I have supported the Aids Memorial from the very beginning because what is remembered, lives. My generation of hair stylists, makeup artists, models, photographers… Everyone was affected by AIDS.
I knew I was at risk.
After getting a fake diagnosis from my gynecologist, I got a real test at St. Barnabas Hospital in New Jersey. My mom drove me. That was 1987. At first the doctor refused to test me because he said I looked too “mainstream.” I had to wait two weeks for the results.
I had a number or a ticket. Two weeks later I went back and saw all the sadness in the halls, again. A nurse came towards me with my ticket number, and she was smiling. When I left, I went home and practically destroyed everything. All diaries, gone. All I have are visions of what people in that year went through.
There was no hope at that time, and everyone around me was sick and dying. That sadness will never go away.