Part of Christopher's Journals

July 28, 1995 11:45 PM

These unbearable summer nights are only surpassed by the smothering heat of daytime. There seems to be no relief at all this year with the weather making major changes. I cannot sleep. I cannot get comfortable, or even imagine that state of mind anymore. This reminds me of the Twilight Zone where the sun gets closer and closer, slowly cremating the planet and everything on it. Of course, the irony was that the planet was moving away from the sun. Funny how the mind works, and Rod Serling knew how to manipulate that part of the mind that conjures fear.

So why am I doing this again . . . writing about things. Maybe I need an outlet, and physically my options are becoming limited. Or maybe my mind is limiting me physically. Since things have progressed during the last year, I find myself very confused about a lot of things. Life seems like it might be just a practical joke, just trying to fool me into thinking about death. Deep, huh? As things in this life become more difficult, there is a part of me that just will not accept that I cannot do it. Despite the intense pain that may come from the activities I choose, I continue to push forward, ignoring as much of the pain that denial and drugs will allow. See, I tell my mind, I can do it . . . death is not around the corner.

But then there is the flip side to that train of thought. Alone in the solitude of thought I permit thoughts I have never verbalized. How can I talk to Sam about "Afterwards" or even "The End"? How much can he handle? He has been so good to me and for me. How much can I handle? Sometimes more, and sometimes not at all. Thank God for denial.

Remembering when I watched dad go through the suffering and knowing that one day it would be me in that hospital bed with IVs feeding me what life was possibly left is bringing a lot of confusion too. Why me? The shortest question that haunts me the most. What is going to happen to me? What is after this life? I now know that I can handle more of the physical discomfort than I ever thought possible . . . but how much more can I possible endure before I am unable to function as more than just a vegetable?

I went to see Dr. Z at the Clinic today. He just drew some blood (and they will be doing CD4 count). I also sat through an interview with a drug counselor who was screening all clinic patients. She was nice, quiet spoken. I just love to talk to people about my life. That is not entirely true, but there is a certain fascination in sharing things. Shock value? Anyway, I have to go back next Friday to receive a pentemadine aerosol treatment. Now talk about fun . . . I just love that aftertaste (for weeks on end). My shingles are clearing up slowly. The pains in my side are only held at bay by extra strength Vicodin and of course my other medication. I feel that I might be trying to pass something through my kidneys my urination has not been a problem. Who knows. This disease works so fast and efficiently that no one can predict any normal patterns for the human destruction happening right inside of me.

One of the most interesting things about being HIV+ is that there is a certain amount of power that comes with the distance one must keep. No one can hurt me, except emotionally of course. No one can take my life without my consent. The fear that my blood can inspire in people is astounding. But it leaves me awfully lonely inside. Without Sam and my mom, I surely would have died by now. They have given me reasons to live beyond what I would have allowed myself. I am my own weapon . . . who needs a gun? That little piece of illusion sees to it that I live on.

It is so hard to watch those around you suffering from helplessness. I can endure the pain, all except those of other people. How do you ease the torment for them without pretending that everything is all right? I must be strong for them and for me too.

I could go on, but fatigue dictates that I must rest for now. For reference sake, this is the first in a series of journal entries.