OK... where were we?

Last time we talked I typed, I was at the point of deciding whether or not to continue living the lie that I was living. Again, it requires almost no intelligence whatsoever to figure out that I decided to come to terms with who I really was, at least as it related to my sexual orientation. I am not going to go into a great deal of detail about the process of "coming out" of my marriage. The how and why and when are not really important. Suffice it to say though that it was neither easy nor enjoyable. I should note however that this was the first time that I seriously, albeit briefly, engaged in mental health therapy including psychotropic medications. I now know this is something I should have continued doing but did not. In any event, at Julie's request, I spent almost a year living with her after coming out. This was without a doubt one of the emotionally challenging periods of my life, as I am sure it was for her as well.

Within a year however, I found myself relocated to NYC... a place where I never envisioned myself living. I was fortunate that I continued my upward progress career-wise. So I was in a somewhat stable situation as I set out to start my life over again. I also found myself already in a committed should have been committed what turned out to be "discretely open" gay relationship in NYC. In other words, he was in an open relationship and so discrete about it that I didn't know. The nearly four years spent in this relationship would provide much of the baggage that would put me on the path to rock bottom several years later. Now mind you, I choose the baggage through a series of really bad decisions as it related to the relationship itself and how I managed the eventual breakup. But the mistake that set the tone for all the bad decisions to follow was going right from my marriage to a long term relationship that I really was not prepared to be in. I didn't know how to be gay let alone how to be in a gay relationship. I should have learned a lot more about my new life before jumping in to that. But what's done is done.


I honestly don't know if any of this shit makes sense to anyone other than myself. But I think it is important to have some idea of what was simmering beneath the surface as I willingly allowed my life to later turn to shit. So... four years after moving to NYC, I find myself still in an upward career path and financially secure. I am now single however. And I need to point out that this time, I am also tipping the scales at in excess of 380 pounds. If you know anything about gay life in general and gay life in NYC, you know that this is a recipe for unhappiness and heartache.  But, I was giving the old college try. Let's say though, that I wasn't particularly successful in the dating scene. I had a few, short and forgettable relationships and some dating incidents disasters that, when combined with my still fragile state after my ugly breakup, left my ego and self esteem shattered.

Up until this point, I was looking for love... hoping for a relationship... believing in monogamy... hoping something real. Eventually, all those admirable ambitions gave way to despair, doubt, resignation, cynicism and eventually I gave up and set my sights much lower. It had all just become about getting laid. And I ran with that. Not only did I engage in a lot of casual sex, I became a god damn slut. Lots of sex, with lots of people I didn't know. I began to make up for all the lost time spent being married and being in a long term relationship. I was sowing my seed... lots of it... all over the place. AND I was helping a lot of other guys sow their seed too.

I had always secretly had this freaky side when it came to my sexual fantasies. My new found sexual freedom allowed to take that freaky side from fantasy to reality. This is truly the point of no return on the slippery slope down the path to rock bottom. I used the internet to find sexual partners. I was drawn to other freaks like a moth to the flame. Unprotected sex in this circle of deviants was the norm. I went along with the norm.

In July of 2007, I got sick. At first, I wasn't sure what was happening to me. But I was very sick very often. Eventually I knew. After a good old fashioned, bed drenching case of the night sweats that left a outline of my body on my sheets resembling a chalk outline at a murder scene, I went for a HIV test. It came as no surprise really when I found out I was positive. I wasn't happy but wasn't distraught either. I was kind of numb actually. All of a sudden though, the slope to rock bottom got a lot more slippery and steep.

As I said, I had gotten really sick. Seroconversion was particularly rough for me. I got hit hard with Acute HIV Syndrome. Not everyone who gets infected goes through it. In fact only 30-50% of those infected develop it. Even fewer experience it as severely and for as long as I did. It resulted in several trips to the ER from work. Eventually I ended up on medical leave. And indirectly, it cost me my job. The upward career movement had just ended, and soon when the 401k and severance and unemployment were gone... and Tina was going to make sure that happened... so too ended the financial stability.

So how did I become a "friend of Tina"? Even before becoming positive, there was a subset of the freak population online that I longed to get with. I thought they were hot... what they were into hotter... and what I imagined doing with them super hot. These were the freakiest of the freaky. I wanted to learn from them and have them help me push my own limits. I even had my own nickname for them, as a whole. I referred to them as "the big dogs of pig play". And I wanted to run with the big dogs. Only one problem though. Every time I approached them online, I was asked I partied or PNP'd. They were only interested if I partied (would eventually realize that all the big dogs were also parasitic bag chasers). At first I didn't even know what party and play meant.

I went from wanting nothing to do with PNP, to not caring if you PNP'd, to being curious about it, to seriously considering trying it, to... well... to making the worst decision of my life... trying it. In hindsight, that progession occurred as the numbness over my diagnosis began to wear off. I started to dwell on how my already shabby track record in the gay dating scene would now be made even more problematic with the prospects of disclosure. It was disclosure that cinched the deal for me. In the world of PNP, not only was disclosure not required, it was frowned upon. Don't ask don't tell was the rule. Such conversations regarding status would only be a buzz kill.

I think that's enough for now. Writing about this touches on some still raw nerves. I think I need to touch base with my therapist about this from time to time as I continue to blog... just to stay on the safe side.