'My mother bought me PrEP for Christmas: How far we've come in the fight against AIDS'

This piece was originally published on Sydney Morning Herald, for DailyLife, on December 2nd 2016. Available here.

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When we look back on the history of HIV and the AIDS crisis on World AIDS Day, we tend to think about death.

The thought conjures images of contagion, frail bones, gasping breaths and broken homes. We think about mass protests around the world that drew attention to the crisis our governments ignored. We think about those gay men who were ousted from their homes in the wake of a diagnosis – keeled over, rejected by their families, scratching at the front door.

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Act Up demonstration protesting the AIDS epidemic, New York, 1994. Photo: Allan Tannenbaum/Getty Images

I wasn't around for those years. Being born in '92, my experience of HIV and the AIDS crisis exists solely through the stories of my gay elders. They're chronicles from the years without HIV medication: tales about an unbridled plague, about waiting to die.

In a way, living in the aftermath of those years meant that I was kept safe from witnessing and experiencing this horrific tragedy. But as I grew into my homosexuality, I nevertheless lived in their shadow; the grim spectre of HIV would perch upon my shoulder, hindering my capacity for intimacy, and whispering that sex meant death. If I slipped up, or chose to have sex without a condom, I'd contract a virus that killed millions of people who were just like me. I would be outcast, and my family would forsake me.

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Brandon Cook 

And yet, modern scientific developments mean the shadow cast is no longer so dark. Recent years have seen the invention of PrEP: pre-exposure prophylaxis. PrEP is a combination therapy consisting of two antiretroviral drugs together called Truvada that, according to studies, halt the ability of HIV to take hold in the body.

Take one pill every day, and you're more than 99 per cent protected against what was once considered an unstoppable, deadly scourge. Between that and our developed HIV treatments turning what was once a death sentence into mostly a hindrance with a slim transmission risk, we are currently living in an era of relative safety, despite all we have to look back on.

I've been taking PrEP every day for nine months. I'm enrolled in the PrEPX Trial, a Victorian PrEP study sponsored by the Victorian government, Alfred Health and the Victorian AIDS Council, offering PrEP to 2,600 people statewide.

Every three months, I visit my doctor in St Kilda to collect a new trial script. I have tests done for sexually transmitted diseases, along with bloodwork for other STIs, and to check my kidney functions. I'll then collect my script and head down to the pharmacy to purchase three months worth of drugs.

Yesterday, in the lead-up to World AIDS Day, I was due for my second batch of PrEP. I wandered in, my doctor all smiles and nice-to-see-yous. We commenced with the swabs, and made short work of the blood tests (decidedly not so short, as I'm woozy when it comes to needles).

When it came time to make my purchase, I looked into my bank balance and saw that I was slightly underfunded. Maybe it was the expenses of everyday life, my student existence, or the frivolities of the weekend, but I couldn't afford the cost.

So I did what so many young people do in the wake of a financial crisis: I texted my mother.

"Well, if you can't get it any cheaper, I'll send you the money. Text me when you know the exact amount"

"$38.30."

"Alright, it's done. Consider it a Christmas present. And you better not be in bed when I come home."

Just like that, I could afford my drugs. My mother is a strong Greek woman, powerful and caring, but never did I think she'd go as far as to pay for my PrEP prescription. A few years ago, the notion would have been cause for controversy – even ostracism. Yet there she was, paying for my HIV-preventative antiretroviral drugs, with the mildly-irritated tone of any mother collecting their child from the train station. Merry Christmas.

On World AIDS Day, I honour a past where people who were just like me lived in fear of a virus that claimed so many of their friends. I think about those who can't afford the ramifications of a HIV diagnosis – whether financially, because of family, or geographical location. I remember those we have lost.

Yet I also look at my present; a time where we have medication that halts the spread of what was once a relentless infection, and one where our men – and women, and all in-between – survived to see the advent of antiretroviral drugs, despite spending years waiting to die.

And I realise how lucky I am, to have a family who cares for me. Enough to momentarily fund my disease prevention, and afford me my safety. Who will never leave me keeled over, scratching at the front door.

We have fought over decades for these privileges, endless turmoil for this security. On World AIDS Day, we vow to keep fighting, until every last person can feel safe.

'The tragic death of Tyrone Unsworth is why we need Safe Schools'

This article was originally published on Sydney Morning Herald for Daily Life, on November 25th 2016. Available here.

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This morning, the airwaves were full of news of the tragic loss of Tyrone Unsworth. The 13-year-old Year 7 student of Aspley State High School in Brisbane took his own life, after being bullied over his sexuality.

Tyrone had suffered from homophobic bullying for years, being hospitalised not a month prior with severe injuries, violently assaulted by a fence paling so harshly that he needed surgery.

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Tyrone Unsworth, 13, who took his own life after being bullied.  Photo: Facebook

When he recovered, Tyrone was too frightened to return to school, fearing the harassment of his tormentors. His grieving mother Amanda spoke to Courier Mail, saying that "Tyrone ended up being gay and a lot of people started picking on him", that "He was a really feminine male, he loved fashion, he loved make-up and the boys always picked on him, calling him gay-boy, faggot, fairy; it was a constant thing from Year 5", and saying "I feel like these people who were bullying Tyrone are the cause of why he is not here anymore. They pushed him to the edge."

The loss of Tyrone Unsworth is one of many tragedies met by homosexual youths across the world. It is a heart-rending end to the story of a fun-loving young boy, one dealing with bullying in the schoolyard. 

Yet it is important to remember that these were not demons that pursued him and savaged his daily life with insults and injury.

These were children; young people, immature and impressionable. As gay youths experience the growing pains of coming to terms with their sexuality, so too do juvenile schoolkids reckon with the hardships of adolescent growth – which can often cause them to lash out, antagonise others, and go for who they perceive to be the weakest link.

Which means that this could have been avoided, if we'd only been teaching our kids the virtues of kindness and acceptance for those with different sexualities and gender expressions.

This is a country that introduced the Safe Schools Program; a school curriculum designed by LGBT youth groups like Minus18, and by teachers and educators, developed to tackle the plague of homophobic bullying that has swept high schools nationwide, unabated.

It's been instituted and funded at the highest level throughout schools in Victoria. And yet, despite this program being created by the highest calibre of educator, youth worker and policy-maker, it has been relentlessly attacked nationwide by conservative media outlets and right-wing groups such as the Australian Christian Lobby, for its alleged 'promotion' of 'gender theory' and other forms of sexuality and gender expression.

The fears of violence and bullying felt by Tyrone in his life were not without basis, and have been felt by gays all around the world. Indeed, we feel his loss more passionately, simply because these experiences of harassment and endless degradation on the basis of sexuality and gender expression are far too intimately known by LGBT people.

When a fist flies in the face of a gay teen and is reported on by the media – if it's reported to authorities at all – we feel it like a lightning bolt through our chins, as though it came from the very hands that maimed us in our own formative years.

In studies of bullying in schools, nine out of 10 LGBT students have reported being harassed on the basis of their sexuality and gender identity. They are up to 14 times more likely than their straight and cisgender counterparts to attempt suicide and inflict self-harm.

Many of these violent acts against gay and trans youth will go unreported becuase educators don't see them. And even those who see them don't know how to handle it.

But the Safe Schools Program could change all that, and could give schools the resources they need to identify and tackle this bullying as it arises, preventing further harm.

Australia is in a position to abate the tides of homophobic intolerance, to cut it off at the root, if it weren't for those right-wing pundits and organisations stunting its growth, and insisting it has the potential to do unspeakable damage to our kids.

As though the loss of life – Tyrone's life, and all of those years that could have been lived – is justifiable cost in their ideological war against whatever they blindly view as 'deviance'.

The suffering felt by Tyrone is all the more universal, and the reaction to our loss of him all the more profound, because it reflects the stories of so many gay people out there in the world – my own included.

We must stop stifling the voices of acceptance, by allowing conservative groups to attack programs like Safe Schools. We can't allow them to carry on with their billowing winds of hatred that have swept through our communities for generations, costing the lives of so many young people. Tyrone Unsworth was 13 years old. He was a bright spark glimmering with warmth and potential, and his family will mourn him. We were too late to save him. But it's not too late for the rest of our gay teens.

Kids Helpline 1800 55 1800

Lifeline 13 11 14.

'What mental illness sufferers can learn from Scott Ludlam's leave of absence'

This article was originally published on the Sydney Morning Herald for DailyLife, on November 7th 2016. Available here.

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Mental illness is an insufferable demon, one that plagues the mind and the body. It takes a strong person to seek help. But it takes an even stronger person to tell the world that they need it.

On Friday, Western Australian Greens senator Scott Ludlam revealed on social media his struggles with depression and anxiety. Ludlam revealed a need to take a leave of absence from his political duties in order to cope and seek care. His openness about his health drew waves of positivity and support from his fans and fellow parliamentarians, with comments urging him to take care of himself, and others commending his candour.

Australian Greens Senator Scott Ludlam says he has been dealing with depression and anxiety for some time.  Photo: Jacky Ghossein

As someone who is no stranger to mental illness, I am inspired by his honesty.

For over a decade I've fought with crippling anxiety, and at various stages severe depression. Not a day has gone by where I haven't felt its icy touch, the irrational fear and fog of terror clouding my perceptions and making it difficult to function. It's turned what should have been a three-year university degree into a six-year stint that I've only halfway completed, and has burdened my friendships under the weight of my constant fearful complaints.

Then, nearly three months ago, my symptoms skyrocketed. I developed full-blown panic disorder. The dread I felt before multiplied, and became a physical symptom in and of itself, like a disease snaking tendrils through my mind every minute of the day. Leaving the house became impossible, and when my brain was done racking my body, I would fall into depressed exhaustion, until all I wanted to do – could do – was sleep.

What never fails to surprise me about suicidal thoughts is how polite they seem. Never do they seem melodramatic or theatrical, nor are they emotional like a rained-out scene from a tragic love story. They're a small voice, in the back of your head, gently whispering: Well, this isn't going to get better, is it?

I've presented to emergency several times over the past few months, all because of that voice. Depression and anxiety feel like a grip you'll never escape. This is the stark reality of mental illness.

Yet here is Ludlam, a loved and prolific senator, speaking candidly about his struggles. Where others might shy away in shame when talking about their health, Ludlam, despite his status, has opted to pull apart his threads and show the world his anguish. To young people, his constituents and people like me who are struggling, that means the world.

In a society where one in six people will suffer with depression, and one in four will deal with anxiety, his vulnerability – his willingness to speak out and bare his soul – can further crack into the stigma surrounding mental illness and inspire others to care for and support themselves.

Yet what remains such a daunting idea for so many people dealing with mental illness is the prospect of having to put a stop to their responsibilities in order to seek care. A present with mental illness can feel impossible to manage, but a future without it can feel utterly unattainable. As if putting your life on hold would mean that the world would spin ahead of you, and you'll never be able to catch up.

The pressure to do well and excel, when burdened with depression and anxiety, can feel insurmountable – but the reality is that until we find the courage to support ourselves and seek self-care, our lives with mental illness can never improve. With services we can use to vent our frustrations, and to seek further aid, we can take those first steps and slowly begin to heal.

In the past month, I've found a psychiatrist who I've been having regular sessions with. I have a prescription. I put my working life aside. I am aware of the support services in my area, and have used them when necessary. Though I'm certainly not cured – I haven't spoken in-person to someone who wasn't a family member or professional in almost two months – I'm making steps to manage my mental health.

The pressure to do well and excel, when burdened with depression and anxiety, can feel insurmountable.

Taking the time out from our lives to care for ourselves shouldn't terrify us, and the dread of falling behind shouldn't burden us to tears. Through allowing ourselves a break, being surrounded by supportive forces, and through the power of vulnerability – like with Ludlam's honest confession – we can take back control of our lives and inspire others to do the same.

At first, I was scared of reaching out for help. I couldn't imagine a life for myself where I didn't have mental illness, where I wasn't in varying states of fear or suffering. It's been a huge part of my existence for so long.

But then I realised; that's exactly why I have to seek help. Because frankly, I deserve to get better. As do we all. I have asked for help, and been vulnerable – like I'm trying to be now.

Mental illness can feel like a losing battle. But one day, sooner or later, the fog will lift. The exhaustion and the dread will waver, and we will chase away our demons.

Know that it's perfectly fine to just take your damn time and it's okay to be vulnerable.

Lifeline: 13 11 14

Suicide Call Back Service: 1300 659 467

'How To Embrace Male Spaces'

This article was originally published on The Vocal, on November 3rd 2016. Available here.

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Masculinity is one hell of a drug. Never is this idea more apparent than to those who feel they might lose it.

Such was the case this week when an Australian pair of entrepreneurs announced the launch of their working space known as Nomadic Thinkers, labelled a “hybridised co-working model with a gym space” – one that is exclusive to men. The goal was for men to collaborate and work creatively together, as a way of combating a perceived lack of male community in society. Upon unveiling the space, the company came under fire, being criticised as running a needless exercise in Boys Club exclusivity in an already male-dominated tech sector.

The real conflict and philosophy behind Nomadic Thinkers arose when critics examined their blog – which has since been shut down – that reveals their belief that “feminism has gone past its [intended] point”, that “boys have been babied and coddled on cotton wool”, and that it’s “becoming common for men to be persecuted for expressing their masculinity”. They essentially argue that their spaces are necessitated by an emasculation of men in society.

These alleged notions of feminism being toxic towards masculinity and that ‘manliness’ is being stifled are not uncommon in some schools of thought. Men’s Rights Activists having touted these reactionary ideas for decades. They have desperately clung to the thought that their masculinity is threatened, and in turn their own wellbeing.

Yet is the presence of women, or the feminist lens through which many view the world, truly the framework that contributes to the troubled psyches grappled with by men? Or are the ‘men-should-be-men’ attitudes shrouding these groups contributing to these problems?

As an unabashed gay man, I’m all too aware of the predetermined set of characteristics and attitudes that are expected of men: our binary gender roles. By merely existing as an out homosexual and not a hetero rife with brute machismo, it’s by virtue of my sexuality that I’m deemed to be intrinsically less of a man. My gayness has seen me abused, bullied and even bashed, all because it differs from that which many view as the norm.

In society, men and manliness are often measured by traditional elements of masculinity; our strength, our stoicism, our power and ability to dominate – but we are ridiculed for any traits that reflect femininity, such as perceived weakness, emotion, affection and vulnerability.

Spaces that foster community between men are to be celebrated, as the capacity for companionship amongst men has been severely limited by our hesitance to embrace vulnerability. There is a very real lack of camaraderie and increased rates of loneliness that perpetuates mental illness amongst men. Groups like Men’s Sheds take great leaps towards providing avenues for men to build connections with other men, in environments that don’t thrust an onus of manliness upon them, rather allowing them to engage with one another on their own terms.

Some spaces like Nomadic Thinkers fall flat, however, when they adopt traditional ideas of masculinity, insisting they are to be strived for and reclaimed. When some imply that the higher rates of suicide amongst men and boys exists because manliness is being shafted in favour of emasculated cuckoldry, they do a disservice to not only men and boys, but to a society fumbling under the weight of gendered expectations as a whole.

In truth, it’s not women, or feminism, nor any ‘erosion of manliness’ that harms and hinders us. It’s those inherent elements of masculinity. Masculinity denies us the capacity for emotion and vulnerability by insisting that any expression of it must be accompanied by shows of strength and power. It rejects fragility in favour of might, and dismisses vulnerability as weakness.

But when we ridicule these men for trying to find avenues to bring other men together in community, we run the risk of not only pushing them further away, but also leaving them to stew in their own misunderstandings. Through our mockery, we only reinforce their ideas that the unpacking of gendered behaviour is oppressing them, and we limit their willingness to look inward and deconstruct their own gendered conceptions.

When men struggle under the weight of these ingrained expectations, such as the necessity of power and strength, and when they lack the gentle hands to guide them towards understanding the unfairness of their given roles and lots in life, these men at best become agitated and repressed – and at worst, they become varying shades of suicidal and violent.

Suicide, loneliness and the inability to express emotion are troubling concerns that affect men at large, ones which manliness in its most toxic forms serves to perpetuate. Instead of stamping out these attempts at fostering community by ridiculing them for ‘missing the mark’, we should redirect their efforts towards understanding how masculinity itself harms them.

Beards and blokiness are all good and well. But until we’ve targeted the truer cause of their internalised peril, and helped them denounce the harmful elements of masculinity, we can never truly foster community spaces that permit men the freedom to be themselves.

Whether that freedom is expressed through strength, through love, or even vulnerability.

'Let's Talk About Megan & Tiffany From 'The Bachelor''

Article for Junkee.com published the 26th of October 2016, on the hype surrounding Megan & Tiffany from The Bachelor Australia, who have announced their relationship.

It talks about how much more impressive the news is than what might ordinarily just be another reality television newsbite - and what it means for pop culture machines like The Bachelor when two of its contestants enter a same-sex relationship.

>> Article available here. <<

'It's a match: The 10 types of guys on Tinder'

This article was originally published on SameSame.com.au on the 19th of October, 2016. Available here.

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At the fresh-faced age of 24, I’ve been single for my whole life. I attribute this to intense social awkwardness and crippling anxiety. My idea of getting to know a man is to vomit lots of facts about myself over dinner and then apologise profusely.

So it should come as no surprise that I have thoroughly enjoyed the world of online dating. Grindr, Scruff, Hornet, the flirtatious web browser equivalents that are mostly for getting off; I’ve done them all.

However there’s one app that isn’t discussed enough by us homos – mostly because it’s so popular with the straights. That app is Tinder. At a point aeons ago, I opted to give it a crack, setting up a profile and rudely unleashing my visage upon the world. I’ve been swiping ever since.

What continues to surprise me, as I finger my way through the endless mob of homosexuals, is the fact that I seem to encounter the same gentlemen, in different bodies, over and over again.

Now, since I’m a truly terrible person who is looking forward to a life of solitude, I’ve opted to fill you in on the men you’ll meet on Tinder.

Because like most everyone else: I’m not one to brutally stereotype other gay men, except for those times where I absolutely am.

The Guy Who Wants Love

This guy takes Tinder seriously. His entire personally seems ripped from the dreamers in He’s Just Not That Into You. You can tell he’s interested in finding a life partner because he reminds you repeatedly. Within three messages he’s asked you for coffee. He’ll smother you in affection, but you can’t help but feel he’s projecting his desires onto you.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You’ve planned your wedding since you were twelve, complete with Alicia Keys’ I Aint’ Got You as your “song”.

The ‘Clean-Cut’ Guy

Polished; knows his key lighting. His first photo is of him lying on Ikea furniture. The second is of him out for Sunday brunch or at a gay club, with a man-friend who helped build said Ikea furniture. Often comes with a Strong Gay Circle, all of which are identical and who loudly identify as members of the Real Housewives Of Melbourne. Uses the nail-painting emoji unironically.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You’re willing to be a Gamble Breaux to his Gina Liano.

The Bearded Homo

This man is a bearded gentleman who, unsatisfied with the crowd at his local gay dive bar, has taken to Tinder to find another beard to brush up against. The pursuit of personality has been wholly abandoned, in favour of chasing facial hair, musculature, tattoos and chequered shirts. He’s the ‘hipster’ version of the Clean-Cut Guy. May mingle with other crowds, but only momentarily before returning to the man-cave.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You grow the hairs on your face. Fascinating.

The Down-To-Earth Guy

This guy works in finance and is just looking for a real bloke with a head on his shoulders. He has no expectations and isn’t sure what he’s doing on Tinder, but here he goes, he guesses! His hobbies include fitness, skiing, gym selfies, Having A Laugh, and appearing as alarmingly sane as he possibly can. He also loves to travel.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You’re an amorphous blob.

The Artist

Whether he’s a painter or a writer, this man is deeper than the Marianas Trench. He will probably write about your date on a blog. He’s passionate about gender theory and the rising price of Champion Ruby tobacco. He’d like to tell you about his zine.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You’re keen on modelling for his subversive nude art project.

The Picky Queen

I’m unsure how this guy found his way onto Tinder, given that his persona is Grindr-chic. He’s just sick to death of the gay community, and aren’t there any normal guys out there? He wants to angrily tell you all the things he’s not interested in. He’s surprised when you un-match with him.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: [This space has been intentionally left blank]

The Party Girl

This guy is too old to be hitting it so hard. All of his photos are of him laid out on share-house floors, cradling a beer in one hand and a rollie in the other. His possible trust fund pays for the MDMA he scoffs at warehouse parties on the weekends.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You’re looking for something casual, because he will break it off after several one-night-stands claiming personal hardship.

The Polyamorous Couple

This adorable duo want to introduce a third to their adventurous love nest. Their interests include weekend trips, hiking, and cooking extravagant feasts. They’re the nicest couple you’ve ever met, but… something doesn’t feel right. Is this discomfort… fear? Are you even ready for this? Are you… a closed-minded basic? What would your mother say?

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You won’t. You’ll swipe left, and spend the rest of your days wondering what could have been, if you’d only opened your cold, dead heart.

The Naked Guy

Dude. What are you doing?

SWIPE RIGHT IF: Just don’t.

‘The One’

You’ve never known the answer to “What do you want in a man?” – until this profile comes along. He’s gorgeous. He’s employed in a field that’s both stable and fascinating. In one of his photos he is holding a dog. You’ve finally found the one you’re going to meet, date, and one day marry. Finally, a break. You’ve met your last match.

SWIPE RIGHT IF: You are ready to have your heart broken. You won’t match, and he’ll never be seen again. Farewell, beautiful stranger.

These are the gay men of Tinder. Exceptions will apply – but not really.

Good luck finding your soul mate, and happy swiping!

'No, Eric Abetz, We Shouldn't Be "Celebrating" People Who Identify As Heterosexual"

Article for Junkee.com published the 13th of October 2016; a responsive to the delightfully ignorant and consistently bigoted Australian politician Eric Abetz, and some of his recent comments that media bias means that those who switch from homosexual to heterosexual aren't celebrated.

It talks about the bitter realities of living as an out-and-proud gay person, and details why heterosexuality doesn't require an extravagant 'coming out' process - because frankly, it doesn't need one.

>> Article available here. <<