The Dream Police…
They Live Inside of my Head
by Sal Iacopelli
What in hell do I know on the subject of “HIV in Prisons?” My point of reference about prison life is what I’ve seen on HBO’s Oz. Alas, I suspect most prisons do not boast smokin’ hot, muscled, and mean Christopher Meloni types, lurking in the showers, tattooed, leering, and half-erect. Nor would one encounter the ever-fantabulous Rita Moreno… whom, as I watched her on Oz, I hoped would tear off her cloistered prison nun garb to break into a rousing version of “Everything’s coming up rrrrrrroses!”
We will never succeed in addressing the HIV situation in prisons if we don’t have total political commitment.Consider the obstacles of one in prison, at the hands of those steeped in denial that sexual activity is occurring or that HIV is even an issue in prison, refusing to distribute condoms or clean needles. Faced with such realities, those infected, as well as those at risk, neglect to test, refuse to disclose, refuse meds and health care rather than being exposed as someone who is HIV-positive. We will never succeed in addressing the HIV situation in prisons if we don’t have total political commitment. Preventing the spread of HIV in correctional facilities requires the implementation of comprehensive testing, education, and harm reduction programs, as well as mental health care and addiction treatment.
But what of the prisons of the mind? There are so many prisons.
There is the incessant subjugation from the radical right, insisting one remains status quo and submits to conformity. Yes, love one another, unless of course you choose an alternative lifestyle, or are a different color, or subscribe to a different belief system. Blind Obama bashers, clinging to hateful Limbaugh-inspired doctrine, strive to keep the strugglers struggling, perpetuating these prisons by fighting against universal health care, by taking away a woman’s choice, as well as supporting the prison of homophobia.
Let us not forget the prison of addiction. To substances, food, sex, work, “conglama” (the ultimate combination of confusion, glamour, and drama). The draw of indulging in these addictions, of course, is that they serve to obscure painful issues one would rather not confront. Or so it seems. Frustratingly, these addictions only serve to distance one from self, from others, and from a higher existence. But back one goes, indulging again and again, only to be further and further away from self. Multiplying that pain. Perpetuating a reality-robbing prison and sometimes leading to a sentence in a prison that is all too real. Oh, I suppose smoking is a prison as well. However, it is a prison of my own choosing and one with which I wrap myself like a warm blanket. Besides, smoking is cool, dammit. All you have to do is look at a group of huddled, shivering smokers outside an office building in the dead of winter to see how cool it is.
And that brings me to another “prison,” albeit one that I could escape by moving to Florida and trading in my clunky black shoes for Bermuda shorts and nylon socks. I’m speaking, of course, of winter. I despise winter, I really hate it. To the point where I have a difficult time staying present and enjoying autumn due to the fact that I know winter’s frigid fingers will soon be creeping up the walk to imprison me in at least four months of depressing, frozen misery. I abhor damp cold, shoveling snow, driving on slippery streets, and walking my boxer Sofi over salt-encrusted sidewalks, causing inconceivable pain in her sore, winter-roughened paws. I am, however, occasionally able to force myself (and I do mean force) to acknowledge the stunning beauty of a bright, crystal clear morning and the blissful silence of a heavy snowfall on a late evening when this raucous city finally, finally is calm. And quiet. Yes, even in the brutal confinement of winter, one can feel free.
And indeed, HIV can feel as if it is the ultimate prison. Besides the obvious reality of being held hostage to a cloyingly strict and unforgiving-if-not-adhered-to medication regimen, one must judiciously take care of oneself, eat healthily, get enough rest, reduce stress, meditate, exercise, visit doctors way too often. All things one cannot do in prison. Even if one is out about their HIV status and on a medication regimen, lockdowns and, yes, prison policy/personnel can interfere with adherence.
What of the prison of a shortened life span of yet-indeterminable years that an HIV-positive person must face? Of course, this is the perfect rationale for me not to spare one iota of time or energy for anyone who cannot or will not accept and respect my sexual proclivity or HIV status, be they family, friend, or fuck buddy.
I can choose to view having HIV as an incapacitating, life-shortening, angering, dream-robbing pain in the ass or, I can choose to view having HIV as an eye-opening, life-changing challenge. A challenge that inspires me to appreciate the “now” I am fortunate enough to have.
Every moment honored outside of the prisons of your mind, is a moment victorious. 
