It is the fifth anniversary of my living with AIDS. I wrote about my personal experience of having AIDS marking my four year anniversary of living with this so called dreadful disease last April. Well, it is now five years and counting and despite my medical downfalls I've adapted to making this journey a little less depressing and a little more humorous. I liken myself to Morris, the cat with 9 lives. Or considering my age, Old Man River, since I just keep rolling along. 

I find it humorous that my doctor continues to insist on other medical testing for me. I mean seriously, does she think she can stop having AIDS? However, as much as she persists I continue to tell her if it’s not broken, don't fix it.

Admittedly, the last five years have been interesting. I still marvel at the misinformation of the AIDS disease. After all these years the ignorance is no less prevalent. People continue to ask me if I still have AIDS. My come back is always the same, "Oh no I got rid of that! It was awful! I hope I never get that again! I will never forget the time a nurse told me there's a cure for AIDS. She insisted that Magic Johnson was cured. I could understand that this could have been misunderstood by a lay person on the street, but a nurse? Wow!

One would think that in 2013 the fears might have subsided. Unfortunately, this is not so. A couple of years ago I fell while chasing my dog. I ended up in the emergency with cuts on my face and a torn ligament. After finding out I have AIDS the nurse handed me a band-aid to put on myself because she was afraid to touch me. That self applied band-aid cost me $150.

Another one of my favorites is when someone asks me how I contracted AIDS. Needless to say I can come up with a host of humorous answers. The conversation then turns into a disease competition. "I can top that”, one guy said to me. I shake my head and realize that he was trying to relate and make me feel better. But really.....

Laughter has been my greatest medicine in my five years as an AIDS survivor. Despite my bouts with a variety of illnesses it’s been laughter that's kept me going. Had I not been able to laugh about this I could have been gone a long time ago. Life is what you make it. AIDS is a serious disease but I know that I have a choice in the way that I respond to it and that choice affects my mind and body and those around me. Finding the humour in something changes the chemistry in your body and mind, it can heal you and in turn heal others.

My message in this blog is to face all your trials and tribulations with laughter. Even when we are dealt a bad hand of cards it’s always best you put all your trust and faith in God. For the longest time I begged God to take me, but it’s apparent he has a plan for me to be an example of his mercy. Even in the mist of my darkest days I know 100 good days await me.

Take one day at a time. I am at peace with God and when he's ready I will be too.

This article previously appeared here.

So much has changed in a year. It would be this time last year I received an email from someone I knew at The Stephen Lewis Foundation requesting I participate in their Dare Campaign. It's a pledge campaign to raise money based on a dare, not dissimilar to The Breast Cancer Walk etc.  

My challenge was stand-up.  I'd wanted to do it but was too chicken shit to do so. I had comic friends and had played with improv. But the thought of going up and bombing was too frightening. Where do you start? How do you figure out material when you've never had an audience to gauge it by.  

As with everything, once you pick a date, it will happen.  I did, and it happened and I killed that night (thank god or I probably would have never done it again). 

Up until then I had been working on this national online magazine for people who are HIV positive in order to foster a sense of online community.  

It was hard going into comedy and walling off this (HIV) part of my life. It's such an ordinary thing in my life and in the lives of most people I know. We accept it (as there is no choice) and we move on integrating into our loves and a new sense of normalcy is achieved.  

However, no matter how hard I try, I can't keep my mouth shut about it.  Not that I want to talk about it all the time, but I have nothing to be ashamed about. If I feel I want to talk about it, I have every right to since pedophilia, rape jokes and general misogyny have found homes in comedy, after all. And if there is room in comedy for that, then there's plenty of room for me.  

There is a secret part of me that does like to freak people out. Not in that they should be freaked about my status, but rather that I'm so open about it, that I don't bat an eye. I've shared my life literally with thousands of people prior to there even being an internet.  I have about the same emotional attachment to the subject as a hooker giving her 10,000th hand job. So to see people be shocked by my dark humour is in some ways rewarding. 

Do you know how much stupidity we have to deal with? What it's like to wonder if someone will only think of me as this weird being with a virus and not just Brian Finch the moment I talk about it? If the shoe is on the other foot in terms of uncomfortableness, then so be it. Try it on and see what it feels like, cause I sure could use a break from time to time. 

None of this would have been possible if it were not for the process of my becoming Jewish. This was the first time I stepped out of my protected safe world where I could be a big mouth, write crazy articles and gain community profile. Once I stepped out of this world, I reverted back to the old quiet, scared and shy me.  

You see, I never felt anyone could really accept me as me unless I hid significant aspects of my life.  I wasn't comfortable about sexuality my entire life. I separated myself from my family, basically living a double life. This was the beginning of my compartmentalization. 

Family got to know certain things, friends another. This carried on for a long time. Then I got into the drugs, something else not to share with family. This continued for a very long time, in fact until the Jewish process began (and Facebook). 

Obviously there are a lot of things that were not appropriate to share at that time. But at least I could talk openly about being gay, and, with some, even about being positive. It's a hard topic to avoid when I was the founder of an online magazine and am asked what I did for work.  This, my friends, is why I hate that question as an aside. 

Once into the process of converting, I was starting out to hang out with straight guys. I've never done this before. Call me old fashioned, but kicked in the head once, twice shy. And I retained that through out my life. Straight guys were the enemy. They were the oppressors who would go out on purpose to seek people like myself and beat them to near death. Once just stopping into a 7/11 late at night (and on acid, go figure) in Winnipeg was a near death experience.  

There were years of harassment from the way I looked to the way I spoke. For years I mumbled because my voice had been mocked so much I just didn't have enough self-esteem to be actually heard. It is because of this I started working with a voice coach, not just for the quality of voice but the baggage that goes with it. 

Take all of this, and the idea of performing in front of straight crowds, mostly, and getting up and just being myself, serostatus included, has taken a lot of work.  Most people don't know I started public speaking at the age of 23 and have been on all the media, a documentary even, and a social marketing campaign. Also I worked as a corporate trainer where I had to be the company cheerleader. There are still masks to hide behind in these roles. It wasn't unitl comedy that I could take the mask off.  

So it is with this long preamble that I express so much gratitude for those who have been so supportive over the last year. January 18th will be a year at working on stand-up. I can't possibly name everyone. 

You are the people who treat me exactly the same once you know everything about me. I can't tell you enough that such a simple thing means a lot.  

You have encouraged me to do stand-up and storytelling. 

You've talked to me when I'm having challenges and helped me remember that yes. I am funny even if not every set is stellar. 

You've given me great notes to help with material. 

You are people who understand that this is a journey, not a goal to be a headliner at Yuk Yuks (that would be great – but not the ultimate goal). 

You are the straight dudes that joke with me in a way that makes me feel like one of the guys and girls. (Probably more of the girls. let's face it.)  

You've invited me to your shows.  

You've taught great workshops 

You are challenging me to dig deeper and work harder.  

You inspire me to walk through the fear. 

Some special shoutouts go to: 

Brian Ward - first guy to tell about the rooms. etc here. 

Erin Rodgers - quickly became friends and coproduced a show together.

Catherine McCormick - amazingly supportive and sticks to her guns.

Marilla Wex - what can I say! 

Zeb Pike - taught me str8 guys don't bite, well they do, but that's why they're straight :-) 

Sage Tyrtle - her wonderful storytelling workshop is amazing, and she's even abetter faciliator.

Todd Turtle – If were a girl, I’d marry him, sorry Sage.

Tracey Erin Smith - whose soft and articulate direction allows me to think, "I can do it." 

Joanna Downy - for getting me up at Spirits. 

Scott Thompson for being so supportvie with the new people. 

Shannon McDonough - super fab and supportive.

Maggie Cassella & The Flying Beaver - "When you have an hour come back, I'll book ya." 

Blair E. Streeter - cause he's amazing.

Sandra Shamas - very supportive and for coming out to our storytelling show. 

Eli Jakeman - (Rene squeaks in there too) only straight guy I have competitions on who is gayer, oh ya and it’s not gay if you are doing it for money.

Scott Dell - who sat down in order to stand up and give me an ovation, which is the golden seal of offensiveness approval. 

Joel West - got to know him better with our last "Tales of", great guy to work with. Love his stories.

Phil Luzi & Sandra Battaglini - for just being you.

Shelly Marshall - don't know what to say other than she's great & her lesbian daughter could beat me up. 

Brenda Lennie - for being so great, and getting me on her shows when I started. 

Jim Maxwell - for giving me motivation for all these changes. 

Anto Man-Ming Chan - very cool guy & super supportive

Rene Armondo Payes - for just being you.

Jennifer McAuliffe - as well being so encouraging. 

Paul Bellini - just read his book, you'll know why. 

Zabrina Chavennes - cause she is so funny, and supportive.

Jennifer Gee – amazing workshop partner and a lot of fun.

Marco Bernardi - for being so warm and actually giving me a hug in Caplansky's the first time we met (no I'm not stalking). 

And a special thank you to the folks who continue to keep PositiveLite.com going. It's been a privilege to create it. One thing I've learned this year is that I like to create, but I suck at managing. So here's to another great year for PositiveLite.com.  

There's a lot more so don’t feel left out. People can have the biggest impact with the smallest gestures. These are just a few names that stick out over the year. 

As we head into New Year's Eve I also think it's important to think back with some gratitude over the last year.  Usually I hate the year just past and think, "Thank Christ year X is over". It's been a great year of transition, new friends, new collegaues and most of all, new challenges and opportunities to grow. None of this happens in a vacuum, but within communnity.  

I just know that 2013 is going to be a great year. Now if I could just brush up on some Middle East comedy, I could hit some open mics during my month long stay in Israel. 

When I was asked to write something about being a long term survivor, my first thought was “Nooooo!!!!!” There are so many different perspectives and experiences for all of us who are long term survivors that’s it’s really impossible to capture any great meaning. I can simply offer what I have learned and observed over the past number of years. I’m not a historical expert on HIV; I’m not a social anthropologist. I’m just a dumb, white, gay guy that’s been around for a while.

I was most likely infected around 1984 when I was 23 years old. This is my guess: I didn’t get tested until 1995 when I came down with shingles and thrush at the same time. But back in the mid-80s I was young and took risks, and we had less information about safer sex. It was around then as well, that I developed a powerful cold followed by pneumonia (I believe that was my sero-conversion illness). 

In the dark old days, there was only AZT for treatment and I believe a lot of people died from AZT poisoning – the doses were high and taken every four hours on the hour day and night. Living in Victoria BC there was an “island mentality” that somehow we were cut off from the terrible worlds that were unfolding in major cities and far away Continents. Many gay men here seemed to think that our immunity was guaranteed by the thin strait of water separating us from the Mainland. 

They forgot about aeroplanes and the ferry system. 

Many people got sick. Many people died. All of them young men and women and all of them beautiful people with amazing stories and lives. They wasted away, thinning from robust people to the skeletons we came to know. Some decided to skip that part of the illness and committed suicide. Others decided to see the thing through to the end, the experience of illness, possibly dementia and a bed in Hospice as part of their journey. Whichever – our lives were and still are our own and we will choose the course that suits us. 

"there’s nothing more agonizingly exasperating than a person with HIV who has no sense of humour."

In all of it though, I remember people with AIDS who had incredible sense of humour. They would find something to laugh about even as they were dealing with the T-Cell death spiral and the end of their lives. One man once told a group of new volunteers that he realized how many birthdays and Christmases he would miss, but then thought “How many did I miss before I was born?” And the man who named his T-cells (he only had seven, so it was easy to remember their names). Or there was the woman who had worked in the sex trade who turned tricks while she was in hospice – it worked for her and the male companions looking for a last good time. It’s that humour, dry and black sometimes, that kept us going. And there’s nothing more agonizingly exasperating than a person with HIV who has no sense of humour. 

I hear a lot about stigma these days. It’s become a social work buzz word and part of the AIDS lexicon that’s bandied about like so much empty jargon, but in the 80s and early 90s the stigma was much more palpable and cruel. Those were the days of space suits and quarantine and AIDS jokes; the days of hideous Kaposi’s lesions, death by Pneumocystis pneumonia and complete rejection by society. Those were the days when Princess Diana had to show the world that touching a person with AIDS was a part of belonging to the family of human beings. And yet, even with that display of compassion, the fear and loathing continued. The “act of God against the wicked” lines spewed from the mouths of televangelists; no different than the days of the Black Plague – and this was a plague.

 "Without the dinosaurs and the pioneers, trying and failing and trying again we would never have grown."

These days the AIDS Industry is become increasingly professional. Back then, almost everything was accomplished by volunteers: Help lines, Buddy programs, and respite and care programs – no one required a doctorate in psychology to participate. If they had, in these days groups would not exist. Without the dinosaurs and the pioneers, trying and failing and trying again we would never have grown. And if we forget those days, the dark days where so many died, we will have done them a disservice; their lives will have been insignificant as we bask in the pharmaceutical sun that now sustains the illusion of health and immortality. 

In being both a person of unknown status and a person living with HIV, I’ve seen the shifts and changes in the movement. I saw how people were treated with some distain if they weren’t positive and part of “the club”, and I’ve seen tremendous compassion and caring and understanding. I’ve learned that we all, professional and not, stumble through our lives desperately seeking to belong, to love and to be loved. Treatments may have improved and increased our longevity, but they cannot improve the human condition nor should they: it’s a condition with which we all must gloriously manage. 

"we only ever have today..."

To the newly diagnosed and the young, I say remember the dinosaurs – many still live among you. And it is within their footprints that you now walk. It is within their comfort of their shadow that you can learn how life goes on. And it is within their collective memories that you can understand how much better is today.

And that we only ever have today.

There are few issues about which I feel more strongly than HIV/AIDS awareness and I take my advocacy/activism quite seriously, for a variety of reasons both globally-effective and intimately personal. I've found Twitter to be a fantastic resource for me in finding individuals, charity organizations, and hospitals/research centers to educate myself, lend support, and a million other uses when it comes to the disease. I cannot recommend it enough in this regard.

But...there's a downside, of course. For all of the people out there trying to educate, inform, and enrich life for everyone, there are just as many ignorant, corrupt, and hateful folks.

So -- one of the people I follow on Twitter (whose tweets are normally hilarious) posted a joke, a joke about HIV. Now, I firmly believe none of us should ever take ourselves so seriously that we can't find something to laugh at ourselves about, even if that laughter is in response to something as dire as illness, death, or catastrophe of some kind. I'm not saying I'm gonna do a 10-minute set of my best blond jokes at your funeral, but I have experienced the cathartic release of laughing at something truly devastating as a means of coping.

The tweet made me curious though; just how far would I be willing to go for a healing laugh? Are there certain subjects that are strictly verboten in any and every setting, or just around me personally?

With that in mind, I started digging around in the Twitterverse searching through thousands of tweets, and links, and blog posts for HIV/AIDS jokes. Believe me, there are A LOT and some of them are so repugnant I wouldn't even dream of sharing them here. Take my word for it, OK?

But the jokes are just that -- jokes. In bad taste? Of course! Not suitable for sharing in mixed company? Most definitely! But there is still an underlying intent of humor that cannot be denied, it softens the blow and makes them less painful, at least to me. But there's a lot of other talk going on out there, besides jokes and the tweets for doing good when it comes to HIV/AIDS. I'd like to share a tweet that stopped me dead in my tracks and caused me deep pain to even read:

"I feel the same way about people with hiv/aids as the nazi's did about the jews."

Now, all I know about the person who wrote this is that he lives in Iowa, has a wife/girlfriend, and generally likes to go out hunting, fishing and drinking with his buddies. I have no idea if there's some context that I'm missing, or if there's some extenuating circumstance that's not easily seen nor any of my business. But that doesn't change how I feel about it, right? Nor should it, if it's posted in a public forum such as it is.

The fact of the matter is, this young man (at least, that's what he looked like in his avatar photo) put this kind of ignorant hatred out into the world. Whether he believes it or not, was joking or serious, regrets it or is proud of it...it's there to inflict pain on anyone who reads it. At least, I should say, anyone who has any respect for the persecution and injustice that Jews withstood and suffered at the hands of fascist Nazis, or the pain, illness, and fear that anyone who has HIV or AIDS deals with on a daily-basis.

There are so many instances -- too many -- that emphasize the extremity of the hatred and intolerance that seems to be prevalent throughout our country these days. I know that I might be a tad hyper-sensitive about the whole HIV/AIDS issue, but to glibly liken yourself to a Nazi and their deplorable attempted genocide of the Jewish people?

And in such a sweeping, generalized way? I mean, I'd almost have preferred him saying, "...fags with HIV...", than to so callously throw all people battling this virus into his vile statement! Again...I'm utterly astounded and generally frightened to my core by this.

But that's what drives activism most assuredly, no? To be so affected by something that you feel compelled to action? I genuinely believe that all of us are capable of creating great change in any number of ways, but most definitely by simply sharing our experiences with the people we care about. So, I share this with all of you in hopes that it stirs you to action of some kind in making our world better for us all.

Where does that leave me and my (usually) inappropriate sense of humor then? I could get angry; ranting and raving at every offensive reference to HIV/AIDS, or find another approach. Is it possible to keep my sense of humor while trying to educate and raise awareness?

Let me share the line that started this whole voyage: "I wonder if people with HIV say 'I've got the Magic (Johnson) in me!'?" I think what offended me the most was...it's just not that funny. So, I replied to this tweet with my own: "No, we don't. We'll sometimes say, 'Let's go spread a little Magic!' though. (HIV Stigma isn't very funny, is it?)"

In a similar vein to the "Fighting Fire With Fire" approach, I've decided to combat this type of ignorance with better punch lines, sharper wit, and somewhat sardonic levity. Activism through comedy, if you will. Will I offend some people? Certainly. Will I make some people think about an issue differently? Maybe? I hope so. As they say..."See you in the funny pages!" LOL!

This post originally appeared on The Bilerico Project 

Jim Swimm is a forty-year-old Texan transplant in New York City: Gay, HIV+ and simply trying to make the world a better place... “ ‘cause I’m a superhero like that”. You can follow him on Twitter @Jims_Whim

I attended a funeral recently. I am of an age where I have had the luxury of not needing to attend a great many funerals in my short life – this is deemed a good thing, but I am still intrigued by these mysterious occasions and they continue to fascinate me. Catholic, Protestant, Jewish or non-denominational – whatever the faith (or not) I don’t discriminate, they all follow traditions which are socially understood within their respective communities and there is no instruction manual of what is acceptable and what is not, it is just known to those on the inside. Maybe I’m just weird or have a fetish for pomp and ceremony.

This particular recent event (and I call it such in the truest sense of the word) was an occasion to mark the life of an old friend of my Father’s. No occasion is better marked by an Irish immigrant community, of the “old faith”, than the loss of one of their own – first, second, third and even fourth generation all gathering alike in epic displays of grief.

There is one tradition, however, within this community for which I have a membership card somewhere that still utterly fascinates me. It is not the drink (for it flows freely with little excuse), it is not the music (always rousing and uplifting with a dash of tear jerking for good measure), its not the fighting (a game of fisticuffs is likely a mourning event chaser) – it’s the damn clothes. The oldest traditions die hardest. I imagine somewhere like Italy is similar, only with better cut garments.

As a gay man, I pride myself on my understated classical elegance – that’s my description anyway. Look – it’s just easier for me to buy basic colours in decent cuts, everything matches and therefore I do not have to think about it. I don’t tend to do “trendy” and I regularly wonder at times if I am actually a gay man. My own get-up, inspired by Bond, was as simple as highly polished brogues, suit with light pin stripe (NOT banker style), crisp white shirt previously unworn (decent sized collar), wool tie (looks better than it sounds) and Trench coat.

However, nothing raises an eyebrow faster and with a higher arch at these type of funerals (by those on the outside) than a widow in her wedding dress (say nothing); a congregation containing a pair of leather thigh high boots, of the Louboutin variety, ideally worn by immediate family; faux fur, fox fur, mink fur; hair extensions as long as three quarter length coats, with the coats never being removed until after the first drink and certainly never during the service; tote bags, clutch bags, under shoulder bags; high heels, Cuban hells, no heels and on and on and on.

There is only one rule. It’s as simple as this – it has to be new and it has to out-do everyone else. The pressure rises the closer you are to the deceased. If you can’t afford new, get a loan. If you can’t get a loan, sell something. If you can’t finance it, don’t turn up. Never borrow it. This is the unspoken tradition and of course this is what the deceased “would have wanted”. I’m not sure, in my case, whether my septuagenarian Father would know or care what is in vogue at any time of his life, but this is “what they want”. Wedding parties are regularly less well dressed. Woe betide anyone who dares to enter a wake in anything less than finery as nothing is scorned more than a mourning party infiltrated by bargain basement chic.

Therefore, I write this article with a mind to add a codicil to my own last will and testament – a bit like a rider to ensure I maintain the old style; it is to state as follows:

Some Minimum Requirements for Funeral Service: 

- A minimum of three sets of false eyelashes. Must be present and worn on one set of eyes, preferably on someone over 50.

- Non-waterproof mascara. Nothing demonstrates your grief harder.

- Dental implants (look better the darker you glasses are). Veneers are permitted on non-family. Gold is gauche – everyone has their standards.

- A street drunk in a suit bought from a charity shop clearly donated by a man significantly larger than the wearer (just to keep everything “real”).

- A donation plate with a special clip for paper money. Coinage not accepted.

- Gloved hands.

- More wild flowers than a summer meadow.

- Gritted smiles. Suspicion, envy and jealousy.

- Experimental hairdos. Colour may be used.

- Fainting.

- And last but not least, someone must be trotting down the aisle behind my box in a pair of those god damn Louboutin leather thigh-highs. I do wonder whether my Mother has the legs……..

I must also remember to copy this list and pass it to the health professional who advised me to place me affairs in order when I was diagnosed with HIV. She works with us gays daily – this is what she meant, of that I am certain.

NotDownNotOut is a late twenties (sigh, not for much longer) Brit who was found by HIV in 2010. He currently works in the corporate sector by day and is starting to write by night. An HIV diagnosis swiftly followed by an adult Aspergers diagnosis, made his head spin but determined to make sense of it all; he decided to try and make the room around him spin as well.

Regularly blogging on his experiences of HIV care in the UK, NotDownNotOut looks forward to the day when he has no more questions for the world or himself and can stop trying to take it all apart only to put it back together again just to find out how it works.

Secretly he knows this day will never come but we can all dream.