I was born in 1990. So by this time, an entire generation of young people had died from AIDS. For a lot of it, without any acknowledgement from their governments, their church, their communities. That’s when it started, I believe, the stigma. When the first seed was planted in the pot of “we deserve this”.
I’ve heard that sentiment a lot in my life. That it was the Lord’s doing to punish the sodomites. A gay disease that was sent to wipe us out, and from the initial reaction from organisations like the FDA and the presidential administrations of the time, you would have believed it. The real tragedy is we, as a community, started to believe it, and soon this fear began to be woven into our DNA.
If you’re a gay man reading this, you will know what I mean when I talk about the irrational panic you feel when you have convinced yourself you have contracted the virus. Maybe it’s when you leave that dude’s apartment after that awkward risky Grindr hook up, or after a boozy night out where inebriated decisions were made. That’s when it starts…
You kneel down in front of your metaphorical cross and begin to lash yourself. You start to pick not only your stupid decision apart, but yourself. You pull at the stitches until the entire generation’s pain and fear starts flowing out of you and coursing through your entire body. You pray and bargain with yourself: you’ll never do it again, you’ll be safe.
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