Fear of the Bug in the Early Years

I am not sure what started it all. The fear, the phobia, the anxiety. I had it for as long as I can remember. Fear of the bug. And by bug, I am referring to one very in particular. 

Many have called me a hypochondriac over the years. I would be lying if I said they were wrong. I definitely suffered from some sort of hypochondria throughout my life. This is probably the underlying root of what caused me to have an innate fear of the bug. 

They say that the biggest fears we have in life are the same fears we have acquired at a young age. Of course, there are those that we outgrow- fear of the dark, fear of the non-existent boogeyman who children believe live in their closets, etc. There are, however, those fears that we just never outgrow. For me, that fear has always been HIV.

As I said before, I don't know what started it all, but I have a feeling where it might have began. I remember being about 8 years old or so, year being 1992-ish. HIV was a terrible disease at the time and those suffering from it didn't have a lot of options. Back then, I remember it being more so just referred to as AIDS. As an 8 year old, I didn't understand the disease. All I knew at that age was that it was a horrible disease a person gets and then they die. I didn't know how a person got it, but all I knew was that "bad people" got it by doing "bad things."

Now, one might think, "how on earth does an 8 year old know about or have curiosity about HIV?" Well, lets say, at that age, I was a sharp kid who had a hunger for knowledge. And sometimes, that knowledge I craved was about things that should have been over my head. I didn't start understanding the logistics of sex until I was about 10 and I didn't understand drug addiction until I was a teen, so HIV was clearly over my head.

How did it all begin then? My fear and fixation about HIV, that is. I remember seeing the HBO show Lifestories: Families in Crisis. Again, it was probably a bit over my head, but I watched it anyway. There was an episode about Joey DiPaolo, the teenager from Staten Island who had contracted HIV from a blood transfusion during heart surgery when he was a child in 1984. It took years of his deteriorating health for doctors to figure out that he was HIV positive. When it was finally diagnosed and word got out about it, friends turned their backs on DiPaolo and his family out of fear that they were exposed to it. The school he went to wanted to kick him out, also out of fear. There was a big controversy surrounding it at the time, but a New York court decided that DiPaolo would stay at the school he is in. DiPaolo is still alive, now in his mid-30's, is healthy, is married and an HIV/AIDS activist. He also owns a barbershop. 

I remember seeing that episode and it both frightened and depressed me. I thought, "what if I get AIDS? Would I die? Would I have no friends? Would my school want to kick me out?" It was a scary thought, but then again, I had no idea how one contracted it.

When I was a child around that age, I was constantly getting sick to my stomach. Yep, I was the class puker. Used to throw up everywhere. It was disgusting and it sucked. Not sure why or what caused it, but I didn't totally overcome it until I was about 10. 

I remember one particular day when I wasn't feeling good in school and my third grade teacher wouldn't let me go to the nurse because she thought I was asking just to get out of class (bitch). Well, I threw up all over my desk. Janitors were called over the loudspeaker to report to the classroom with sawdust. I think by that point, they were taking bets on who did it (and I was usually the winning choice). I got sent to the nurse's office and she called my mother to come pick me up. I threw up again 20 minutes later in the nurse's office.

My mother came to get me and she drove me home and put me in bed with a garbage pail next to me. I hated that sick feeling. I decided I wanted to know what was wrong with me. Why I was sick all the time when most of the kids around me in school were seemingly healthy. 

"What's wrong with me, mommy?" I asked.

My mother looked at me and just said, "you're just a little sick today, sweetie. You'll feel better tomorrow morning." That's when I dropped the bomb on her.

"Do I have AIDS, mommy?" I asked.

My mother gasped and looked at me with big open eyes, kind of like a deer in the headlights. I mean, she simply was not expecting to hear that from her 8 year old. 

"NO! No, sweetie, you don't have AIDS," she responded. "That's a terrible thing to say. Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," I responded. "How do you get AIDS?"

"Don't go telling people you think you have AIDS. You don't. You just have a stomach bug, that's all," my mother explained. She proceeded to explain, "AIDS is a horrible disease that people get when they do bad things. You don't do those bad things, so you don't have AIDS."

"What kind of bad things?" I asked. 

My mother pretended not to hear me. She just went about folding clothes and putting them away in my drawers. I asked her again, this time with a little more persistence in my voice.

"You're tired, honey. You need to get some sleep," she said. With that, she kissed my forehead, left the room and closed the door behind her. 

I was left wondering... What kind of bad things do people do to get AIDS? Kill people? Steal? I know it all sounds ridiculous, but then again, this is all in the head of an 8 year old. 

Whatever bad things they are, I thought, I would never do. I never want to get AIDS. 

Little did I know that years later, I would be doing exactly those same "bad things" my mother was talking about. Little did I know...