Personal Testimony

We always hear that 1 in 4 South African students are HIV positive and yet for most it is something that is happening out there, removed from our existence. One HIV positive student shares their story

Having sex without a condom doesn’t seem like such a bad idea after too many tequilas and a hot man’s hand up your skirt. At least it doesn’t at the time; not until you find out that your guidance teacher wasn’t lying when she said that HIV doesn’t discriminate, regardless of your daddy’s bank account and how white and clever you are.
It is a legal requirement that one goes for at least one 20-minute pre-counselling session before you take the test.
I had booked my appointment a week ago. At the time, I felt this action, contemplating my status while the rest ordered drunken stupor in a glass- was a sign of maturity. I was taking responsibility for my life: I know my status. Do you?
The man who could change my life (not his, MINE) with eight words, sits on his couch across the room from me. He has done this many times before, but me, I’m frightened. Petrified of what he is saying.
“If worst comes to worst, there is treatment available that can ensure that you live a long and prosperous life. And great emotional support available too.”
I’m not really listening. The books on the shelf could be the A-Z of human sadness. What’s he on about? Worst won’t come to worst. Just sign the form, damn it! I was on the SRC, you know. I have an average of 85, you know. My parents own five cars and three businesses, you know. Get on with it!
But I’m shitting myself. My head is floating in a web of half-time pep talks I’d given myself to calm the nerves. Seriously, how do you answer the question, “What will you do if you are positive?”
The waiting room is silent. Sombreness circulates, as if pain is emerging from the air conditioning. The needle is hard and shiny. Attractive. Unnerving. There are posters on the wall: “Symptoms shown in adults during the final stages of infection.” You can taste the blood around their mouths, the cracking skin as they try to smile, the pain as ulcers form. The nurse pretends that nothing gets to her. But she doesn’t look anyone in the eye, doesn’t say more than what needs to be said. The rubber-gloved hand takes my youthful arm. There is no human touch. The gloves swallow it while protecting the nurse. Funny that— of course there’s protection available to stop worst coming to worst.
A week later I take the same path to that spacious office. The pot plants look nervous. The books have shifted slightly to make space for me. He seems uncomfortable, as if he were in that seat for the first time. Silence. I smile. A smile disguising a thousand thoughts. “Sit down.”
Time is in slow motion. Done that way especially so that I will remember this moment forever. I notice that he has a twitch in his eye. He blinks spasmodically between words. A puppy choking on his food. He does not know how to get this hairball out of his throat.
“How are you?” he asks.
As well as anyone who has waited seven days for her results. As well as anyone who has tried to imagine the worst coming to the worst, but never quite got there due to fear. As well as anyone who believes that their body is exempt from the laws of chemistry, but knows that it is not.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
The plants looks away. He is looking straight past me at a “Determination is the key” poster.
“Um…” Somebody stop him before he starts. My fingers are hot and sweaty. There is too much blood in them. My bum is burning on the edge of the seat. I am aware of my heartbeat. Stop him. Stop this. Take me away. I want out!
“I have some bad news for you...”
My pulse is doing the100-metre sprints. His voice is diffusing elegantly past the plants and into the great outdoors. I look up. The blinking has subsided. The hairball is out. The hot coal has been passed on, and now it is mine to throw around for a while.
I freeze, step out of my body and leave the room. Someone else can deal with all of this. None of those pamphlets, posters and flyers really answer this one. What to do when worst comes to worst? I thought about the week before, when I had sat in this same couch. My life was different seven days ago; it was different seven seconds ago. What had he said during pre-counselling? What had he said during the 20 minutes that was supposed to prepare me for this blow?
I am 18 years and 3 days old, I keep thinking. 18 and 3 days old.
I feel dizzy. Drunk.
An anvil ties itself to something inside my chest. Heavy weight pulling from a thin string. Oppressing my lungs. Oh fuck.
“Do you have medical aid? Do you have a doctor in town? Can you afford private counselling?” The blinking has gone out of control. I want to hurt him. This room has run out of space. I’m on the bookshelf already.

The author writes now:

I wasn’t having sex with everyone, just the wrong one. I wasn’t being a slut. It’s really just a matter of having sex with the wrong person.
I never expected that when I went for post-counselling that I would be told that ‘I had some bad news waiting for me.’
You block something like that day out. Your brain discards it so that you never have to feel it again. I went to a lecture straight after finding out. For three months I ignored the situation. I carried on with my life and even got firsts in my exams. I didn’t tell my doctor or consult a psychologist. I told my high-school best friend and someone in res I barely knew. I turned to the bottle – not in the alcoholic sense, but like every other hot-blooded first year, I partied hard. I was in denial and it was great.
One trip home was all I needed to change this. I couldn’t look my parents in the eye. How did I manage to fuck up so badly?
The problem with HIV is that if you’re positive, it seems it’s because you’re a bad person, a whore, a slut who deserved it. But the truth is, if every person I know who’s had sex without a condom contracted HIV, we’d be sitting with a lot worse than the already sickening epidemic we face.
I hated myself, especially my body, especially the sight of my own blood. I had to tell my parents. I cried non-stop in the days leading up to my revelation. I puked my guts out – that was fear and not the illness speaking. I couldn’t go on like this. Every moment felt so unbelievably bad that I thought I might as well just tell them. Maybe they could help. At that stage, anything was worth a try.
So I did. I can honestly say that it was by far the most difficult moment of my life. In a way it is quite comforting to know that I have experienced my lowest point already and that it is over. I survived. I can move on now.
At some point I made a commitment to myself to not let this get the better of me. I refuse to settle for second best just because I was chosen by this disease.
It’s difficult and there’s no denying that. It’s an epidemic and yet I feel so alone. I hear guys singing drinking songs about how someone has Aids and I want to bash their faces in. Kill them. There have been times when I think it would easier to just give up and die, but that is only on very bad days.
I am one of the lucky. I’m about as healthy as you. My immune system somehow keeps itself in check. I don’t need any medication and often I don’t even take my vitamins. I drink just as much as the average student and I’m perpetually trying to quit smoking. I don’t see my life as something that I need to fill because it won’t be as long as the next. I’m just another student trying to get a degree and have fun along the way. I have great friends who support me and never pity me or let me pity myself. I have ambition. I want certain things from life and believe that I owe it to myself to make them happen.
When I like a guy to the point where I want a relationship, I’ll tell them what’s going on. And yes, it’s scary. Nothing like a bit of emotional baggage to make a man run faster than the speed of light. But at least then I know from the start whether he’s really worth my effort – because honestly, no man can really be with me without accepting this reality.
Some actually stick around. I have been showed that I am worth being loved, and I will never settle for anything less just because I am HIV positive. At times it is difficult, but we make the best of the situation and have a great time, just like any other two people in love.
I am sorry that I have complicated my life so much, but I don’t really remember what it was like before. I have come a long way. There were times when I thought I would never be happy again; that I would hate my life forever. But I am glad that I got tested because if I hadn’t, I could have infected somebody else. You realise that it’s a whole lot easier wearing a condom than dealing with all this shit.
I am glad because the sooner you know, the sooner you can get your life back on track no matter how hard it seems.
It is difficult to accept being HIV-positive. For a long time it was the only thought that went through my head. But I feel okay. We all have problems, mine just come in a defined box called “HIV”. Sometimes I hate the world for doing this to me, but I have grown immensely because of it. The pamphlets say that life goes on once you have found out that you are positive. They’re not lying. I will keep fighting the part of me that sometimes wants to give up. Because a life is worth having if you can make yourself happy. But I still wish I’d worn that condom.