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The Outcast - An Aids Story
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The Outcast - An Aids Story |
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SPIRIT Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745California Desert |
THE OUTCAST The smoke takes me off the fast track to nowhere. Gently and mercifully it lowers me, into a happier past and allows me a somewhat pain-free lucidity. I am the only son of parents who adored me, past tense. There was a time when I could do no wrong. I was the icing on their cake and they had the highest aims and expectations for me. The pedestal they had me on was very high, luckily they were always there to catch me when I screwed up and fell. I never, for one moment, thought that they would ever turn on me. Our family history is one filled with bravery, honesty and great integrity on both the military front and in the world of finance. The men have never fled cowardly from any battlefield, be it war weary combat zones or within a corporate office. I am the last male with the family name, I was expected to carry it forth, proudly, with dignity and honor. Well I blew it; I really did, although that never was my intention. I actually relished in the love and respect my parents afforded me. Neither of my sisters was as favored as I was. I never stopped to think about the unfairness of this. I suppose I never sat still long enough to reflect as much as I do now. Being ill has made me aware, I am more sensitive now and I have dissected myself emotionally so many times that I know me better now than I ever had before. I’m sitting on a cloud, of sorts, right at this moment, if only it was possible to stay here forever. To float away, far beyond the reality of today. To escape from my prison, this poorly lit and sparse, next to unfurnished, roach infested room. I try to fathom in my head where I went so wrong. My mother and father only ever wanted me to be happy, or so they said. Believe me I was happy. Blissfully, ecstatically happy for five glorious years. My happiness was my best friend, through thick and thin, a true and solid pal. My one and only confidante, my lover. The sickness that overtook him hollered and stomped its way loudly into our placid enjoyable lives. There didn’t appear to be the time to say all the things I wanted to say. Before I had a chance to say goodbye - he was gone. It truly did seem to be that quick. Where else would I turn to in my grief but to my family? They had always been so loving and supportive. They knew I was in a relationship. As the miles between us was so many I neglected, purposely, to say that it was with another male. But they loved me, it was unconditional, I can’t count how many times they had proved that. I needed the warmth of my parents in my misery. I can't get the picture out of my mind, how they shuddered and distanced themselves from me as they began to understand that I was grieving for one such as I, and that I also had fallen victim to the dreaded disease. The fervor disappeared from their smiles and hugs. The respect and regard that they had for me became nothing more than a cold shoulder of inherent politeness. The sickness has not been kind to me, what a pathetically selfish statement to make. It doesn’t play favorites; it is not kind to anyone who is inflicted with this disease. It just hasn't hollered and stomped its way into my life and taken me as quickly as I would like. It has insidiously and quietly crept into my life and lingered. It has opened a door for my family to step through, never looking back and never to return. I am a skeleton of my former self. The sores are often visible and I cringe at the sight of them, I wear them like a badge of punishment, but punishment, for what? At night and often during the day I crawl into my bed and pull myself into a fetal position and cry. Cry for all I have lost, my lover, my family, my friends and for my lost and wasted life. Once more, like a baby, I am in diapers, except now there is no loving parent as caregiver. I change myself as best I can and cover my bed and old couch with waterproof disposable matting. My only visitor is an acquaintance who brings me food once a day and takes care of my cat. He hangs around no longer than necessary. People from the project come for me and take me to the hospital on a regular basis, but they are kept busy, there are so many of us. Sometimes it is as if I have no mind, I wander in and out of reality, I am neither here, nor there. I am fast losing it; I will not leave the hospital after my next routine visit. The unavailability of beds has left me alone longer than I should have been. A bed in the hospice has my name on it now and my days in this room, are thankfully, numbered. There is a sense of security in knowing that someone will tend to my needs. Without a doubt I can no longer care for myself. A sense of freedom in a way, knowing and accepting what the future holds. I can live with this, just as long as I have too. I want to cry out that this is not me - but there is no one to hear and my cries would only echo unacknowledged against the bare walls of my room. The real me is crouched and hidden inside this mess of bones and waste. How sad that nobody cares for the man I was and still am. My inner self, for the most part is alert, when pain-free, and still in need of love. This sickness is a pleasure thief; it has violated my body and stolen from me all that I had and all that I would want to have. Before I die I would love to hear my father's raucous laugh and feel his strong arm around my shoulder. Just one more time to see pride in his eyes for his only son. I could die happy with a warm smile from my mother and one of those long hugs that she was, and possibly still is, so good at. My sisters I feel are so much under the parents’ authority that they stay away, to keep the peace at home. But a postcard, just a lousy postcard would be a great welcome in my mailbox here. The enduring, agonizing pain of this despicable disease is far surpassed by the suffering created by my lost and inexplicably retreating family. I continue to live, if you can call it that, but my will has died. My soul is anxiously awaiting freedom from this earthly coffin it inhabits. I pray for the day when my heart ceases to beat within my war torn chest. Going for survival is not a choice at this late date in the game, for me there is no survival. Who would ever have imagined that I would die at twenty-eight totally alone, unloved and unwanted. I feel expendable, a throwaway. I am a throwaway. I am no longer an asset to anyone, especially myself. I am a living corpse, awaiting my rebirth. Dear family, if you feel that I have failed you, how do you suppose I feel? You placed me in an inescapable jail of isolation, to die. Cruel and unjust action just because I was happy, in love and truly committed in a relationship different to what you considered normal. I want you to hold me, tell me how much you love me, dry my tears and help me confront my nightmares, as you did when I was a child. I am 100% still that same child. I am grateful that you made me go to church on a regular basis. I am trying to recall my childhood faith; to overcome obstacles created my adult disbelief. I need God at this time in my life, for I have absolutely nothing else to fall back on except my remembered faith of yesterday. I remember learning that Jesus died that we might be forgiven of our sins. I am not sure that I can believe that the wonderful, loving relationship I had would be considered a sin, but regardless with such forgiveness I am looking at Eternal Life as my death becomes more and more imminent. You could say that I am looking longingly into my future, at my dying, at my renewal of life. Transition is a pleasing word. Once I make mine I will love and be loved. I will live again and my spiritual body, no longer entrapped within its demolished housing, will be pain free and strong. This life is my death, I can only look forward to death being my life, and I do, I really believe I do. This disease has made me more spiritually aware. I think and talk away, mainly to myself, in, well like, a different language; I don’t know how to explain it actually. As hurt as I am by parental and sibling neglect, I do understand. Fear builds walls of unassailable heights and I have made my peace with this fact. I have taken care of all my burial details. I am to be cremated, no service, and my ashes to be scattered over the ocean. I have no will, for I have nothing to leave. My parents are not to be notified until it is all done. The hospital has promised me that they will handle everything according to my wishes, and I have no reason to doubt them. I have a bright future. My goodbyes of today are my hellos and hopes for tomorrow. I look forward - to tomorrow. In my death I will rise up and live, and I am so positive that I will be re-united with him, I have loved the most. I be me BUT who does me be? [This message has been edited by SPIRIT (02-13-2003 04:18 PM).] |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
SPIRIT, This horrible disease has touched a person whose family I know. Christian, overall, have failed their own faith, in large part, on this very subject. The things people do in the name of Christianity are appauling. While I believe active homosexuality is sin that gives us no license to abuse anybody...ever. Painfully accurate write.  If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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SPIRIT Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745California Desert |
I have to agree, I have met a lot of 'BELIEVERS' who are lacking terribly in the faith, lacking in unconditional love and forgiveness and acceptance. For myself I stopped carrying 'stones' in my pockets decades ago and try to place myself in someone else's shoes before making judgment. Thus this piece was written. I be me BUT who does me be? [This message has been edited by SPIRIT (02-13-2003 10:39 AM).] |
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lorenlynn Member
since 2003-01-27
Posts 203California Beaches |
I agree here, I feel so sad for those who have to suffer this disease alone, and so many have to. Wisdom comes with winters. ** Oscar Wilde. |
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cupcake Member
since 2003-01-05
Posts 116 |
Not exactly what I expected - powerful write. I'm a reader - not a writer. |
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pk Junior Member
since 2003-02-11
Posts 23 |
Powerful story..."It has opened a door for my family to step through, never looking back and never to return." great line... good story(but sad) |
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SPIRIT Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745California Desert |
Thank you for all your comments - appreciated. I be me BUT who does me be? |
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