Shame and fear was a part of it, but even more so I think there was a part of me that wanted to pretend that HIV hadn't happened to me.That I could go on bad Tinder dates and laugh about them at brunch with my friends, get set up with friends, and pick up a guy when I was out for the night, just like everyone else.When a person goes on treatment — I take one pill a day — undetectable is the goal.
After my diagnosis, Matt and I stopped making dinner together, speaking to each other, and sleeping in the same bed.
(He was negative, and had been getting tested his entire life.) We broke up within the year.
I am HIV positive, but it is undetectable, which means I am one of the estimated 30 percent of the 1.2 million people living with HIV in the United States who cannot transmit the virus.
Undetectable means is that the amount of HIV virus in my blood cannot be detected by a lab test.
Matt never been a good match for me, really; my diagnosis just shined a spotlight on that.
The only bad thing about breaking up with Matt was the realization that I would have to start dating again.
I thought it was a formality I should finally take care of.
The positive result almost didn't compute at first.
I grew up during the HIV/AIDS crisis and should have known better, but as a heterosexual woman, I equated safe sex with not getting pregnant more than with getting an STI, let alone HIV. It's embarrassing to admit that now, but I really did ignorantly think sex was all fun and games.
For me, "dating," was basically a euphemism for casual sex.
I was living in New York City with a boyfriend I'll call Matt when I was diagnosed with HIV. It was my first steady, long-term relationship, and we did what I used to think of as "grown-up" things.