I can't remember what triggered moving on - time most likely - but eventually I'd had enough of feeling like a ghost. This was my first heartbreak, so I had no concept of how to move on, how to deal with the pain and rejection, or how to ask for support from family and friends. I had a tendency to run from my problems, so I ran straight from them into the arms of some cute guy. I went on a couple dates, moved way too fast, and witnessed all of them evaporate as abruptly as they'd started, which in turn left me lonely and sad all over again. I was surprised how easy it was to make that leap and accept a date with a new person. Suddenly I noticed the attention at my gigs (I was in a band), and now that I was single, I flirted back.But several weeks after one rendezvous with a guy that cancelled on our next date and never called back, I noticed an uncomfortable burn down there.It only got worse until I knew it was too painful to be some "normal" ailment. It's likely it won't affect me being able to have sex, or even giving it to anyone else if I have safe sex, but I have to face the fact that I have it, and I must be honest with any future partners.Pieces of me were pushed so far down that I couldn't even hear their faint cries.
I wanted an honest and compassionate relationship, so I opened up and spoke my truth, awaiting rejection, fearing disgust, and ready to cry.
The doctor asked me to come in to hear my test results. I didn't, however, tell anyone that I started seeing.
I knew they'd be positive, but it still made my stomach sink to hear the word. I made sure to be safe on my end, but I never gave them the choice to abstain from sex with me because I feared rejection.
With all the stigma surrounding the virus, I felt overwhelmingly unwanted and worthless.
Still, it was unfair to keep that information from a sexual partner. Eventually I got the courage to share the truth with a guy I was really starting to care for.