An Open Letter To The HIV That Sneak-Attacked Me

*Trigger Warning* This article contains mentions of suicide.

HIV,

I met you in the summer of 2021 — June to be exact. But you knew me way before then. You got me good.

I’ll admit, I didn’t know too much about you back then. Nobody expected me — a trans guy — to get HIV. Everyone assumes we only date cis women with little to no risk of contracting the virus. There’s no urgency to educate us. I hate that.

But I never felt comfortable with cis women. There was always something missing. So I’d go months, sometimes even years without having any sex. I spent most of my twenties living like this. Then I turned 28; I did some soul-searching and a lot of somatic therapy.

I found the courage to pursue intimacy in new places.

Dating trans women was new for me, but the thought seemed beautiful. I imagined it to be the most profound form of intimacy. I thought everything would be easier and safer, but I didn’t know the trauma that some of these women were carrying. I was ignorant about all of the systemic issues that plagued our community.

But you knew all about it.

Before you found a home in my body, you were living in hers. You must have destroyed her life because she was looking for revenge. I was just a pawn in her game of poison.

She didn’t want to use condoms and how could I argue? After feeling like a science experiment for most of my life, I craved genuine connection more than anything. I was vulnerable, naive, and lonely.

I never saw her again.

Your timing was impeccable. You slipped under the radar of my first test and latched on, right as I met someone new. I thought I was in the clear… but one negative isn’t enough, is it?

You show up late on purpose, HIV, sometimes you take months. Why didn’t my doctor tell me to come back? You gave me false hope while you attacked me in silence. How did I miss you?

You certainly dropped quite a few hints.

Like the “cold” I thought had for two days. I was too busy pounding back ginger tea and Theraflu praying that you weren’t COVID. I had a promising second date and there was no way I’d miss it.

After those two days, you got quiet.

So I didn’t suspect a thing.

October-March

She enters my life only weeks after you do… and I’ll never be the same.

That second date turns into coffee dates, dinner dates, and sleepovers. We shared hopes for the future and scars from our past. I became her provider, her protector. She became my best friend.

Months flew by and we shared so many moments — from cooking Thanksgiving dinner to stockings on Christmas. On New Year’s Eve, she was my first midnight kiss. Then there was Valentine’s day.

I went all out. Hotel with city views, prosecco on ice. Tropical flowers filled the room. We did Japanese at our favorite Sushi spot in St. Mark’s Square. It was only 9 pm but I was so tired. I hope I made her feel loved that night, but there’s nothing romantic about passing out at 10.

You drop your next hint in March, greeting me in the middle of the night with soaked sheets and pillowcases. I didn’t have a fever, but the whole thing felt spooky.

Morning comes and I try to rationalize it all.

I must have spilled water.

April

You weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

It’s my 30th birthday and my girlfriend surprises me. She gets a hotel and invites my best friend to New York. We all do tacos on the Upper West Side. I took my very first shot of tequila and I was exhausted an hour later. Did tequila make everyone this tired? No, of course not. It was just you.

My girlfriend deserved incredible sex that night but you took all my energy. I hate that I made her feel unwanted. Again. The only thing you left me with on my special night was another drenched pillowcase.

She even baked the Funfetti cake I begged for, which I couldn’t eat because you made me nauseous. But I got another birthday gift from you, my first fever.

Heat was literally radiating off of my body. I was so scared, I almost went to the ER. But before I could change… whoosh! You’re gone again and I feel fine.

May

Things are slowly going to shit. Something’s seriously off. Getting out of bed feels like mission impossible. I’m canceling too many dates with my girlfriend. Now, we’re arguing more. She fears I’m no longer attracted to her and all can say is: “I’m low on energy.”

How pathetic.

I’m losing her and the sad part is, I don’t even have the energy to win her back. So like a jackass, I suggest we try an open relationship, just so I could appease my guilt for not showing up.

She’s calling me less now, but partying more. She even met someone at a bar and kissed them. It crushed me. So I crushed her. That’s when I told her we were done.

June

I tried taking my life that night with a cooking knife my brother got me for Christmas. I remember the blood stains on my hands…

You were in that blood and already killing me.

Thankfully, I couldn’t finish the job. This isn’t where my story ends.

One thing my girlfriend struggled with was talking about suicide and depression. It was all too triggering for her. But my friend, J? She could handle heavy, she was friends with the darkness too. I could be my raw, authentic self with her. So I called her, telling her I needed an escape; our shadows came out to play that night…

We start with dinner. Then she takes me to a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. I knew nothing about NYC nightlife, especially queer nightlife, but I felt safe with her so I instantly let my guard down.

She hands me a shot. Then she looks into my eyes and kisses me. Our lips taste like tequila. Electricity flows through my veins. Why didn’t this tequila make me tired? We dance, we laugh and we kiss intimately for hours. There was no room for words, we were too busy being free.

“Let’s get out of here”, I whisper…

Back at her place, we’re eager to explore bodies — but we’re too drunk, too goofy, and too tired. I drift in and out of sleep while she jumps in the shower. Then she lays down beside me and smiles.

I remember waking up feeling guilty, even though I was single.

I silence my thoughts, convincing myself: it’s all for the better. My ex was exploring happiness that I couldn’t give her anymore. It was time to move on.

Later that week, I decide to go get tested. At this point, why not? Maybe it’s time I bring my Grindr back from the dead. Nobody wants to be the guy who got tested ages ago, either. So I head downtown and hit the Express Clinic…

Little did I know that this is when we’d meet, officially, HIV.