After two years imersing himself in the pleasures, both legal and illegal, of the gay scene in one of England's largest cities Kris was no longer the country boy of his teenage years. By his own admission he had worked, played and partied hard and sometimes had unplanned unsafe sex. Arriving home to rural New Zealand after his work visa ran out he was in the depths of a post-OE downer. No money, no job, back living in the family home in the country far from the city buzz. “Then I got a letter in the post, from England... opened it up while I was standing on the doorstep... read it... 'Fuck, I've got HIV!' It was the test result which hadn't been available when he discharged himself from the English hospital a few weeks earlier after suddenly and unexplainably falling ill. Because of the traumatic reactions associated with receiving an HIV diagnosis the results are always presented in person by a trained doctor or counsellor who knows how to guide their patient through the storm of unpredictable reactions. It's a delicate process as the person is confronted with a diagnosis which will change the rest of their lives. But Kris's doctors were on the other side of the world. So he got the news alone and unsupported. “'Jesus... fuck...!' I was just like... it was an instant panic attack... I had the shakes... I went inside, no one else was at home thank fuck.” What did Kris know about HIV? Not a lot. “I knew that you could get it. I'd known one or two people in England, through friends, that had it. But I'd never had like a conversation about it. I knew it wasn't like in the '80s kind of thing, that you're not going to die in just a few years, that it's a longer process. But other than that, sweet fuck all.” After re-reading the letter again and again he began to calm down and realised he needed help to deal with it. “I got on the phone to my local GP's practice.” “Our family GP and had known me forever... like when I went there half the time would be spent talking about how's your brother, how's your mother, I'd gone to school with their sons... Anyway, their next available appointment was the next day and I was like: 'No, I need to see someone, my doctor, right now.' And I'm like shitting myself and she says: 'Well, ok, we'll try to fit you in.'” When Kris walked into his GP's consulting room he was, quite literally, dumbstruck. He couldn't find the words to even bring up the subject of the letter and its contents. “I just handed over the letter. He read it, and after a moment he said: 'Well, its not the end of the world... I don't know much about this but I know someone who does and we'll get you an appointment with him as soon as possible and he'll have to take it from here.' And I honestly think that was the best way to go about it. His first words, 'It's not the end of the world,' were so reassuring at that point. I didn't know what the fuck to do and was on the edge of it and he just sat me down and asked me how I was feeling and stuff like that.” “A couple of days later I went to see the other GP and he said he wanted to get it confirmed and he also wanted me to go see a counsellor. And he said: 'Don't Google anything! Do not do it! Just talk to the counsellor, your GPs, stay away from the internet at the moment.” Kris laughs and admits “I did of course. I went straight home and Googled it and read about going on drugs and all the side effects and all kinds of stuff and of course its all American and doesn't apply in New Zealand and things are different and I was just: 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...' Honestly, it was a waste of time.” Kris was assisted by a public health service counsellor. “I had a kind of emotional rollercoaster with her. Sometimes I'd be angry and she'd try to tell me to calm down, telling me that I'd be allright... and in the back of my head I'd be thinking 'Fuck, now you're lying to me, this is all shit...'” “She talked about how the first thing to do was to ensure that everyone else was safe around me and that you can't get it from cups or toilets and whatever else. And then about New Zealand laws. And then it was question time. And I was like: 'When do I start the drugs!' 'Cos I thought as soon as you got it you started the drugs... lets go! And she said: 'No, no, no, it could be eight months away, it could be eight years away, depending on you.' And I was like: 'That makes me feel a lot better' because from when I got the letter to when I saw the counsellor was over a week and I was thinking: 'I should be taking something right now!'” To this day Kris hasn't told any of his family or friends about his HIV. ”I know what I went through when I learned I had it and it was like a big learning curve for me and I think if I told my mum or anyone they are just not in any way involved in HIV or being gay or anything like that. I think it would do more damage than good. It would cause them more worry and stress than it needs to.” With few other confidants to help him Kris's counsellor became a vital part of his life. “It was hard but my counsellor was really good. I'd sometimes go to her hosue and she'd give me information. While I was still living at home all my test results andletters and stuff from Body Positive would be posted to her and she'd meet me in town to hand them over... I knew my mum wouldn't open them but she'd wonder what was up.” Kris's new life as an HIV-positive young man has taken time to evolve. “At the start it was: 'Oh fuck, there goes the end of my travelling, there goes my chances of a relationship... and I changed. Like, when I was overseas like all the personal stuff I'd gained... like I was so outgoing and all that and now it kind of dropped back down... there was a massive difference in me at the start.” For a year he remained down-country, regrouping and coming to terms with the new man he had become, then he moved to Auckland and a new job in the health sector. But his carefully hidden HIV-positive status was leaked. “Unfortunately my health information was seen by someone who drew it to the attention of my employer. He called me in and apologised that it had happened. I had another panic attack, I wanted to know who else had been told... but luckily he was fine with it, absolutely no problems whatsoever.” “Going from big city England back to small town New Zealand was a big fucking difference and I couldn't cope with it. Honestly, I know I'm meant to be in a bigger city... I needed the nightlife, I needed the fun and when a job opportunity came up in Auckland I got it. And I'd met a really good straight 'fag hag' girlfriend and she moved up here and it was just easier to be here.” When a healthy immune system detects HIV, or any threat, it goes into overdrive, producing 'fighter cells' which gradually overwhelm the intruder. The cruel irony is that HIV damages the body by hijacking its immune system. The very fighter cells the immune system produces in gazillions to fight disease are the cells carrying even more HIV. More HIV means more fighter cells containing ever more HIV and so on until, if left untreated, the immune system is overwhelmed and begins to break down. Kris's first experience of that vicious cycle was his mystery illness in England a couple of weeks after he was probably infected. Pills, toxic but essential to keep the virus level in his body low enough for his immune system to be able to function at something like normality, soon became an inescapable part of Kris's life. “I'm on meds that I have to take every fucking day. For the first few weeks when I started them I would wake up in the morning and feel drunk and I was training at work at the same time... they tell you don't drink on top of them, don't do drugs on them and I'd heard about all the massive side-effects, the dreams, the night terrors and everything else but I got that bit of drowsiness in the morning and absolutely nothing else. So I was very, very lucky with my side effects. And now I've got the pills in my pocket. When I go out I take them at whatever time I need to within the four hour window.” Having HIV and the medication regime doesn't impact too badly on Kris' life. “Sometimes it's hard. Like when you go away with your mates and they don't know and you've got copious amounts of pills on you... like if you have a few drinks and can't drive so you need to stay overnight at a mate's home... you can't do that anymore unless you've got some pills on you. So I've always got a small supply in my car... but it's still kind of a hassle trying to hide it. But frankly I'd rather have that hassle than try to explain it.” Does Kris tell any sex partners that he has HIV? “No. Because it's a hard conversation to have... a very, very hard conversation to have. If I was older and 40 or 50 and I got it then and was then looking for a partner who is also 40 or 50, well they'd be more mature... I mean the drugs will last for 30 or 40 years so I'll be quite old by then... and in that time they're going to find better things to treat it... “ What if he found someone right now who he felt himself becoming emotionally close to? “I think I purposely don't go there. Like, I go for the guys I find physically attractive but usually its just a one night stand and like: 'I'll call you!' and never do.” Body Positive, an Auckland-based peer support group for HIV positive people, also became an important part of how Kris dealt with HIV. “My counsellor recommended I get in touch with Body Positive and she rang them up when I was still down south but was coming up to Auckland hospital to see my specialist. They suggested I just swing on by and see what's here.” Operating under the umbrella of Body Positive is a youth group started and mentored by Karen Ritchie of the Cartier Trust. The group has became an important outlet for a young man who is hiding his HIV from the wider world. “Just to have someone to talk to... some guys in the group have told their friends of family and they still choose to come here. Here you talk more freely," says Kris. "Even with your friends you limit what you say but here, although we're all different, we all have the same thing so the conversation's so much easier. The problems can just roll out. And it's about having a laugh as well. You end up going out and having a drink and a laugh together. I met one of my best mates now from here. The friendships are based on who you are not what you've got, but we can still come here and talk about that too. It's great hearing other people's experiences... and I think it's warming me up to the idea of perhaps telling one of my closest friends.” On December 1st New Zealand will mark the annual World AIDS Day to focus attention on this disease which afflicts the gay community, and to raise funds to assist those living with the debilitating and incurable virus. Jay Bennie - 4th November 2011