Imagine for a moment, if you will, that you are I, that you are me. You grew up in a little house with several brothers and sisters always snooping about, in a small town where neighbors' prying eyes bore into you when you walked down the street. A place where people discussed your every movement like they were picking at the bones of last Sunday's chicken dinner. All of your mother's friends knew that summer you had to start wearing a jock strap because your balls fell out of your shorts when you played. Everyone at church knew you were late because as your mother said, "I told him to go to the bathroom before we got in the car but you know he never listens."

Now, imagine that you have grown up. You have done what you could to make your life self-sufficient. You got the kind of job that allows you freedom and gives you a certain kind of autonomy. You make good money and keep control of your day and your time. You have a best friend who understands your fickle nature when you bail out at the last minute on the 20th birthday party he was so excited for you to attend. You have your freedom. You handle things on your own. You are alone.

At this point, envision your adult life. You are comfortable with acquaintances all around you. Your own brother dies and when those acquaintances rally to support your loss, you move to another city where no one knows you and leave no forwarding address. You don't want to share your burden with anyone. You can help yourself. It just takes time. It will pass.

Then one day you meet a knight. You fall in love and carefully, oh so carefully, you turn some trust over to this person. He understands you. He builds a castle to protect you from the world. From other people and their harsh comments. The moat around the castle keeps others at bay from you. He soothes your fears when you have fitful sleepless nights. He takes care of you completely and entirely. You are safe. Your own private dragon slayer at the gate. Guarding you. Protecting you. Keeping you safe. You are safe.
In your safety, you sit in a small room in a dirty thrift store while nonchalant shoppers pick through discarded garbage in search of treasure. You sit with a stranger and he tells you that you have HIV infection. You walk numbly out the door to the dragon slayer who awaits the news. You tell him what has happened. The dragon slayer tells you his test came back negative. Suddenly, you realize all at once that you are alone again. All alone.

Desperate for answers and struggling for advice, you turn to the Internet. You travel down blue-screened highways in search of fellow travelers looking for comfort in the dark and you meet Scott. He is an overweight, self-deprecating, lonely man who lives in Boston and has been HIV+ for 12 years. He tells you of his life on meds. It isn't easy. He has many side effects. He chats with you in the wee small hours when any problem, let alone having HIV, seems more insurmountable than it is. Scott encourages you to seek out a doctor. He tells you that it is of utmost importance. Scott nurtures you.

The day of your dreaded doctor's appointment comes. You meet a doctor named Tony. He is a short and lovable teddy bear of a man. Tony is a straight shooter. He speaks about HIV infection in a casual but serious tone. He is comforting and warm and he makes you laugh. He makes firm suggestions, all the while letting you be in control of your own treatment. He carefully monitors your new meds and listens to all your worries. Tony is an excellent doctor.

It is no longer enough for you to chat online tapping out staccato phrases to this man across the country. You need a face to see. You meet Joe, a writer who humors your adolescent infatuation with him and his sexy lean body. Joe is also HIV+ and fills you for the first time with hope. Standing in your darkened place, Joe shows you a light with which to follow. Just when you are thinking there is no way out, he sends you an e-mail message that you keep taped to your wall so you can read it every day: "Those first steps are the hardest. Think of the millions of citizens of the earth who face challenges every day. You've just lifted up a little bundle of your own, and you are very well equipped to carry it. It will go well!" You love Joe for this.

You meet a woman full of life. Gregarious and inviting. She is a locomotive of a woman who makes you feel alive just with her being. She is Wendy. Wendy shows you the beauty of educating people about HIV infection and treatment. Wendy runs an organization that goes to high schools to teach young people about AIDS and HIV prevention. You speak before a group of people and share your diagnosis. The room is supportive and warm. You are surprised the world doesn't end because it now feels as if you have told "everyone" about it. Wendy is a superb teacher.

You meet a woman named Marcia who has adopted a child who was born with HIV infection. People don't want babies with HIV infection. Marcia knows that there may come a time when there will be health problems for the baby. She knows that she may lose the baby or that the baby may live a full life. She doesn't really know. Marcia tells you that she loves the baby as her own. Marcia is a rescuer. (In the best sense of the word.)

You meet Michael. A short, robust and hunky man. Michael is complicated and serious. He has a sly smile that makes you think he is always up to something. You would never know that at one time he was left for dead in the hospital with no t-cells and comatose. Everyone at his bedside was just waiting for the final hour. Several years later he sits with you in a tank top, arm draped over his chair talking about his job and his most recent vacation. Michael is a survivor.

You rediscover a dragon slayer named Jeff. Who still protects you and soothes you in the night. He still envelops you with love but you have found a new intimacy with him that doesn't rely fully on his protection anymore. He is relieved of the pressure to "take care of you" since you have found an array of people in the world with whom you can share and rely upon. The gatekeeper is no longer needed. But the dragon slayer is now converting to HIV infection and he thinks he is alone. You take him by the arm and walk him to the castle that was built to protect you. You will be his dragon slayer. You are falling in love with Jeff again.

You might think you would be bitter and say to yourself, "Where were these people all my life?" You are not. As I am not. Today I sit on a bright sunny morning realizing they were always there. All I needed to do was look for them. They will always be there. The Scotts. The Tonys. The Joes. The Wendys. The Marcias. The Michaels. And Jeff. These are the people all around me, all around you, every day, every night just waiting to love me. Just waiting to help me. Just waiting to be my friend. These people who give of themselves so selflessly and unabashedly. All we ever have to do is ask. To seek them out.

So, when I think about having HIV infection, I can only think good things. I think about the people who have helped me, inspired me and saved me from myself. I think how hearing that news six months ago changed my life for the better. Hearing the news actually gave me a life. A vibrant, more exciting, friend-filled life full of surprises and joy.

Christopher Johnson is a freelance writer in Los Angeles and is member of the Being Alive Writing workshop. He can be reached at ctjohnson@mindspring.com

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