I met with my nurse practitioner the next day and she admitted she had no idea what to do next and wanted to refer me to an ID specialist in Greeley. I told her it wasn’t necessary, that I had it handled. Dammit, I was taking charge. The next week was a rough one. My roommate came home from training and I told her. She was and still is my rock. She was there with me when I told my parents who were amazingly strong. I can laugh about it now, but when I told my parents that I am HIV+ my dad said, “Oh no,” and my mom said, “Oh thank god, I thought you were going to tell us you were moving back to Denver.”
I had tried to kill myself four times with no success. By all rights I should have been dead by now. Clearly someone has decided I have something left to do.
I am sure the look on my face said it all; she quickly retracted that statement and said, “We will do whatever it takes to help, we will deal with it as it comes.”
I started seeing my a nurse practitioner at DIDC and loved her. She taught me so much that really helped ease me. She included me in the decisions regarding my health care. I started meds that April. I had wanted to go on Atripla, being that it is one pill once a day. Sherefused to put me on it because of my past issues with depression. As she put it, “People with no history of depression have been known to kill themselves while taking this medication.” We decided that I would go on the Truvada-Isentress combo. Within six weeks I was undetectable. It was working and was relatively easy on me.
Fort Morgan started feeling small, and I was looking for a way to get out. My company had recently bought a store in Casper, Wyoming, and I had met a guy that lived up there who wanted me to move up there with him. I transferred to Wyoming and loved it. It was so beautiful up there and nobody knew me or my baggage. That was a double-edged sword.
My boyfriend and I were fighting a lot after the first month up there. We had an argument one night and threats were made to kick me out. He left. I panicked. I was trapped again. What the hell was I going to do? I had no place to go, I couldn’t move back to Fort Morgan, I couldn’t afford a place by myself. Simply put, I was screwed. Then I started to dig at myself: I was a failure, I couldn’t even keep my self healthy, I had, after all, gotten myself HIV infected. I went through the medicine cabinet and found a large bottle of Skelaxin (a muscle relaxer); there must have been 80 pills in it. I loaded my dogs up in the car grabbed a 6-pack of beer and drove out to the middle of nowhere.
Once again I downed the pills, and washed them down with the beer. Kicked off the my shoes, locked the car doors and waited, once again, to die. Apparently a car driving by the next day had called in my car sitting there and I woke up to an ambulance and police officers and my boyfriend trying to get into my car. I vaguely remember being moved into the emergency room at the hospital in Casper. I once again was admitted to a psych facility for “treatment”. They kept me for the 72 hours that the law allows and released me.
I tried to work things out with my boyfriend until October when the web of lies that he had spun began to unravel. My parents came up to help me, once again, move back to Fort Morgan. Now I really felt like a failure. I had tried to kill myself four times with no success. By all rights I should have been dead by now. Clearly someone has decided I have something left to do.
So Fort Morgan had sucked me back in once again. I went part-time at work and was trying to figure out what to do with myself. I started attending a educational/support group for HIV-positive people at my ID doctors office. I was finally around other people who I had something in common with, that had more to say than “I’m sorry” when it came to my HIV status.
?
????This group stirred something in me. It lit a fire in me. I finally understood what it was I was supposed to do with this. I realized that I can use my story to educate. I can get the conversation going again. I can breathe life back into the topic of HIV one person at a time. I can stress the importance of getting tested regularly and the importance of safe sex.
I now facilitate a group each week with Rocky Mountain Cares, and we have a wide range of people, from the newly diagnosed to those who were diagnosed in the early 80s that just need some support.
If I can help one person stay negative or come to terms with being positive, then I have done something with this. And it will not be the end of me.
This post originally appeared on Kevin Cares USA and is republished here with permission.
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The first time I remember hearing about AIDS was in 1985, I was 10 years old and in the 5th grade. I remember my teacher talking about how it affected the immune system. I think the next significant discussion, for me, was in 1987 when the issue of AIDS was dressed on the television sitcom Designing Women. There were the updates of the spread of the epidemic, the discoveries of how it was transmitted, and who was truly affected by it. Then in 1992 a good friend of my parents was diagnosed. I remember hearing how his wife treated him, the concerns about how long he would be around, and what would happen to him.
My parents never treated him differently, my mom still hugged him, my dad still joked around with him and I still enjoyed being around him. He was still the same friend that we had always known. He got remarried to a young woman who also had AIDS, and they had what they called their miracle baby. She was born without the virus, this would have been around the time that research was showing that babies born to positive mothers could be negative as long as they did not breast feed. What an amazing occurrence that was.
I went several years with really no thought of HIV/AIDS. I was 22 when I came out and was introduced to this whole new world of gay culture. Who knew that there were so many gay bars and so many gay men in Denver and the surrounding metro areas, I sure didn’t. I was newly out, overweight, and had a very negative self image. Bars were not really my scene, I loved going dancing and the environment but did not meet my, shall we call them, “physical” needs.
This was also right around the same time that internet chat rooms started becoming popular. Now that was my arena. I was prime bait for those older guys that wanted some young fun. I was new to all of this, curious, and horny….. ALOT!! I rarely ever used a condom when I was hooking up, I didn’t think about it, and most of the guys did not want to use one.
The first time I went and got tested was strictly peer pressure. I had went with my best friend to get tested, she had experienced an alcohol induced lapse in judgement and was worried about having contracted and STD. She asked me if I would go with her to local STD clinic to get tested. While she was checking my friend in, the nurse asked me if I wanted to get tested. I promptly said “NO”, they harassed me into it.
After the exam, blood draws, and all the other violations of my personal space, I was informed I could call in 3 days to get the results of all the tests except for the HIV test. For the HIV test I would need to wait a week and actually have to come in for it. I decided there was no way I was going to go back to that place. I forgot about the tests altogether, that is until I was talking to the same friend I went and got tested with. She told me she had called and everything was good, they had even given her the HIV results over the phone. I was surprised by this being that they told me I would have to come in for the HIV results, she said to me, “Oh, that’s only if it comes back positive.” She was pressuring me to call and get the results, I told her I really did not even want to know.
After being badgered for several hours I agreed to call and get my results. So the next day I called, gave them my name and they gave me the results of all except the HIV test. They told me I needed to come in for those. I immediately panicked, I called another good friend of mine at work and told him that I needed him to go with me. I explained what had transpired, he did what any good friend would do and comforted me.
I got to the clinic and they me and my friend in a waiting room. A nurse came in and greeted me, she was smiling and full of cheer, I on the other hand was sitting crying and waiting for my death sentence. She told me she had the results of my test, I wanted to her to just get on with it. Then I heard the words I was waiting for: the nurse told me that my test came back … NEGATIVE!!!! All this pomp and circumstance for a NEGATIVE test. I was, however, elated. She asked me what I was going to to do to keep my status the same. I swore I was never going to have sex again. She laughed and told me to use condoms. I promptly went out to the bar that night to celebrate my negative test, I had another celebration of my negative status later that night. So much for swearing off sex.
I knew I wanted to see him again. I was terrified though. I wasn’t scared of the virus. My fears were of falling in love with him, only to lose him. I cried as he held me that night til I fell asleep, I woke up the next morning still crying. I left his house in tears that morning and cried all the way back to my apartment, not really sure what to do. I called the only person I could think of for advice, my mom. She and I had always been close and I knew I could talk with her about it and give me the best advice possible.
I called her and she immediately knew something was wrong, she could tell it in my voice. I told her I had met a guy that I really liked and that he had told me last night that he was HIV+. Her first statement to me was have you slept with him yet? I told her no, she breathed a sigh of relief and I told her my fear of falling in love with him and losing him. Then came the best advice she has ever given met. She said to me, “You can’t worry about what might happen, do what will make you happy.” I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I could breathe, I was able to stop crying, it made sense. She was mom, how could she be wrong?
So I went with it, he and I talked and I explained my fears but also explained that I would be out there taking the chance with someone else anyway if I was not with him. Someone who may not be honest with me, or may not know. With him, we could take the precautions to protect me as best we could and I was pretty damn sure I was going to fall in love with him and then it least the chance would be taken with someone I cared about.
He and I were together for six years; I got tested every three months with my diabetes lab work. I was negative the whole time. The relationship was not without it’s issues, and thus we decided to end the relationship as they got to big for me to handle.
Denver suddenly became too small for me and too tightly packed with memories. I decided to move to the northeastern plains of Colorado to be closer to my family. My grandmother had just moved in with my parents after the death of my grandfather, my parents had also just gotten custody of my 6-year-old nephew and I needed a change. Fort Morgan seemed logical: it would be easy to have my horses, I would be close to my family, and be able to help my parents with my nephew.
I had dealt with depression from my early teenage years, but had always found a way to talk myself out of it. Depression and bipolar disorder run rampant in my family. I lost my cousin, who was like a brother to me, to suicide when I was 16. My dad had been in and out of psychiatric hospitals for depression and suicide attempts from the time I was nine. My grandmother on my fathers side was a self-medicated manic depressive alcoholic, and the list goes on.
I knew what I had to do, I had to end it, it was the only way out. What reason did I have to live? I was no longer with my first true love, I felt like he had damaged me for anyone else. I did not know what else to do. I have this interesting self-defense mechanism that limited my choices for completing the task before me though. It is damned near impossible for me to inflict pain upon myself. Slitting my wrists, shooting myself, or hanging myself were out of the question. Overdose was the only option I could think of.
I had a bottle with 23 Vicodin that had been left over from an injury. That would be the vehicle for my exit. I also decided that as I started to feel groggy I would then inject myself with 300 units of my fast acting insulin just to seal the deal. I climbed into the bathtub, had my insulin syringes drawn up and ready to go, sitting on the ledge of the tub. I started taking the pills, my dog staring at me and whining. I took all the pills and laid back in the tub waiting for them to kick in. I lay smoking a cigarette and crying.
My boyfriend came home before they started to take effect, he came in and found me in the bathroom with the empty pill bottle and asked me what I had done. I told him that I had taken the pills and wanted to die. He didn’t believe me. Good thing!
It pissed me off enough that I was not going to give that drunken S.O.B the satisfaction of dying. I called a friend of mine asked her to drive me to the hospital and told her what I had done. She kept me on the phone while she was driving and took me to the hospital.
Let me tell ya, there are some crazy people in a county hospital psych ward. The hospital monitored me, pulled blood every couple of hours for 6 hours and then sent me for a psych evalulation. I convinced myself, and them, that this was an isolated incident and they sent me on my way.
My parents asked me to stay with them for a couple of days. They would not let me be alone. I spent a couple of days with them and headed back to work. I decided to stay with a friend of mine and things were going ok. I was home alone and bored one night a couple of weeks later so I decided to go out. I went to my regular haunt, the bar that I felt most comfortable where I knew I would have friends. All was going well, I was hanging out having a good time, and then they walked in. I tried to ignore them, but my then ex-boyfriend stopped and tried to talk to me. I tried to make nice, but the wound was still open and he had just poured salt in it.
I decided it was time for me to go not long after that. As I was leaving I saw them standing there, arms around each others waist kissing. I left so quickly I don’t even remember getting in my car. I drove the whole way back to my friend’s apartment thinking I had to stop the pain. I went up to his apartment and grabbed all the pills I had, anything that could possibly kill me if I took enough of them. My friend had been asleep on the couch when I came in and woke up as I was leaving again, I told him I was just going to run to McDonald’s and would be back. Instead I drove to my job, a vet’s office, and picked up my dog who was there, grabbed the supplies to put an IV catheter in my arm and three 30-cc bottles of Propofol. Propofol is an IV anesthetic. It’s the same drug the Michael Jackson died from.
I drove up into Golden and parked in a residential area so that I would not have cops driving by that could interrupt me. I placed the catheter in my arm, drew the Propofol up into the syringes and started taking all the pills I had. A months supply of 2 different antidepressants, a bottle of Aleve, about 90 Neurontin pills (an anti-seizure med), and half a bottle of cough syrup with codeine. I then started putting the Propofol in through the catheter. I got all 90 ccs in before I passed out.
To my dismay I woke up the next morning, about 11am, in such a fog. I drove angry that I was a such a failure that I could not even kill myself. I sent my friend a text message saying that I needed help. She was a police dispatcher who had been looking for me all night; my friend that I was staying with had called her when I did not come back the previous night. She told me where to meet her and showed up with an ambulance, police, and fire department. I was taken to the emergency room and later that day admitted to a psych facility at another hospital.
I spent three days in this facility, not really understanding what my purpose for being around was. There was no reason for me to be alive. I didn’t want to be alive, it hurt too badly. I had put my family through hell and didn’t care, I wanted to die and there was nothing that anyone could say that would change my mind. When I was released my parents brought me back to Fort Morgan for a week and then took me to meet with the owner of the veterinary hospital I worked for.
At that point I was forced to quit my job or they would file charges against me for theft. They told me if I would go to therapy and get a written release from the therapist and from my doctors, that after an appropriate amount of time that I could come back to work for them.
So I moved back to Fort Morgan and my old job there hired me back without issue, no questions asked. I moved in with a friend of mine, who was also the assistant manager at my job. Things were going ok, but I was still did not understand my purpose. I was hell bent on killing myself one way or another. I realize that now.
I found comfort in sex.
Bareback sex.
I had two sexual partners between June of 2008 and February of 2009. June of 2008 would be my last ever Negative HIV test.
When I felt like I could talk, I called my friend that had been there through the suicide attempts and told her. She gave me the second-best words of advice that I’ve ever received: “Don’t let this be the end of you, do something with it.” It made sense to me, it helped. I got online and went to Google, I simply put in “HIV +. ” I clicked on the first website that I saw, POZ.com. I started reading their HIV 101. I went on other gay social networking sites to their positive support boards and started talking to Denver guys that were also positive. I asked them what do I do next? They told me I needed to get in with an ID specialist. I asked who they saw and many of them gave me the doctors at Denver Infectious Disease Consultants (DIDC). I called the next day and schedule my appointment with their receptionist Rosa. She was absolutely incredible, and made me feel totally comfortable and put me at ease.
Qjersey
No disrespect to this man and his journey. But Do as I Say and Not as I Did, has never worked for parents.
I want to hear the stories of the other “survivors,” men who have been sexually active and have successfully stayed HIV negative. Those men we may be able to learn something from.
Beau Colby
“To my dismay I woke up the next morning,” – Page 6, 4th Paragraph…Sorry Mr. Armstrong, I read this far and I’ve have similar circumstances but, you lost me here…Get help man. BC
Pattern?
When every relationship ends in violence, abuse and a “web of lies”…coincidence?
t money
after the first failed attempt i would have moved to ligatures, trains, guns. something that would DEFINITELY kill me.
that being said… thank you for not being too invested in killing yourself. otherwise we would never hear about your journey and the great work you are doing now.
keep it up.
but if you ever feel like killing yourself again, dont use pills. you know they dont work.
cheers.
Rick Gold
Four times?!?!
Goodness.
That is depressing enough to make want to kill myself.
Kevin
Thank you Scott for bearing your soul; you are a true testament to someone who has risen up and is speaking up about HIV/AIDS! Through the tears you made me smile. I am glad you are still here to tell your story!
Shannon1981
I think what you are doing is great. Best of luck to you. No more pills and booze and needles, ok?
Scott Armstrong
@Shannon1981: Shannon thank you for your supportive words. I am in a much better place now and feel like I have a purpose and reason to live.
Scott Armstrong
@t money: T Money, thanks for the words of advice, I am glad that you got the point of the story.
Scott Armstrong
@Kevin: Kevin, thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to share my story. My life is better for knowing you. It is thanks to you that my story is here to receive both the positive and negative comments. You are a great friend.
Erick
Thank you for sharing your story. It does matter. I truly wish you the best.
Right Wingers Are Socioptahs (John From England)
@Scott Armstrong:
Good for you Scott and proud. Why on earth do people choose Queerty the most self hating gay site? Peope as well as the editors are really mean to gay people here.
Oh well, you can google and you are a big bog. Alll the best. 🙂
Right Wingers Are Socioptahs (John From England)
@Right Wingers Are Socioptahs (John From England)
Urgh. Cant spell on an iPad.
GetBalance
@Scott Armstrong
Very touching story, thx for sharing it. I’m wondering, do you think all the pain you went through was to get you to a place where you needed to learn to give yourself unconditionally to humanity? Like it’s always been your true calling but you needed to do what you did to get there which may have created deeper meaning in your life and yourself? Just curious as I’m looking at a thing that i have always meant to do and haven’t completed yet, and things are not all that peachy and that I need to do it to get happier, which I’m taking baby steps at. It seems like the place you are now, is very humanitarian oriented and a great place to arrive after your ordeals.
Ken S
It isn’t my intention to be demeaning but is that a symptom of a depressive disposition- having *such* a disproportionate reaction to relationship break-ups? My first 4 boyfriends all dumped me- at least one of them so that he could pursue friends he’d met through me- and sure it hurt and it sucked but I never once thought that I should kill *myself* over it. And even now, if my partner of ~8 years were to leave me tomorrow, it would hurt and it would suck but it sure as shit wouldn’t make me want to die; I just can’t relate to such a totally overwrought emotional reaction at all, I don’t understand it. It sounds like fixing whatever’s short-circuiting when a relationship ends would be the most helpful thing
Isaak
Yea… im not reading all that…
Pete
We read this story about AIDS and its consequences, yet there is another post here at Queerty where the editor is arguing that he was his porn condom free. I guess he forgets that there arre thousands of persons working in the porn industry, exposing thousands of others, and he wants his pix without condoms. let them be the ones to get infected.
Cam
One of the things I never got, was in the story you kept saying that you knew you would be crazy if you stayed in the hospitals any longer so you always convinced them to let you go.
You were trying to commit suicide because of a break-up, I’m just wondering why you never really thought that perhaps you actually could use some extreamly intensive hospital based therepy.
Scott Armstrong
@Cam: I believe what I said was those people were crazy, I was depressed. I needed to get out of there because I did not feel like I belonged with those patients. The patients in that hospital had severe personality disorders and such. I honestly thought that I could handle my problems on my own.
I was jot trying to kill myself over a break up, it was a culmination of these things going on in my life and the break up was the final straw.
I know now that I was wrong about that. With that being said, I will also say that none of my stays in hospitals really ever did any good either. In these facilities the doctors spent no more than 15 minutes talking to me before throwing a prescription tor antidepressants at me. Had they done a little digging, they would have noticed that I showed traits of bi-polar disorder and known that antidepressants can make these feelings even more intense.
Oprah
Why wasnt there a limit of word for the article? Goodness, i am very busy you know.
Cam
@Scott Armstrong: said…
”
In these facilities the doctors spent no more than 15 minutes talking to me before throwing a prescription tor antidepressants at me. Had they done a little digging, they would have noticed that I showed traits of bi-polar disorder and known that antidepressants can make these feelings even more intense.”
____________________________________
Were you honest with them? You mentioned each time how badly you wanted to get out of those places. So did let them know that you had tried suicide before, since that would have brought down extra examiniation time I’m guessing the answer is no. did you inform them that you had a massive self destructive streak? It is their job to spot things, but if you’re in there with the express mission of convincing them that there is nothing wrong with you, I’m really not going to blame them for not noticing. You were struggling to hide any evidence of that fact.
Beau Colby
Come on now,…IF you were REALLY seeking help (instead of attention) you would have disclosed ALL of your past attempts to the next Dr instead of just trying to get out to seek your next hurtful situation! It sounds to me (being a third party) that you WANTED attention at YOUR convenience everytime someone dissed you. Get help and quit feeling sorry for yourself and trying to “x’plain” your previous actions. I’m happy for you but, you need to be happy yourself…BC
Stace
Bipolar disorder even among competent doctors is often difficult to diagnose.
Scott Armstrong
@Cam: Cam, as a matter of fact, yes I did tell them each time about the previous suicide attempts. There was only one facility in which I felt I had to convince them that I was ok. One of the facilities told me that was being released that afternoon and I knew I was not ready to go. The doc told me he thought I was and sent me on my way.
GetBalance
Hi Scott,
Did u miss my question above or. . . . ?
Scott Armstrong
@GetBalance: I am sorry, I did forget to reply to it, and I apologize for that.
To be honest I don’t know, I do know that without my life experiences I would not be where I am or doing what I am doing today. I know that the failed relationships, suicide attempts, and even my HIV status have all had a part in shaping who I am. I have said it before, and I will say it again, in a weird f*@$ed up way becoming positive has been one of the best things that has to me in my life.
I suspect I will catch alot of flack for that particular statement from some of the people on this site( see the above comments) but I will explain it.
Becoming positve put things in perspective for me, it lit a fire in my that inspired me to try to help other people in situations similar to mine.
GetBalance
@Scott. Right on man. This brings up the famous saying “Never judge another man until you’ve walked a day in his shoes”. Bravo for “arriving”!
Tommy
Scott, I read every word, and saw so much of myself in your story, and not just because we are the same age LOL. I was diagnosed in November of ’05, have struggled with depression for many years, and am at a point in my life now where things are not perfect and I know they will never be…and that’s great! I’m undetectable, my depression is being controlled by medication and meditation and it helps that I have a great circle of friends and a mother who care about me, not to mention a great boyfriend. Never give up on life. It seems that you also have a loving circle of friends, and a loving supportive family. If things get bad again…and sometimes it does…just remember that there are people who love you…so love yourself too!
Cam
@Scott Armstrong: said..
”
@Cam: Cam, as a matter of fact, yes I did tell them each time about the previous suicide attempts. There was only one facility in which I felt I had to convince them that I was ok. One of the facilities told me that was being released that afternoon and I knew I was not ready to go.
__________________________
Hi Scott,
Not to argue, but in your story you make a point of telling us how you tried to get out of every place, and now in your answer you are saying that in at least one you tried to convince them to let you stay. I’m confused.