The Year I Became a Modern-Day Leper Along with My "Friend" Herpes
The Year I Became a Modern-Day Leper Along with My "Friend" Herpes
Life wasted little time demonstrating that my naiveté in thinking things couldn't get worse was well-founded. The beginning of my relationship with this stunning, energetic, city-dwelling woman was quite promising. Six months had passed of intensely amorous correspondence before we finally met in person. Our first meeting took place while I was still a university student, and there was a good 1200 miles between us. Our friendship blossomed into love at a leisurely pace, complete with the hope and passion befitting two young adults in their twenties. What looked great from a distance turned out to be a complete disaster when seen up close. Things went horribly wrong as soon as I flew down to move in with her once my classes completed. I was told she had Herpes, but our sex life was still hot. She assured me that we could have our normal, unprotected sex lives as long as we avoided having sex when she knew she was getting an outbreak. Not only did I believe her, but I could tell she really thought that too. She had contracted the illness herself not long ago from an uninformed man she had slept with casually.
In bed, we were far more compatible than when we were not. A tall, lovely princess with fair skin and a tall, black artist with dreadlocks. Unfortunately, we were completely at odds with one another. War broke out instead of peace. Plus, I'm the one who's mostly to blame. During that period, I had a low tolerance for some things, was furious at the world for its treatment of me, and certainly did not enjoy the treatment I was getting from my beloved—but I did more than my bit to sow dissension. The chemistry between us was terrible as soon as we were in the same room. We were left bewildered, raw, and disoriented when the relationship ended, which was thankfully brief.
A very tragic turn of events brought us back together two days after the infamous breakup. I vowed I would never see her again, and that was less than 48 hours ago. We were both seated in the hospital waiting area. She was staring at me with a mix of shame, anger, and remorse. Neither my emotions nor my words were clear to her. As I attempted to gain control of the situation, I found myself drifting aimlessly through space.
Listen up, folks! What turned out to be my very first Herpes breakout was happening at the same time. I was overtaken by agony and all the flu-like symptoms typical of early outbreaks as what began as an itchy irritation on my foreskin swiftly transformed into a furious swelling colony of tiny lesions. This whole thing was a complete mystery to me. At the time, I really wanted to believe it wasn't AIDS or Herpes. If given the choice, I would have gone with syphilis or gonorrhoea. My ex-girlfriend of two days was required to accompany me to the doctor since they were unable to diagnose my illness and wanted to test us both simultaneously.
Despite our mutual animosity—which I'm sure she harbours even now—I recall feeling sad for her. I had a feeling she would have been just as sad as I was if it had turned out that she had transmitted herpes to me. There we were, caught between fearing the worse and hoping for the best, experiencing a roller coaster of emotions.
The doctors' insistence that we wait around one week for test results was, of course, a source of constant torture. A small sample of my lesions was collected and sent away. Upon receiving the call, the news was positive. My herpes test came back negative. According to the physicians, they are still unsure of what I had, but they are considering the possibility that it was simply an infection of my foreskin caused by rough sex. I called Her immediately to share the good news because I was so relieved. For a fleeting second, we truly had something good to talk about. For better or worse, the test result saved us both. Regrettably, and ironically again, it proved to be a temporary relief for just one of us.
She had been honest with me, which is a plus. The potential consequences and hazards were completely unknown to me at that moment. I was willing to take a chance, though I had no clue that this would be our final encounter in the most ironic way possible, marking the end of the worst relationship we had ever experienced.
After dealing with Herpes, I moved on with my life. Herpes, on the other hand, was absolutely obsessed with me. Two months after that, I had another outbreak, and then another one a month after that. In a fit of rage, I barged into a different medical facility and demanded to know my diagnosis. The doctors here were far more knowledgeable; they examined my penis and immediately diagnosed me with herpes. Since there was no blood test for Herpes in Canada at the time, they used their own cotton swab test to confirm it. I was informed that false negatives for herpes were prevalent; this is because the virus had to be present on the skin for the test to work; otherwise, the result would be negative, even though the patient actually had the infection. They informed me that my sex life would be forever altered and that there was no treatment they could offer. My first instinct was to give my ex-lover a scolding over what had transpired. I lacked the courage to confront her about it, even though she was actively seeking revenge by attempting to ruin my job and spreading rumours about how horribly I had treated her. Therefore, I will never inform her that she is the one who infected me with herpes.
I don't have the words to express the depths of misery and humiliation that a Herpes diagnosis would inevitably bring my way. I thought my life was coming to an end in a lot of ways. A hitherto unseen level of filthiness washed over me. I got a shiver just thinking about the phrase herpes. The physicians lacked compassion and empathy. My orthodox West Indian family was very close to me, yet I couldn't bring up this subject with any of them. There was no one I could confide in. Every day, without fail, bizarre fatalistic fantasies raced through my head. I felt like hiding out in enforced celibacy when I thought about having to tell someone I had this thing.
I felt cursed, like a figure out of the Bible. Although I had acted badly, as most men my age do, I did not act badly enough to warrant such a severe punishment from the gods. In every sense of the word, this was excessive.
Once I accepted the fact that I had herpes, the first thing I knew was that it would be with me forever. I would never be a "whole" person, regardless of my actions or identity. I was "marked" for the rest of my life. Which meant I had become a member of a social outcast group. Like many other modern-day lepers, I suffered from Herpes and felt morally compelled to hide my true self. The sensation of being a victim was one that I greatly disliked. Wow, this will be a weight I have to bear for the rest of my life.
I was officially one of them now. However, I was completely unaware of the significance of being one of them. It would take years and a lot of freeing and painful events to find out.
For what reason am I disclosing this to you? The narcissism is definitely a factor. It's only natural to want your narrative to live on in some digital form; sharing mine will allow others to understand what transpired and how I felt. However, my own recovery is the primary driver of my motivation. This disease and society's cruel, unreasonable hatred and dread of people like me who have STDs are not going to get me. I contracted herpes within the framework of a monogamous relationship; I was not engaging in any risky behaviours. I am completely innocent of any wrongdoing that could have resulted from engaging in risky behaviour. When you're dealing with herpes, the wardrobe is the absolute worst spot to be. Please, if you wish to live your life as a leper and accept people' treatment of you in that manner, but I will not. I have made the decision to break free from this condition rather than allow it to confine me. Saying it out loud and admitting that I am one of "them" is no longer something I'm embarrassed about. Although I have herpes, it does not control me. Both the virus and I have made peace with it. Now that I've found my niche, I can happily help others break free from the stigma that has held them back.
"Nine Years in the Wildness: My Personal and Professional Quest for a Holistic Herpes Treatment Plan" is the second installment of my story that will detail my journey from herpes victim to holistic herpes treatment specialist and spokesperson. The road is just starting, but I managed to transform the largest negative into one of the biggest positives in my life. With at least 60% of the North American population infected with herpes simplex virus type 1 or 2, we really do live in a herpes nation.
No way!
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