Zed didn't know how he was ultimately going to deal with it if he was given the news that he was Positive. One of the biggest pieces of advice Riley had given him was to start reading about it and understanding as it is, not as it is stigmatised. He said that sort of information will never be useless, because more understanding in general is what is needed to reduce the level of stigma and have it understood on the same level as any other chronic illness or disease. It was stigmatised because people assumed you were a reckless whore if you got infected, and it just wasn't the case. People could get infected for many reasons, and even if you were reckless or not thinking straight at all, or were intoxicated, or screwed up, that was no reason to be frowned upon and judged. Battling any illness was hard enough. Riley also said to try to brace himself for it. Prepare for the worst, because you would face it a little better when the time came. He had admitted to Zed that he hadn't coped with it himself at all. He went through an incredible shock and trauma with it that still impacted on him today. He also reminded Zed that there were amazing support networks out there for people with HIV, and to use them if he was comfortable with it. Find a process that works, grieve if necessary, let himself hurt because it was the only way to get on the path to acceptance to be able to pick yourself up and realise life would just be different now. "Then brace yourself, because, as they say, it's going to be a bumpy ride," he warned Caleb quietly, not seeing any point in taking the reassurance route that it would all be perfectly okay with the right help when it just might not be. "Fact of the matter is, I might be sick and even when these meds finish, I might still be sick. I have to have a lot of therapy, and I'm on medication for depression and anxiety now. It's not going to be easy."

His hands were shaking a little when he lit up the smoke one-handed while it sat between his lips. It took a few attempts because he couldn't shield the flame with his injured hand. The blood loss left a little bit of hand tremoring, which would resolve itself soon enough. "No one thing," he admitted and blew the smoke out over the balcony and licked his lips. "Richie came to see me and we talked a lot. He's a really sweet guy, very understanding and compassionate. He knew I needed someone, so he was there for me. Finished his shift at nine, and stayed with me until after two in the morning. The psychiatrist helped me see that I was suffering classic trauma responses, and pain and fear were occluding my ability to respond rationally. I'm not mentally ill, but I'm depressed and have anxiety. Apparently people displaced by agencies or services often suffer mental strain, to the point there are therapists who just do that solely for their job. I've been shouldering so much and hiding so much for so long, that he think there was just a breaking point I hit. That we're all only human, not machines. I just need to take things very slow, or I'll get overwhelmed and start drowning again."