I became sexually active when I was really young — just 13 years old. I probably wasn’t emotionally mature enough for sex, but I had a boyfriend I trusted. We used birth control, but not condoms, so we had no protection against sexually transmitted infections . Though I didn’t worry much about getting a disease through sex — because I believed my boyfriend was having sex only with me — I did make sure I was tested annually for STIs, including HIV.
My boyfriend wasn’t any kinder. When I told him, he accused me of cheating — something I hadn’t done. He got tested soon after and was also HIV-positive. We stayed together for years after, but the relationship was unhealthy and sometimes abusive. For all of my childhood until that point, succeeding in school had been my top priority. But once I was diagnosed, my academic ambition died, and I failed all my classes. As a brutal reminder of my defeat, my mother framed and hung my report card filled with F’s.
I had unprotected sex with Jason, but didn’t tell him I was HIV-positive. I’ve spent some time wondering why I didn’t tell him. I think I was just so angry toward men — mostly from having been molested by my stepfather in the past — that I didn’t care in the moment.