I’m a child of the 80s. I remember when the United States went crazy because of the new, incurable, awful AIDS virus. Most of you that will read this were there too, so you remember the complete and utter fear that gripped the country. Back then, we all thought you could get AIDS from toilet seats, from needles left in pay phone change holes, from dirty glasses given to you in restaurants, from hugging or kissing someone…

I’ve never known anyone with AIDS, or even HIV. I thought I did once, when a “new guy” at school, who happened to be dating my best friend, heard from a former lover that the lover had tested positive. Two very awful weeks we waited for the test results, and fortunately, he was negative. Very scary times. But that’s it.

…until now.

Ever heard those stories about the guy who KNEW he had HIV, and purposefully went around, spreading it to people? Here’s a link to one guy who supposedly did this with a hundred-plus women. Doesn’t sound real, does it?

Well, it is. And it happened to someone I know. A good friend of mine from law school just got diagnosed with HIV, which he received as a super special gift from his roommate, who KNEW HE HAD IT when he chose to have sex with my friend. Roommate knew for over a year that he was HIV positive, and has chosen, on numerous occasions, to have unprotected sex with other guys regardless.

Obviously this is shocking and awful, and that part freaked me out. But what I have spent the most time considering is that my friend now has HIV. Like, forever. As in, this will likely eventually kill him.

This occupied my mind for a sold 48 hours. I was pretty much non-functional one night last week, because it hit me really hard. All of a sudden, this thing that I’ve known of my entire life was right here, literally sitting next to me at some points. HIV was no longer this abstract thing that happened to other people. It became very real.

And it isn’t like my friend was doing anything abnormal. He was doing the exact same thing that many of us do quite often. The roommate was a close friend. They had dated on and off for almost a year. They had had unprotected and protected sex. The roommate told him that he’d been tested recently and was clean. The same crap we ALL do with our lovers. My friend took it for granted that the roommate was honest. He had no reason not to, he’d know the guy forever. Why wouldn’t he? I’ve done the same with lovers, three times now. The difference is I’m lucky, and that is ALL.

I’ve found myself contemplating safer sex, and battling my re-emerging fear of STDs. This has been a constant concern for me my entire sexual life. More on this later.

I have never been one who was super-keen on myself. I’m stereotypically critical of myself in a number of ways, including regarding my physical appearance (both body and my style of dress). Something is shifting though.

For the first time in my life, I really like me. I even like my physical self. I will never have a supermodel body, and you know what? I, finally, don’t give a shit. I’m a badass. I completely rock. I am pretty freaking awesome in all the ways I like people to be awesome. I’d take the me that I am over being supermodel hot and mentally retarded any day.

I noted to T recently that I felt like everything in my life was gelling. I don’t mean the stuff going on around me – I mean my own views on the world. My opinions feel way more consistent, constant, solid and stable to me than they ever have before. I feel confident. I feel like I am actually intelligent, and that I have something to say. It’s great.

I’m a badass. I climb, move heavy things, fall off of stuff, challenge myself, handle shit completely without assistance, and take on my fears head-on, eyes wide open. I’m exactly the kind of woman I admire in other women, and that is beyond awesome.

I’m pretty proud of the me that I am. And I’m most happy about the fact that I can say that, straight-faced, and actually fucking mean it.