupcake and cookie station, Parts & Labour catering, and a Sade tune or two. (Oh, is that Rick Mercer?) And drinks—another white wine, please—to cushion the reality of what we’re all fighting for: hope.

I regret to wonder how many people in that room whom I know to be straight (or those whom I will unflinchingly assume to identify as so, due to overheard complaints from all the single straight girls about the lack of “hot guys”) have actually had real intersections with experiences surrounding HIV/AIDS. How many of them have had the virus knowingly coursing through the veins of a partner next to them? Or held their friend’s hand after a former partner had finally disclosed to them, after numerous encounters, that he was, in fact, HIV positive? Or worried themselves sick in an anonymous clinic waiting room because what if I contracted the virus and how could I have been so careless? How many of them have actually been tested? Maybe that’s not important. But, also, it is. And regardless of motive and experience, showing up and showing support is indisputably invaluable.

That night alone, it was estimated 1,125 people would die from AIDS. I feel guilty because I keep thinking this is a fashion event and just… thank someone for the signs, for writing the statistics on the walls and flashing them on flat screen televisions: There are 34 million people living with HIV worldwide, and 65,000 of them are in Canada. Still, you can buy a $20 cake pop—or seven—and win a big grand prize. It’s about fundraising, so that’s okay, even if the empty donation cans serve as mere table decorations. And it’s also okay if all you want to do is cry. Cry for the man who cried with you because he couldn’t live with himself if he put you at risk. Cry for those who are having sex right this second because four people under the age of 25 become HIV-positive every minute. Cry because more twentysomethings show up to a condo opening than to this thing.

But what’s the right way to talk about HIV and how do we keep talking about it effectively? What are the issues that surround the realities in a time when, yes, 65,000 Canadians are living with HIV… but how many of those are new infections and how many of those are individuals living longer? It took years to remove the various stigmas from my own thoughts. During my formative online jaunts, I would instantly block/ignore someone who, upon my inquiry, didn’t hesitate to honestly disclose. Somewhere along the way, I changed the way I looked at the situation: What if it was the reverse? Would I want to be loved or feared? Hated or pitied? My fear turned into questions; my questions reinforced the need to be informed and protected. To get tested regularly. To not use infection as yet another reason to divide us.

But when half of our grade nine students incorrectly believe there is a cure for AIDS, are government sexual-education programs failing the very generation CANFAR hopes to reach? Are we sending the right messages when condomless (“bareback”) porn is on the rise? Or are we being hypocrites? And yet one must ultimately account for an element of personal choice and consequence (if it’s laced with honesty), and pass up ascending to a moral high ground. Fact is, there are still glaring holes in the messages sent to men who have sex with men, especially those who might not even identify as gay (those married or on the DL, for example).

Make no mistake: There is no gay/straight divide when it comes to HIV/AIDS. We are all affected. But while the virus may not discriminate, we are not equal. Gay men are still at the highest risk, and that needs to be addressed. Perhaps the way I feel most strongly connected to a proverbial gay ancestry is through the crisis. The epidemic. The fear. The truth. The fact that I’ve been ignorant and unfair and unsure. I’m not shy about admitting that I’m human, that I’m animal. That I’ve been young, and naïve, and made mistakes. That I’ve been repentant. And scared. That I’ve judged and been judged. That I’ve prayed. That I have had unprotected sex a grand total of two times in 12 years and was publicly shamed for admitting so and accused of sending the wrong messages. But no, I’m not stupid. And that’s why we need to remove any sort of lingering feelings of humiliation, and why organizations like CANFAR continue to encourage such discourse.

 Are you still listening?

“You can’t imagine,” says Mark Mahoney, the chair of CANFAR’s Young Professional Council, when he explains that the night will blow their initial goal to raise $40,000 “out of the water.” He’s right. You probably can’t imagine. Medical advancements have shielded me—and the majority of the younger, privileged gay community—from the reality of actually saying goodbye to our friends in rapid succession. But it hasn’t made us immune. And for that, we need to be cognizant. And when you imagine it—because, especially if you’re gay and young and horny and sexually active, you will—let me tell you: The psychological effects will linger. Those thoughts will unwillingly live within the partners you surround yourself with, and reside in the corners of a community that’s more incestuous than we’d all like to admit. Because I remember the message from day one. Because the questions lasts longer than a 30-minute episode of Girls and run deeper than any and every fucking Google search for “the stuff that gets up around the sides of condoms.” (Kudos, though, on condoms.) And just because there is little risk, doesn’t mean there is no risk. And you can do everything in your goddamn power to be as safe as you possibly can, but even then…?

By half past midnight, the mood lightens. People have shown up, bought art. Donated. Gotten drunk. Grabbed free condoms (but why no lube?). Some may rest assured that they’ve done their part for another year, or at least until World AIDS Day in December. Drake and Rihanna’s “Take Care” fills the ever-expanding white space in between: “I’ve loved, and I’ve lost,” is the last thing I hear before wandering back out into the darkness.

Donations to support HIV and AIDS research can be made on CANFAR’s official website.

Contact Paul on Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/pliving) and/or his personal website (http://pliving.me).

 

Ever since I came out of the closet for the second time with my diagnosis I made a promise to myself that I would be vocal, to anyone who’d listen, about my life as a gay man and living with HIV.

Essentially, I had practice coming clean about situations in my younger years when I talked with friends and schoolmates about my adoption from a foster home in Colombia.  I thought nothing of it, but what always amazed me was how fascinated people were with my story.  As I grew older I realized it wasn’t so much my adoption that they were interested in hearing, rather the passion I exuded in my words.

It’s always great to get my listeners to laugh when I told them I was adopted and I happened to be on sale that week and went by the name, “Baby Number 5.”  Of course I was joking!  From there on I knew that I loved to make people laugh…even over a touchy subject like HIV.  I never stop talking about my beginning HIV story and where I am now, but recently I returned my energies back towards gay rights in our country - something I hadn’t cared much about since I began with HIV.  Now I advocate for both the rights of positive people and gay people. 

I’ve endlessly told my HIV story and spoke about my background on many websites, including my own blog site and in particularly, Robert Breining’s POZ I AM site where individuals recently diagnosed can find a safe haven.  Now that it’s been over two years since my diagnosis I’ve acquired the skill to summarize my limited experience (time-wise) with HIV in a couple of paragraphs. That way it leaves the dialogue open for people to reach out to me for further details.  

I was diagnosed January 21, 2010.  I went into a severe depression that only took a downward direction when I was told that it was in my best interests to start medications right away given my low T-cell count at the time.  I began my regimen March 27, 2010 and was declared undetectable with a growing T-cell count by June.  I was lucky and once I knew that there was nothing to worry about I disclosed my status to my parents one hot July evening at home.  Following that,  I went viral with a YouTube video that disclosed my status to friends, relatives, co-workers and strangers.  The video continues to get recognition and praise for the most part and can be found at the end of this post. 

My video skills have since improved, but I’ll never forget how nervous I was when I filmed it.  It took almost a whole day to get my words right.  One can probably pick up on the fact that I stuttered with my words, trying to get all my feelings out in ten minutes (I thought it would be my only video.)  Needless to say when it was published my Facebook page, my cell phone and email FLOODED with responses from all my connections of life.  They cried and admired, making sure I was okay and that I wasn’t dying.  Talking to everyone as if I was a doctor explaining how my HIV isn’t killing me, I quickly realized that I made a breakthrough with my words and began a stepping stone for people’s idea of HIV.  Sky was the limit for me from that point on.  This coming August that video will be two years old. 

So there you have it, my HIV history in a speedy nutshell.  I’m not one for living in the past as I have a mind to just look at the road ahead- bumps and smooth terrain alike- with a little more knowledge and experience under my belt. 

I’m at a place in my life where I meet people in bars or social events and I talk about my HIV like it’s an everyday thing - because it is, in retrospect.  I know disclosing isn’t as easy for everyone, but I’d like to think my one voice will encourage others to come out, negative and positive, and talk about HIV.  Besides, I’m tired of being a third class citizen - second because I’m homosexual and third for being an HIV positive homosexual. And don’t get me started on HIV-positive women in this country as my heart will always have a place for them. 

The reason I bring this up is because I’ve transitioned my HIV story from being recently diagnosed to living with HIV.  I’m stealing the “So What, Now What?” slogan.  I live in America where the news and media is lately saturated about our President’s support for gay marriage.  Sure, I’m happy to hear about his support, but I’m one of those people that want to see action.  After all it is an election year in our country and isn’t timing just everything?  What happens if one day my body’s virus takes a turn for the worse and my partner at the time is unable to see me in the hospital? 

With my “so what, now what” attitude and my HIV in a healthy check I reassembled my fight for gay rights that I put on the backburner since January 21, 2010.  I’m still hopeful that more and more of our states and provinces will approve equal rights for all.  This will be quite a year in our country with the election, the mass hysteria over gay rights and the International AIDS Conference being held this summer in Washington, D.C.  The President won’t be able to hide then when he’s asked why America has a waiting list for medications and treatment for even one  individual too many and what he plans to do about it.  

I can’t wait when a few decades down the road I’m writing the memoir of my life and I make jokes at the fact that I remember a world that opposed gay marriage and people feared HIV.  Those were the days.  However, that future I set will only be a reality if more people like me come out from the shadows and scream about their HIV.

Like many HIVsters, I’ve made ample use of therapy; both personal and group, at times simultaneously. One might add that I am, or was, therapy-naïve – never saw much use in it, and this particular extravagance was more for the camaraderie and the drinks after it was done. In one such group session – here at Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC) in New York City -- the facilitator (I believe that’s what they’re called, others go by ‘moderator’) mentioned a concept that had me spitting nails: the idea that one should develop said HIV identity. It would help us ‘get in touch’ with the supposed turmoil within.

Well, no, I said. I neither need nor want that. My identity doesn’t include an accidental disease, and I don’t do turmoil. I speak French, read books, cook, I’ve walked down Fifth Avenue in nothing but a pair of combat boots, Calvin Kleins and a big smile, am active in politics, write stuff people actually read, I’ve even met the President of the United States – the current, sane one, not that hot mess we had until three years ago. I’m a New York hipster, for crying out loud. That should suffice to establish a secure sense of self. And just who the fuck do you think you are anyway?

So, no, I don’t have any use for this particular bit of thera-blather, I said as nicely as I could. Which still, if memory serves, wasn’t all that nice. The way I was brought up – military family, you do the math – boys don’t have feelings to begin with. If you have a problem, you sit down and work on it. You certainly don’t talk about it with mom, or dad, or your friends, and if that problem resides below the waistline where the icky parts live, you’re definitely going to mind your manners and remember that polite company is wherever you happen to be. All very British, if you will, or German, rather, because that’s my actual background. If you know anything at all about that particular ethnic group, aside from their utter lack of humor, it’s that our ‘therapy’, such as it is and Freud be damned, consists of invading defenseless neighboring countries.

And all of that served me quite well, thank you very much, for a long time. Granted, being a slab of meat devoid of detectable emotion can cost you. Say, a stunning man you’re still in love with twenty years later and an ocean apart, the one you never told just how much you love him.

I find, however, that people who vigorously disclaim something – I tend to be one of those – do so for the simple reason that someone has struck very near a mark, and  continue thinking about and watching what goes on around them. And so I did. I watched those young kids, clearly terrified, walking into GMHC for probably the first time. I had a friend break down in tears over not having anyone to talk to about his status but me, not his family, not his other friends, no one in God’s creation. Just me. That other pretty young guy, maybe half my age and worth his weight in gold, crying on the street. Or that poor transgendered woman who had just had the stuffing kicked out of her by the ‘real’ women in the homeless shelter, with no idea where to go next. Just heartbreaking, and yes, I do have one. Somewhere.

I forget when it was, sometime two summers, I suppose, when the flip-side of the Anglo-Teutonic iciness came out; and that is, simply put, the idea that one has a duty to be there for others. The idea of duty is, I believe, one of the strongest moral forces in our world; it’s why we pay taxes and at least try not to break laws. Judaism has a very useful concept for that called ‘Tikkun Olam’, ‘Repair the World’ in Hebrew. The idea, once you strip it of all the extraneous religious verbiage, is simply this: that as human beings, we live in a society, and have a positive moral obligation to make it better for everyone. As in, stop talking, take action. So far, so good, and all emotional aloofness aside, I personally actually have a pretty good track record on that; leftwing activist and all.

I decided that my duty was to be as open about my HIV status – positive, in case you’re wondering – as I could be. That’s one reason why I write here, on Daily Kos, on Alternet, and probably more as this journey progresses. One other reason is, of course, that I like to hear myself talk, but my editors have learned to live with that, bless their hearts.

But talking alone isn’t action, is it, unless you calculate the value of being out and, God alone help us, maybe being a role model for some kids none of us may ever know. Stigma is still out there, it ruins lives, and it pisses me the fuck off.

I decided to cancel my therapy group just recently. It was getting tiresome anyway, and frankly, I’m not all that interested in the granular details of the sex life of strangers (unless I plan on being a part of it, but that’s a story for another day, and most certainly not applicable in that particular context). Instead, I joined ACT UP New York, the mothership, still around after all these years. And guess what? ACT UP still gets stuff done. Amazing, that, and I get to be a part of it.

So I guess that’s my HIV identity: I’m very much okay with everything, and so is everyone around me. I’ve done a few small things for other HIVsters, nothing to write home about, not yet at least. I’m healthy as a horse, my career is getting back on track, my relationship is solid, you get the idea. I’ve stepped out of the shadow of the disease. I’m in charge now, not some virus.

I suppose that’s the moral of the story and what my facilitator was talking about. You’ll have your own HIV identity when you own the disease, not the other way around. I really do believe that everyone can get there; and meanwhile, never shut up, raise hell, and if anyone tells you it can’t be done, laugh in their face. Because it can.

Editor's note: It’s odd that PositiveLIte.com has never really featured a religious perspective of living with HIV in our pages before. But Brother Christopher Sale (below, right) happened to write to us and we were immediately interested in the prospect of him sharing his rather unusual story.

Christopher told me this about himself. “In 2008 I nearly died from AIDS and drug use. By the grace of God I'm still here. I'm now a Catholic religious brother. I'm the first openly gay man with AIDS to ever start a religious order in the history of the church. My journey with AIDS and being a Catholic brother has really changed my life. My first blog was Gutter to Grace. You can read it here. I'm 61. Went to Catholic schools. Taught 8th grade religion until I was bullied out by the students for being gay. I came out when I was 20 and went into a 25 year relationship. And as you can see I'm a totally changed person. I'm the founder of the Brother of Padre Pio and I'm trying to start the Padre Pio Help Center for those dealing with HIV and AIDS. I'm also involved with the homeless and poor. The church made my calling very difficult because of being my gay and having AIDS. But I broke down every barricade they put up.”

The following article by Christopher first appeared in The South Pasadena Patch. 

***********************************

Throughout my many months of blogging, I have not talked about the personal side of having AIDS. AIDS is my never ending battle of survival.

I am an extremely private person but I feel called to tell you about my 4 year journey of living with AIDS. The highs and the lows.

Three weeks before April 29, 2008 I was told that I was HIV-positive. Needless to say, the initial shock was overwhelming. I remember being in a state of confusion.

My first reaction was to deny the seriousness of my diagnosis. "OK," I said to myself. "Many gay men have HIV. In fact many of the men I know have been HIV-positive for years and seem to be doing just fine."

Two days later, I was sent to a clinic for a blood test. I didn't want to go for that second test. I talked myself out of the importance of the test. My roommate could see that my nerves were on edge and convinced me that I needed to go through with the blood test. He kept his promise and went with me.

I'll never forget that day.

I sat in a waiting room where HIV and AIDS pamphlets were on every table. Red ribbons adorned the walls. Reality was setting in. Other men in the waiting room were there for the same reason. I played mind games with myself trying to determine which was the sickest patient.

Trying to visualize my future brought tears in my eyes. I threatened to leave. My roommate consoled me. I took the test and was told to come back on April 29.

The blood test would reveal my T-cell count and would determine my condition. This caused me more anxiety. I was very ignorant about HIV and AIDS. It had been my understanding that HIV and AIDS are one and the same. I lacked education about it.

On April 29, 2008 I went back to get my results. The nurse's compassionate demeanor told me that my condition was serious. She told me my T-cells were 140 and asked me if I knew what that meant. As I told her. "No." She said, "It means you have full-blown AIDS."

The shock protected me from a full break down. She comforted me and told me of the options available with different medications. She said, "AIDS is no longer a death sentence." "No," I thought. "But it sure helps to numb reality."

She told me that my addiction to drugs was going to cut my life short. I had to stop using. How would I battle AIDS and drug use? Then she told me that I was anemic. My world was collapsing.

Depression took over. I got in bed and didn't say another word for days. I felt everything was useless, and I didn't care about anything.

Out of that silence came the realization that using drugs was the least of my worries. I used drugs to escape my reality. Flashbacks flooded my mind of men who died horrific deaths from AIDS. Not wanting to die a horrible death, I tried to overdose on drugs.

Another patient at the clinic asked what my T-cells count was. When I told him, his response was, "Oh you're terminal." Another uninformed person sentencing me to death. I later realized that we are all sentenced to death when we are born.

Those remarks only added to my depression, shame and self-loathing. I had done this to myself. My days were numbered, but they were numbered from birth. I indulged my morbidity and shopped for funeral arrangements, looked into getting a will, being buried or cremated, inquired to the suffering that I would experience and wondered how many exact days that I had left.

I wondered who would ever want to love me, hug me, touch me or cherish me again? Would I tell people upfront that I had AIDS or would I wait? Would this news be received as the plaque?

My roommate encouraged me to fight but despite his support, I felt utterly alone. The days of my life were numbered. I counted each day as precious and then these remaining days of my life were replaced with a deep vacant, emptiness of dying alone.

The mirror showed me that I was slowly wasting away. I became afraid to look at myself. A once well-built, healthy man allowed himself to self-destruct. I never dreamed that I would find myself with AIDS.

After a fall, I ended up at the local emergency room with a torn ligament and cuts on my face. I told the nurse I had AIDS and asked her to clean up the blood and put a bandage on me. She refused and handed me the bandage to put on myself. Not one person in the emergency would touch me.

I was at rock bottom. I went to bed and stayed there for a few months.

The day I got out of bed, I lethargically looked out my front window and became aware that life was passing me by. It was a vibrantly beautiful day, and everything seemed colorful and alive—people out walking their dogs, birds chirped in rhythm and the sun danced on the leaves of trees.

I realized that life wasn't quitting on me, I was quitting on life. A thought flowed through my head, "Time to man up and fight for my life."

I was determined to fight, new found energy pulsed through me, and I got in my car and headed for the nearest Catholic church. I began praying at the Church three times a day.

I had days where I felt that God did not give a damn, and I was wasting my time. I begged Our Lady of Guadalupe to intercede. I felt like a child running to his mother for consolation. I asked Her to help me, and I made a promise to Our Lady that I would devote the rest of my life as a religious brother.

Within three months, my T-cells went from 140 to 160. Not a big deal to some, but it was to me. I threw all the drugs away that I was taking to deaden the emotional pain and never had a craving for them again. This was nothing short of a miracle. I knew that no one could predict my death sentence and that my fate was in the hands of God.

My health returned to 95%. The past 4 years I have battled pneumonia and several stomach infections. I fear being in crowds, make sure I eat in clean restaurants and also maintain a clean living environment. Oftentimes, I feel as though I live in a bubble.

I have been miraculously blessed. I know with God in my life that I will be just fine. At 61, I don't foresee a cure in my lifetime. My stay of execution is at the hands of God. For the second time, God has called me to the religious life. My sexuality caused be to deny that first call but I answered His second call. Though I am battling AIDS, my life is entwined with the crucifix, and this is my cross.

Many people say I should be out living it up. They don't understand that I am living it up with God. God is my ultimate party. And everyday he grants me a new gift. The gift of life.

Br. Christopher Sale B.P.P.