Help Me Hold On to Life, Stability, and Hope

Hi, my name is Jonathan, and asking for help like this doesn’t come easily—but I’m learning that survival sometimes requires vulnerability.

In 2022, I was diagnosed with a drug-resistant strain of HIV. Despite treatment and my best efforts to stay afloat, this aggressive variant has continued to progress. Earlier this year, doctors confirmed what I had been fearing: my HIV has advanced to AIDS.

The physical toll has been overwhelming. The medications meant to save my life have come with severe side effects—persistent nausea, loss of appetite, dramatic weight changes, anxiety, hair loss, and exhaustion. They have also caused HIV-related osteoporosis, which led to me breaking several bones last year. My immune system is fragile, and everyday illnesses now carry serious risk.

The emotional weight has been just as heavy. Depression, insomnia, and the constant strain of managing a life-threatening illness caused me to lose several jobs and my sense of stability. I have no help from my family due to religious reasons, and without steady income, I’ve faced housing and food insecurity, and choices no one should ever have to make—medicine or meals, rest or rent.

At the start of the New Year, my health took a frightening turn. I was hospitalized with RSV and pneumonia, and during that stay, doctors discovered my CD4 count had fallen below 120—a clear indicator that my immune system is severely compromised and that this disease has progressed aggressively.

I want people to know that I am doing everything I can. I am continuing care with the DC AIDS Clinic, working closely with my medical team to stabilize my health and adjust treatment. I am also in the process of applying for food assistance and disability support, but those systems take time—time I don’t have much of when it comes to basic needs and immediate stability. I am hopeful that I can return to work at least a few days a week, for as long as my body allows, while I continue treatment.

I also need to be honest about something deeply personal: I’m scared.

Not just for myself—but for my cats, Aeaea and Pythia. They are my constant companions and my comfort during long nights of anxiety and insomnia. The fear of not being able to care for them—or of losing them—has been one of the most painful parts of this journey. They depend on me, and I’m fighting to stay here for them.

But here’s the truth I want you to hear most clearly:

I am still here. And I am not done living.

I may be living with AIDS, and some days I am terrified, but I am choosing to keep going anyway—because I am still living with intention, resilience, and a deep belief that there is more love, service, and life left in me.

I still wake up with dreams—real, human dreams that remind me why I’m fighting:

• To swim in the Arctic Ocean beneath the aurora borealis

• To walk barefoot through ancient temples in India

• To dance in the Moroccan sand dunes at sunset alongside the Bedouin

• To continue giving my time and heart helping at soup kitchens around the city

• And to spend whatever good health I have left teaching and tutoring underprivileged children in Washington, DC

I have so much more life in me. So much love, curiosity, and purpose still to give.

How Your Support Will Help

I’ve set this GoFundMe goal to cover the most urgent needs while I continue fighting AIDS and rebuilding stability in my life. Every donation helps me survive, heal, and keep living with purpose. Funds will be used for:

• Medical care and medications: Covering the cost of life-saving treatments, clinic visits, and supplements to support my immune system.

• Housing and utilities: Ensuring I have a safe, stable place to live while my health requires careful attention.

• Food and nutrition: Nutritious meals to help my body stay strong while managing side effects like nausea and loss of appetite.

• Care for Aeaea and Pythia: My cats depend on me, and part of the funds will ensure they are safe, fed, and cared for.

• Daily living support: Covering essentials like transportation, basic supplies, and emergency needs while I wait for food assistance and disability benefits to come through.

Even small donations make a big difference. Your generosity helps me continue treatment, stay alive, and work toward the dreams that keep me fighting: traveling, volunteering, and giving back to my community.

If you’re able to donate, share, or simply hold me in your thoughts, please know it means more than I can express. You are not just helping me survive—you are helping me hold on to hope.

Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for believing that my life still matters.

With gratitude and determination,

Jonathan