The last monologue of AIDS patients

The story comes from "It's really too late now"

The last monologue of AIDS patients

Bob McBee, 4 1 year old, white.

Librarian of Columbia University Law School, AIDS patient.

Dear Sir/Madam,

Hello, I was very excited after seeing your advertisement. I don't know if you realize that what you are doing is of great significance-I believe that the words you receive will be the key to unlocking the secrets of the human soul. I am an AIDS patient, and I have reached the advanced stage. Death's cold and decisive hand tries to pull me away every day, and it is stronger every time. I know this is not an illusion, let alone a description in a novel-this is an irresistible cruel fact. If I didn't see your advertisement, I really didn't have anyone and place for me to spit out what I had buried in my heart for many years before I left. I want to tell my story as a gay and AIDS patient, so that the world, especially those who discriminate against us and don't know us, know that we are neither lower nor higher than you, and the difference between us is much smaller than you think, and it is not evil at all. I was born in San Francisco and graduated from Stanford University majoring in art history. Later, I worked as a writer in an art gallery in the Bay Area. The father is an engineer and the mother is a lawyer, but their long-term relationship is not harmonious, which leads to the emotional needs of the three children in the family being ignored and lacking normal care. Therefore, when we grow up, we will have a stronger need and desire for any expression of sympathy, understanding and feelings from outside the family. My sister is gay, except my brother. He is a pianist, but he drugged himself and forced himself to live an illusory life in music. The shadow of parental relationship makes us seem to have fundamental doubts and fears about all male-female relationships, which leads to our deep-rooted distrust of feelings and marriage. According to others, my appearance belongs to the kind of handsome guy with heavy yin, brown eyes, brown hair, fair skin and quite tall. During middle school and college, I had two girlfriends, but they all ended in vain. The first one said that she liked my beautiful, polite and thoughtful personality, but later she said that I was afraid of women's bodies and tried to help me overcome this problem, but in the end she chose to end this relationship and become a general friend. The second girlfriend has a warm personality, which is very different from mine. I think she may be more curious about me than emotionally attracted. In view of the failure of dating my first girlfriend, I tried my best to change my personality. I attended various parties with my second girlfriend many times, and learned to shout and dance like the people around me in deafening music. It's the first time for me to get up the courage to drink. However, the short experience of trying to change my personality made me feel worse, even worse than death. I never understood who I really was and was not accepted by my second girlfriend. When we parted, she said to me, "Bob, I'm sorry. I like you very much. You'd better not force yourself to change. You are not a man at heart. " Her words made me want to die for the first time. To this end, I visited the best psychologist I could find in the Bay Area many times.

No matter who they are, they always ask me not to take the shadow of my parents' relationship as an excuse that I can't live a normal life and pursue happiness; They taught me how to look in the mirror every morning and say to myself, "I can be the best if I want to!" " Or learn to smile at yourself in the mirror, even if there is nothing to be happy about. It is said that after forming a habit, muscle memory can make a smile a natural expression, others will change their attitude towards me, and my mood will change accordingly, and so on. However, only I know that the fear of parental relationship or rage or cold war, which has been deeply remembered since childhood, cannot be erased by any rational thinking and mechanical muscle exercise. That kind of memory made our three children feel inferior and hopeless, and they knew from an early age that they should always hide their helpless sadness in silence. This is also the reason why I gave up psychotherapy and psychology courses at Stanford, a reason that only I know. Since then, although I won't admit it, I already know in my heart that I am unwilling and impossible to establish so-called normal sexual relations with any women, although I have always been very respectful and polite to them. I began to fear the fact that I had established feelings with them, just as I was afraid of the unsuccessful relationship between my parents. I feel that the failure of my relationship with them is a repeat of my parents' relationship.

After I started working, I once met Mark while watching a movie at the Castro Theatre in the famous Castro Street. Mark is a computer engineer. He is tall and strong. The sunshine on the beach in California seems to have coated his skin with brown honey. He greeted me and started a friendly conversation with me. His eyes never left me, which gave me a strange feeling that I had never had before. Mark began to ask me out for dinner, exhibitions and trips to the seaside. He respects me very much, and expresses himself politely and delicately. He always praises me, and his eyes are full of appreciation and praise. This is an experience I have never had in my previous life-my parents have never given it to me, nor have women and others in this life. The feeling of being accepted and appreciated makes me feel reborn. The fact that the other person is a man is no longer a psychological obstacle. When I was with Mark, I felt more relaxed, happy and moved than ever before. Over time, the expectation of these happy feelings naturally becomes a kind of love. This is an emotional experience that I have never experienced before. I only know that it has restored my original state, and the tension at home or with women has disappeared. After a period of getting along, I stopped hesitating and moved to the second floor of a Nordic-style house on Castro Street with Mark. During that time, we lived happily together and raised a golden hair called "pot cover". That Christmas, I didn't go back to my parents' home for the first time and spent this traditional festival with my whole family. They already know my situation. On Christmas Eve, when I called home regularly, my father told me rudely that he and my mother would never welcome me home for the holidays again, because they would never accept the fact that I was gay. Later, I heard that my sister received the same notice, and only my brother went home alone.

Since then, my parents and I have completely cut off that kind of relationship, and then I am dying. I know that many people in our circle have problems with their parents, at least not intimate relationships, and many people are completely excluded like me. Inevitably, we should look for alternatives to intimate feelings outside the family. One day, I happened to pass by a corner of Golden Gate Park and heard a conversation between two female students who looked like Asian students. One said, "I didn't expect all homosexuals in America to look so good." I thought homosexuality would look disgusting. " Another said, "A girl named Gina in our class said that almost all beautiful boys in San Francisco are gay. Unfortunately, we have no chance! " "Their English has an accent, which sounds very interesting. Maybe they're telling the truth. Later, I gradually got to know other comrades in Castro's famous gay street. Sometimes I eat or shop with Mark, and other comrades often stare at me. At first, I was unmoved and felt very uncomfortable. Mark said that at first he was attracted by my beauty and nameless sadness. Later, Mark and I had some problems. At first, he couldn't stand the excessive attention of other comrades to me, and I gradually felt indifferent and even enjoyed it, which made him very dissatisfied and painful. On my birthday, we went to the famous Italian restaurant "north beach" for dinner. In front of Mark, I greeted a man who had been making eye contact with me, and sat diagonally opposite us, although we didn't know each other. Mark's face became ugly, and at last he couldn't help it. He put down his napkin and left alone without saying anything. I also left soon, and I have no further contact with that person. I don't know why I did that. I believe I love Mark, and no one can replace him. Maybe there is an excessive desire to be needed and accepted in my character. People who have been neglected since childhood always want to swallow anyone's praise as food. That incident finally led to the final breakup between Mark and me.

About a year later, I met Jason at a newsstand in San Francisco's Union Square. Jason graduated from the University of California at Berkeley and works in a financial institution in San Francisco. He is a workaholic, but after we met, he was able to leave work for me and spend many nights and weekends with me, which made me particularly moved. We go for a walk at the seaside, or drive along the famous "17 mile" coast to see the sea view, and we also travel to Europe together. Jason has deep feelings for me. Seven years with him was the happiest and most rewarding time in my life. No matter how what happened later changed all this, I won't deny it. Have dignity, love, protection, love, and an ideal life that can completely be yourself but be appreciated. Later, maybe our quiet life needs proper stimulation to continue. Jason, who likes to challenge himself, applied for a job on Wall Street in New York. He decided to go to the East and hoped that I would go with him. I quit my job and left with him without thinking. We live in SOHO District of Greenwich Village, a gay community in new york. Jason started a busy job on Wall Street, often working overtime, and spent much less time with me than when he was in California. After staying at home for several months, I got a job in the library of Columbia University Law School and went to work by subway every day.

A year later, I found out that Jason's frequent "overtime" had something else to hide-he started dating another comrade-in-arms. He was a bass player in a rock band, older than me, and lived near us. Eight years of quiet and ideal life collapsed in an instant. I never thought Jason, who loves me so much, would do this. Perhaps for fear of hurting me, he never told me, and I didn't tell him for nearly half a year after I found out. But I know that if we go on like this, we will only get hurt. On a solo trip to Coney Island, after careful consideration, I decided to leave Jason and set him free. I left the night before he came home from work. On the note I left him, I wrote: Jason, thank you for everything. I sincerely hope you will be happy in the future. After moving out of Greenwich Village, I rented a one-bedroom apartment near Broadway and West 1 10 Street near Columbia University in Upper Manhattan, and I can go to work within a few minutes' walk. New york seems to be much more lively than San Francisco. Everything is more urban, but it is also a more lonely place. I like to walk to work alone along the quiet and beautiful riverside park, and I can see the Hudson River along the way. At night, Broadway is brightly lit and neon lights are exciting and confusing, but I miss the real warmth of California sunshine. Here, like another world, you always seem to walk in your dreams. As true as false, it depends on what you choose to believe. Breaking up with Jason made me feel unspeakable pain emotionally, but intellectually I knew I had to accept it. I'm a stranger in new york, and I hardly know anyone. The sudden emotional window period makes me very depressed. The life style of eight years has been changed, and I am a little overwhelmed and often lonely.

At last, when I couldn't bear it, I began to anesthetize myself in a downtown bar like many single people in new york. About three months after I started my single life, I met the Irish painter Alexander in a bar on 57th Street. We feel like we hit it off. He just came to new york from Ireland and said he was homesick. We soon became emotionally interdependent and inseparable. He has more free time. We eat together every day. Even at noon, he sometimes comes to a nearby restaurant to have dinner with me. On weekends, we go out to explore every corner of Manhattan and go to places where tourists go. We quickly visited New Jersey, Queens, Brooklyn, Harlem and Staten Island. But since I broke up with Jason, I never expected to establish the same relationship with Alexander as Jason, so although Alexander asked me to move in with him many times, I insisted on leaving my residence at 1 10 Street. I didn't leave Jason my new address and phone number, but he knows where I work. One day, I received a letter from him to my work unit at Columbia University. I opened it and found only one "I'm sorry" written in blood. As it was during working hours, I resisted the sudden surge of emotion and hid in the bathroom. I really don't want him to feel guilty for me. He went to others for his own reasons and needs. His feelings cannot be forced, and it is not easy to make moral judgments. Just like the clouds in the sky, it is beautiful when it is beautiful. It's better to let go when it floats. Didn't I hurt Mark myself? Every relationship has its own color and life track. Don't insist, don't be reasonable, just be grateful for the true traces it left in your life. When I first found out that there was something wrong with my body, I thought it was a cold. But I went to the hospital alone with a low fever, feeling weak and panting for no reason. I know nothing about Alexander's past, especially his life in Ireland. I haven't read the test paper after I got it. I seem to have a strong feeling. Sure enough, the blood test result was HIV positive.

In the library of Columbia University Law School, orange lights always make me feel calm. It has become an indispensable part of my life for those young and favored children to either bury themselves in studying hard or shuttle through the front desk of borrowing books. I will feel uneasy if I can't see this picture. I started taking medicine. I didn't intend to tell Alexander the result of my blood test at once, but he was very sensitive and found out that I was taking medicine, even though I thought I had hidden the medicine bottle well. After dinner that night, Alexander suggested that we go for a walk in Central Park. I have a hunch that he has something to say to me. When he walked to the north lawn, he took out a test sheet from his pocket, which also showed that he was positive for HIV-it was his. We were all silent, staring at a few little boys shouting and running in front. "Sorry," he said. "This should be my fault. I didn't remember until I saw the medicine you took. He is still in Ireland ... I'm so careless, I'm sorry, Bob. " We all began to take medicine and treatment, but it seems that Alexander, who is stronger than me, weakens faster than me. Two months later, he had to go back to his home in Ireland to recuperate.

Before we left, we went to California, where he had never been and I never had a chance to go back. I was revisiting my old place, but Alexander saw the sunshine and beaches in California for the first time, and his face was like a cloud. We rented a car and saw 17 miles of beautiful coastal scenery, Napa Valley and Sequoia, and went to Monterrey and Los Angeles. I drive all the way because Alexander can't drive, but he is always happy and excited. Returning to San Francisco touched many memories, especially when I showed Alexander around Castro Street. Over the years, everything there has remained the same, but it seems like a lifetime ago to me. For some reason, I don't want to go back to this sunny place. This is a kind of inexplicable feeling, which has no meaning at all. I subconsciously avoided my parents' family and those early memories and broke up with Mark. I still miss the working environment of Columbia University Library, which is inseparable from the comfort when walking in Binjiang Park. Alexander flew directly from San Francisco to Ireland. When he left, he was quite weak, and he was not the strong, ruddy and vivid one when we met. He said he was glad to come to San Francisco with me before he left America. We all know that this parting will probably never happen again, so we finally hugged for a long time. Alexander didn't give me a photo of himself until the last minute. It shows us standing together on Alice Island, with the tall Statue of Liberty behind us. ...

As soon as I returned to new york, I felt that my situation was getting worse and worse. After getting up every morning, the face I see in the mirror is getting whiter and thinner. Hands are always shaking unconsciously, shortness of breath and abnormal skin. I'm ready for death. Homosexuality and AIDS have long been an unavoidable fact in my life. Everyone's life is like a chain, and the connection of each link on it is determined by seemingly accidental but inevitable factors. No one wants to live a life that is criticized and different from the traditional lifestyle of most people, but only we know the reason why we choose our own lifestyle even under terrible pressure. Neither because this life is a fun game, nor because our nature is "degenerate"-various internal reasons, personal circumstances and family factors that vary from person to person, it is difficult to understand without personal experience. Accusing and even persecuting people who are different from themselves has always been the strength of human beings; To understand and tolerate them with love is always a weakness of human beings.

There are many reasons why a person becomes gay. When I lived in Castro Street in San Francisco, I met comrades of various professions and nationalities. There are some reasons in their lives that lead them to make such a choice. Many of them are the causes of pain, which is difficult for so-called "normal" people to understand. I'm sure that if most so-called "normal people" have had our personal experience and pain, no one can guarantee that they won't look for different needs like us. My mother, a lawyer, is very intellectual but rarely reveals her feelings to us, which makes me have a kind of rejection and panic for all women, and I dare not and don't want to get close. My inferiority and introversion make me, like many men with similar personalities and experiences, easily feel a feeling similar to love in the kindness and appreciation of others-regardless of gender, age and racial differences-and be attracted by it, and then fall into it. That is actually a strong desire for love, acceptance and affirmation. While taking medicine, I insisted on going to work every day, but I soon felt the strange eyes that my colleagues avoided. Because Americans regard health as a private matter, naturally no one asks me anything, but those Asian students who come to work every night ask me with concern if I am sick, and say that I look pale and should go to see a doctor or have a rest before coming to work. I know this is their cultural habit, but I can't explain it, I can only thank them for their kindness.

Even in new york, AIDS is frightening. One day, when I walked into the men's room, I happened to hear two foreign students from China talking at work. Although they speak Chinese, when it comes to my name and AIDS, they speak English. One of them finally said in English, "Hey, we must pay attention!" " I don't know how they know, but they really haven't asked me directly about my health since then. The official staff of the library seem to be far away from me, and their seemingly polite eyes make me feel bad. I am the person in charge of the night shift. I need employees who work at night and college students who come to work to explain my work and solve the problems that arise. Contact with them has increased my psychological burden, because I know very well that they are all afraid of me.

Finally, it was found that the two international students from China who came to work every day were wearing transparent plastic gloves when looking through the bibliographic cards in the drawer. That scene really stung me, of course I pretended not to see it. The catalogue card cabinet of books is a place that almost everyone should look up to, and I am no exception. Those cards that are often turned over are updated quickly, and they are sharp and often cut their fingers. I understand their concern, because AIDS is mainly transmitted through blood. I started to go to the locker as little as possible, or only when no one was around, and finished the search as soon as possible. I'm very weak now. I don't think I can go to work next week. In the face of death, in front of the mysterious universe, my life is like dust floating in the air, really insignificant; Those feelings of inferiority, despair and pain will all seem insignificant, won't they?

AIDS, the tragedy caused by human ignorance and helplessness, made me die, and I felt unspeakable sadness in my heart. In fact, Alexander left three months before me. The last letter he sent me contained photos we took in California. Humans seem powerful, but in fact they are weak and helpless. The last thing he knows is himself, but he is eager to conquer the external world which is far less important than his inner world. Homosexuality is not a monster. Our sexual orientation is only part of our relationship. More importantly, our need for love is not evil, but as reasonable as anyone's need for love, just like the relationship between plants and sunlight. When the sun shines on everything, it doesn't distinguish them. It is human prejudice that makes us labeled differently. Humans don't need labels, because love and tolerance don't know the meaning of labels, just as the sun never knows the difference between grass and roses.

Friend, I haven't seen you, but I don't know why I feel I can call you that. Thank you for reading and saving my last words. Thank you. Good-bye.

Walk into an old apartment building near 1 10 Street and Amsterdam Street, and find room A- 12. I asked Bob's detailed address from his work unit. I saw him. It was a scene I will never forget: I finally saw Bob lying on an iron bed in a dirty and dark room. He is skinny, his eyes are sunken, his nose suddenly rises, and only a bag of bumpy bones is left on his face. When I went in, he lay quietly and could only communicate with me with his eyes. After he knew who I was, he blinked slightly, and a smile flashed in his calm big eyes. I asked him what help he needed, such as drinking water, eating and going to the toilet. He closed his eyes once to show his refusal, and then motioned me to sit in a wooden armchair with his eyes. I moved the chair to his bedside. From his lying position, I can see the top of St. John's Cathedral under construction on 1 10 Street, and some exquisite carvings on the church building. I wonder how Bob will feel when he sees the only religious symbol in front of him every day. This church has been under construction since it was built in 1892. It is said that the largest church in the world is close to Bob's apartment. Can God understand him? Can you understand everyone's unique pain?

Bob and I sat in silence for a while when someone knocked at the door. The visitors are two medical staff from St. Lu Hospital. They came to give Bob an injection of painkillers. Bob chose not to die in the hospital. Before leaving, I held Bob's hand with only bones in both hands, trying to transfer the temperature of my hand to his. His hand gradually lost its life and became cold. I can only hold his hand a little longer to express my last wish. The air outside is wet and cold, and it seems to snow. I walked into the entrance of subway line 1 and disappeared into the crowded but orderly crowd. A week later, Bob's funeral was held in the chapel of Columbia University. After I heard the news from my friend at Columbia University, I hurried to his funeral. He had no family, or no family members came to his funeral, only officials from several schools and colleagues and international students who worked with him before his death.