Strung Out on Love

I met a guy, let's call him Adiki "in the rooms" of a 12-step program. He was a recovering drug addict.Yes, an intravenous drug user. I was fresh out of my brief and rocky marriage and alone for the first time in years. I didn't do alone very well. No, I didn't do alone, period. So when Adiki appeared, looking all hunky, sexy, and hungry for me and treating me like I'd fallen from heaven, I jumped feet first into a relationship with him. No questions asked. I was a 12-stepper, too. I attended ACOA, short for Adult Children of Alcoholics. My parents weren't drunks. Shucks, they didn't even take the occasional nip. They were religious folks, Pentecostal. Dysfunctional, you know. Too religious. Yeah, you can be too anything. Church came before EVERYTHING, including school. That's too religious when you keep kids up 'til 11 and 12 on school nights. So I was co-dependent. That means I acted like the man I was with was me. I worked on him instead of taking care of myself. I started hearing a voice. "This man is dangerous," it whispered. I ignored it. Kept going to meetings for folks addicted to people...and kept on using. That is, I kept right on jeopardizing my well being to have a man. The voice grew louder, more persistent. Danger! Danger! Danger! It bellowed. We both were strung out. I was Adiki's new drug of choice. Heroin was out, I was in. He was new in recovery and breaking one of their cardinal rules to not get in a relationship the first year in Narcotics Anonymous. Why? Because when the drug addict or alcoholic puts down the needle or bottle that compulsion to mask the pain doesn't evaporate. Instead, that pain seeks another outlet. It could be a substance, activity or another human being. It hardly matters, so long as the addict finds something that helps him escape those thoughts and feelings he's been avoiding all those years of drinking and drugging. Me and Adiki loved making love, so we did it often. It seems, especially to, uh, New Age music. Sometimes with a condom, sometimes not. The voice kept whispering and warning me to take care of DeBora. I knew my intuition was trying to save me, either from HIV infection or from a black eye. You see, Adiki had confessed that he'd hit a woman or two in his using days.

Adiki was an emotional vampire. One day he showed up at my apartment, leaning against the hall wall as if he'd just completed a marathon, he pants breathlessly, "I quit my job." So MY boyfriend is a bona-fide loser--he had no car, no place (he lived with his parents, I believe in their basement), and now no damn job. On top of that, he was given to being depressed, I guess about how much of his life he'd wasted. I started praying, for a better man, really. Remember, I too was an addict and being alone was NOT an option. My answered prayer came to court one day, on the day I'd decided to accompany the attorney I worked with to court, to assist with the big caseload. I dumped Adiki, for my more accomplished, powerful man. Yes, I wanted what I wanted and I didn't want no man who couldn't handle his bizness. I got into law school, with the help of my new man. I was moving right on up. Then I heard through the grapevine that Adiki was HIV positive. No, he never called. My world folded. In my first year of making a childhood dream come true and to think I might not live to graduate. I got tested. Nine hellish days later, in total silence my new guy drove me and my sister Ayo to the Red Cross for the results.

Me and my sister went in while Adam waited in the car. Me and Ayo sat looking at the woman across from us, working to brace ourselves for the worst even as we hoped, no, prayed for the best. The woman says slowly as she looks directly at me, "Your results were negative." Ayo and I leapt to our feet, into each other's arms, tears flying everywhere.

That was the late eighties. You know how we do when we're scared and we know it's in God's hands because there ain't a thing we can do, at this point, anyway. Well, I promised God that if S/He made sure I was HIV negative then somehow I would make a difference when it came to this disease. More than twenty years later, at last, I'm ready to keep my promise. The first thing I feel I must do is to open my big mouth and tell the truth about my life, about LIFE. I'm not sure what that'll look like but this blog piece is a beginning. At least I've spoken the truth. Though I'm starting with this story on HIV, I'm just getting warmed up. As activist/poet Audre Lorde so aptly put it, "Your silence will not save you." And so, don't you think it is time to break the silence. I do. It's time to speak up and...say what you need to say!