Journal

So I'm back at school again.  I'm only taking one class this semester.  I decided I just need to focus on a subject I know I can get an A in, so I can bring up my GPA.  So I'll be doing voice classes.  I love to sing, so I figure this would be an easy A.  Next semester I'll do a class I hate.  Probably math. 

Life continues without my dad.  It's so weird.  I was thinking about some of the times my dad went out of his way to make sure that I KNEW that he was okay with me being gay.  I remember a few times it made me really uncomfortable.  He would ask me about my sex life, and if I was using condoms or not and other stuff like that - stuff I would never talk to my parents about anyway.

But I realize now that he was just being the best dad that he knew how to be.  He wanted me to know that I could come to him with any problems I had, and not be scared or feel uncomfortable.

I can actually go to school now, though, and not worry about things that my dad might be doing while he's alone.  I used to have to stay home and babysit him.  After he got MRSA, his mind started to faulter, and he would do things absent mindedly, like cooking things, then falling asleep and leaving the stove on with stuff burning on top.  He'd sometimes leave water running in the sink, or let the dogs out in the bitter cold and forget to let them back in.

So all these things I don't have to worry about anymore.  I also don't have to worry about his health.  Like if his heart was ok, or if the MRSA would take control in another part of his body again... he had so many health problems. 

He and I used to fight alot, and I purposely withheld my medical condition from him, partly because I was afraid he might tell someone else without realizing that I didn't want everyone to know, and partly because I didn't want to give him more things to worry about.  But after a while, he put two and two together, and asked me if I had AIDS.  I told him I was HIV positive, and that I might have AIDS.  After that day, we never fought again.  We sort of saw eye-to-eye as far as medical conditions go, and how it can take a serious toll on your life.

I think my dad knew I was positive for about six months before he died.  It's so interesting that it took only a month or so for our relationship to change from bitter father-son relationship to best friends. 

Wow.  I think this is the longest journal entry I've written thus far.  Kudos to anyone who reads the whole thing :)  This is good therapy.

Alright.  So the Holiday season is this big mesh of depression and happiness.  I've done shopping for all my family members, which made me happy, but I didn't get a present for my dad, which made me depressed.

And while I'm riding the pity bus, I might as well mention that both my brother and my sister (who are both younger than me) are married, and my brother has two great little children.  It's so tragic that I think this, but their happiness seems to make me feel all the more lonely.  It just seems to emphasize the fact that I have no one in this world, and everyone around me has found someone to love.

But, whatever the case may be, I realize that I need to quit feeling so sorry for myself.  I need to remind myself that I am blessed in many ways that other people are not.  At least I have a mother who helps me through my illness. I'm glad I don't live in Africa with my disease. I would probably be dead already.

I can't really afford professional help, that is to say, a psychiatrist or whatever, so Daily Strength is the closest thing I have to a venting venue.  I really am grateful to everyone I've met on DS, and am grateful for the help they've provided to me. 

Well, it's been a long time since I've written last.   Since then, my HIV count has gone up, my T-cell count has dropped, and my dad died.  Nuff said.

I am so depressed it's ridiculous. I keep having these little bouts of happiness, but they're pretty much forced. Sometimes I'll try and make jokes, or I'll post some frivilous topic, like finding homonyms for the word fabulous, weird funny stuff that would usually cheer me up.  I feel happy or at least a little amused for the better part of ten minutes or so.

I feel like I killed my dad. I let him sleep too long.  I should have woken him up from his nap.  There was this little voice in the back of my mind saying, "go wake him up. Go wake him up" but I ignored it.  Another part of me just told the voice to shut up because I knew my dad was ok. He couldn't die. He was going to be an old man.

I always just assumed because of my disease that I would die before my dad. Sometimes I wished with all my heart that I would die before my dad.  A part of me is a little mad at Dad for dying first.