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May 19, 2024, 09:36:41 pm
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Living With HIV / I couldn't have timed this better -- how I broke to news to my date
« Last post by CalvinC on Today at 07:59:02 pm »Hi all
This is a kind of follow-up to my earlier thread "Bad romance" (see https://forums.poz.com/index.php?topic=77742.0).
Despite what I thought I'd do -- that is, stopping seeing this guy -- I went ahead and pursued him, with pretty much the same results as before, ie, hot-and-cold and some breadcrumbing. Or maybe it isn't that, exactly, so much as it's just me having the wrong kind of expectations. And I still haven't told him my status -- until now.
Today is May 19, the day when I got my poz results, in 2006. 18 years ago. So here I am at this guy's place, having spent the night; and we're having a shower together and he tries to, uh, well, you know. And I laughed and said, Not without a condom. We got out of the shower, and he pressed the matter, saying, What's wrong with it; we're not sick. And as soon as I heard that word, I knew I had to fess up. And so I did.
He listened and was somewhat reassuring, as I gave him the potted version of "U = U", quietly yet clearly. He was getting dressed for work, and I said I'd tell him my story when we got in the car and I drove him, about a 15 minute drive.
I started with me testing positive, on 19 May 2006, about the guy I was seeing who dropped me like a hot potato, though I said that his freaking out was perhaps understandable, given his own anxieties, who knows? I said that I got my act together, and that random sex fell away (though random sex doesn't mean getting hiv, of course; not having safe sex does), that I went on meds about seven years after testing, and that I'm on a pill-a-day, that my health has been and is now excellent, no side effects. I talked about medical advances in hiv treatment. And I said that I understood that he might be worried, understandably; but that if were to trust me on one thing then it must be that I would never put him at risk and that I had/have not done so. And he nodded.
I parked the car at his work, and we were silent. He gripped my leg tight and thanked me. I said I'd send him some U=U links and that we'd talk soon. I drove off but then stopped, looked up the links, and sent them. And I added that he knows how much I care for him (and I've said just that, but not the word "love") and that I still want to see him; and that he needs to let me know, one way or another, if that holds true for him. He later texted thanks, using his pet name for me.
I came home and ended up reading the Times article on Hollywood weepies, and, in particular, "Imitation of Life," and its funeral scene. Which I watched, stupidly. And after which I somehow ended up on the bathroom floor in a flood of tears and anguish and pain.
I'm a little better now. But I'm tired, mostly at the prospect of having to go through a period of suffering (that I should have gone through earlier). Yet what is my pain, I think, in comparison to people who have it a lot worse than I do. Access to medical care (I'm in Canada) and financial wherewithal are not issues for me, at all. I'm active and healthy. But I wasn't expecting this -- meeting this guy was out of the blue. I chide myself for not . . . oh I don't know. For not being smarter? I suppose that love, and the desire to love and be loved, isn't about being smart.
This is a kind of follow-up to my earlier thread "Bad romance" (see https://forums.poz.com/index.php?topic=77742.0).
Despite what I thought I'd do -- that is, stopping seeing this guy -- I went ahead and pursued him, with pretty much the same results as before, ie, hot-and-cold and some breadcrumbing. Or maybe it isn't that, exactly, so much as it's just me having the wrong kind of expectations. And I still haven't told him my status -- until now.
Today is May 19, the day when I got my poz results, in 2006. 18 years ago. So here I am at this guy's place, having spent the night; and we're having a shower together and he tries to, uh, well, you know. And I laughed and said, Not without a condom. We got out of the shower, and he pressed the matter, saying, What's wrong with it; we're not sick. And as soon as I heard that word, I knew I had to fess up. And so I did.
He listened and was somewhat reassuring, as I gave him the potted version of "U = U", quietly yet clearly. He was getting dressed for work, and I said I'd tell him my story when we got in the car and I drove him, about a 15 minute drive.
I started with me testing positive, on 19 May 2006, about the guy I was seeing who dropped me like a hot potato, though I said that his freaking out was perhaps understandable, given his own anxieties, who knows? I said that I got my act together, and that random sex fell away (though random sex doesn't mean getting hiv, of course; not having safe sex does), that I went on meds about seven years after testing, and that I'm on a pill-a-day, that my health has been and is now excellent, no side effects. I talked about medical advances in hiv treatment. And I said that I understood that he might be worried, understandably; but that if were to trust me on one thing then it must be that I would never put him at risk and that I had/have not done so. And he nodded.
I parked the car at his work, and we were silent. He gripped my leg tight and thanked me. I said I'd send him some U=U links and that we'd talk soon. I drove off but then stopped, looked up the links, and sent them. And I added that he knows how much I care for him (and I've said just that, but not the word "love") and that I still want to see him; and that he needs to let me know, one way or another, if that holds true for him. He later texted thanks, using his pet name for me.
I came home and ended up reading the Times article on Hollywood weepies, and, in particular, "Imitation of Life," and its funeral scene. Which I watched, stupidly. And after which I somehow ended up on the bathroom floor in a flood of tears and anguish and pain.
I'm a little better now. But I'm tired, mostly at the prospect of having to go through a period of suffering (that I should have gone through earlier). Yet what is my pain, I think, in comparison to people who have it a lot worse than I do. Access to medical care (I'm in Canada) and financial wherewithal are not issues for me, at all. I'm active and healthy. But I wasn't expecting this -- meeting this guy was out of the blue. I chide myself for not . . . oh I don't know. For not being smarter? I suppose that love, and the desire to love and be loved, isn't about being smart.