To whom it may concern:

I'm writing this with clear mind and conscience, both of which I am positive you do not possess. I still remember your deep brown eyes, and the way your eyelashes used to lick my checks when we laid close. Running my fingers down your back while you smiled at me was as close to heaven as a mortal could ever get. You were my everything, and the gift you gave me helps me remember you every time I open my medicine cabinet.

It started with a cough that would not go away, but I smoke like a freight train so I did not pay it much mind. I felt winded, and out of breath, like I was walking up a long flight of stairs. I paid it no mind still. I'm a rock star; nothing can hurt me. I just figured my late nights were catching up to me. Its hard being Mr. Popular every time you step out of your door.

The outbreak of sores on my legs worried me; I've always been so vain. Remember when we would go skinny-dipping and you would tell me I was the most beautiful boy in the world? Funny how this beautiful boy was not the only one sharing your bed. The sores hurt. It was painful to walk. I let it go. Nothing could hurt me; I am indestructible.

I finally went to the doctor. She told me I had staph. I then opened my mouth to show her the white film that had covered my throat. She said it was thrush. She said she wanted to test me; obviously my immune system was compromised. I refused. She gave me medicine and I left. I got better. Back to my late night drug induced social life. They had missed me.

I felt tired all the time. My late nights were really catching up on me. I started getting black spots on my arms and face. That damned sun. We used to go to the beach every summer and bake under the Florida sun. Your tanned body moving on mine in those late summer nights was ecstasy. You said you loved me. Love needed no boundaries or confines. We never used a condom. Our love was free. I wanted your love in me.

The spots got bigger and the cough got worse. My family was worried. I began to get worried. Me, Mr. Perfect, I was really starting to think something was wrong. I went back to the doctor. She insisted on testing me this time and I gave in. I knew. Two weeks later I came back in to hear the results. My stomach was in knots. I didn't hear anything after the word "POSITIVE." I fell into my hands and cried. I cried so hard the nurses had to hold me. I even cried harder than when I found out you were sleeping around on me. All I wanted to know was if you made love to them like you did to me. You said no, but you knew exactly what I was asking. You lied.

My CD4 did not register. My viral load was 6 million. My doctor was worried. I was much sicker than I thought. We started meds that day. My world was ending. Everything was lost. I was going to die. I knew it.

I took my meds every night at the same time like clockwork. My late night party life ended. I begged God to give me one more chance. I got down on my knees and looked into the heavens and pleaded with Our Heavenly Father to give me just one more chance. I cried every day. I hurt.

Six months later my CD4 was 80 and my viral load was undetectable. My doctor was so proud of me she hugged me. She wasn't scared to hug me. I looked at her and asked if I was going to be OK. She said yes. I smiled the first true smile of my whole life.

That was 4 years ago. I still take my meds every night at 9pm. I go to my doctor for my regular checkups. I am her star patient. She makes such a big deal when I am in her office and calls the nurses over when she reads my CD4 out loud and how far it has jumped. It’s 280 now. She says I was so sick it might not totally recover, but I am alive and healthy...and thankful.

I think of you everyday when I open my medicine cabinet and I take that pink Atripla pill. I think of you every time my doctor draws my blood. I think of you every time I hear the word AIDS. I used to hate you. I used to wish you dead. The pain in my heart you caused me pales to what you have done to my physically. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.

My life is going to be great and long. I have many gifts to give people, and many people love me. I don't wish you ill anymore. I worry about you. I wonder where you are. I wonder if you are sick. I wonder if you are lonely. You gave me HIV my dear ex-boyfriend, by having unprotected sex with others while we were dating. You broke my trust, but you did not break my soul. I hope you are safe in the world. Maybe you found a doctor like mine who cared for you and made you better. I hope so.

Hope is the one thing that keeps me warm at night. And it’s the warmest blanket a person could ever know.

Love,

Me

*Anonymous is a PWA living in Western North Carolina and the details of this letter are true.