She woke up next to him and could feel herself get frantic. For the first time, she wasn’t looking forward to him embracing her and drawing her closer to his groin. They had established a routine. They began the day with steamy foreplay and sex, then pillow talk candour followed, after which he’d make breakfast. Later they would part ways, until the next time. She was startled the minute she opened her eyes and the occurrences of the previous night came into perspective.
“Good morning baby, you will be late for the funeral,” Winfrey managed to say to Denzel at last. She had never been satisfied with the dynamics of their affair. She desired a title; to be known as his girlfriend while in the scrutiny and glare of the public eye. In her heart of hearts, she yearned for more than their unplanned meetings and lying to her parents so that she could spend the night at Denzel’s. She wanted a space in his closet. Ever since their meeting, she had wanted to be in a properly defined relationship with him.
Unplanned encounters like this, ensued after meeting at the club and leaving for a different destination with his friends. The air was awash with raucousness and vulgarity at the second location, and upon influence from Denzel’s friends, she followed him into a separate room where they had drunken sex. They had always used protection, but that night, he only asked her if she was safe. That could have been interpreted as him enquiring about her menstrual safe days. Neither of them could probe further. They were ravenous for each other.
When they later left for his house, she could only think of how to evade being tested as that was all he was talking about during the entire drive, but a man who has testing kits in his bedroom is actually keen on testing for HIV regularly, and won’t be assured by anything other than a single line. She almost raced to bed, but he sought her. Denzel would not let her sleep until they had both tested.
The results lay on the table staring back at them, and an uncomfortable silence engulfed them, she wanted to tell him the entire story, and she only hoped he would at least empathize with her. She thought he would ask her to leave, bewildered, even lash out at her. He instead said they should sleep.
Reverting back to the present, now sober, she only realized further the gravity of their circumstances, she was sure she had lost him. She didn’t expect forgiveness, but she had hoped he would listen to her explain. They got into his car after he decided to go get Post-exposure prophylaxis.
“I wish you had let me know before,” he said finally.
Winfrey was on the verge of tears, this was one of her many fears as a person living with HIV and AIDS, wanting love only to be ostracized. Being vulnerable with potential and facing imminent rejection ranked far up, not disclosing early enough was another because once the truth was out, her intentions would only be perceived as vile.
“I knew you would see me differently once you knew. I was scared to tell you about my HIV status. Stigma is still rife and I didn’t want to lose you,” she told him. He didn’t say a word but alighted and left Winfrey sobbing. Amidst her tears, she wondered if this was her life and if she’d never be loved because being HIV positive was an obstacle and if she was a bad person for wanting to be loved. As they left St. Gertrude’s hospital, a still-angry Denzel just handed her fare and parted ways.
Winfrey locked herself in her room once she got home and cried for what seemed like hours. Even then, she didn’t stop, she could feel the guilt creeping up on her. What made this situation more disastrous was that she couldn’t tell anyone about it. She would end up letting on about her status, and she had kept it secret all along to protect herself from judgement. For days she wasn’t herself, she barely ate and cried most of the time, Denzel got back but all he did was accuse her of going around infecting people. Winfrey suffered and part of her thought it was what she deserved. When she had grieved enough, for herself, and for the loss of a relationship, she recollected herself bit by bit and decided to learn from what had happened.
As days passed, it occurred to her she always processed better by writing, so she took out her journal and wrote,
Three years shy of thirty, and still I haven’t figured out how to live with this virus. The enormity of the work doesn’t begin and stop with taking my regimen, daily as I should, most of the work is navigating life as a PLWHA. Everything changes for me in the dating pool; people already have preferences and it goes without saying that a partner who is HIV+ is a deal breaker for many. Society expects PLWHA to be a source of inspiration, to be positive and make them feel better about their lives, that is not what I want and I advocate against it, not just in my case, but for others living with the virus as well. We shouldn’t be made to live for others, we require support more than we do brand endorsements from corporates.
I wish living with HIV came with a manual. I wish I knew when to disclose my status and when not to, I wish wanting to keep my partner(s) safe didn’t solely depend on me giving them background information on my status, I wish I knew how to create a community for myself, for those periods I default, I wish it were easier knowing my life depends on taking ARVs for the rest of my life.
This is me admitting this journey is hard and that years down the line I still don’t know how to navigate a number of things apart from taking my medication and not feeling sorry for myself on most days. I am still estranged.