An unexpected connection

I nervously sat on the edge of Mike’s bed — he had known something was up by the randomness of my text request to meet later that afternoon. Mike was last in a series of men who I felt obligated to tell about my recent HIV diagnosis, and I’d saved Mike for last because deep down I felt like I had contracted the virus from him.

Mike and I had fooled around a few times before. We never talked about HIV status; I didn’t think it would be necessary because we were using protection. During our most recent encounter I felt the condom break inside me. He didn’t seem to notice it except for maybe a new rush of sensitivity which then made him ejaculate before I had time to say anything. The room was dark. He slid the rubber off and flushed  it — neither of us could actually see if it had broken. But about six weeks later, I went through that hellish seroconversion flu.

“I wanted to meet with you today to ask you if you knew your HIV status,” I said.

He looked puzzled. “I’m HIV negative. Why do you ask?”

My heart sank. I couldn’t think of any other risky situation that could explain my diagnosis. Like a lot of newly-diagnosed people, I felt that not knowing how it happened could be emotionally torturous. And besides, I liked Mike. So in a way I would have liked it if I could have contracted this from him instead of some random jackass.

“Because I just found out that I’m HIV positive,” I said with my head down. I still felt a lot of shame.

He put his arm around me, saying things would be okay. After purging a bit about my fears, I confessed I’d believed I’d contracted HIV from him. Mike asked how that could have even been possible so I explained the broken condom thing.

“How come you didn’t tell me when it happened?” he asked, frustrated.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was totally confused and in denial about it.”

Mike started to get panicky. “Scott,” he started to lose his breath. “I lied to you. I am HIV positive. I am so sorry.”

He continued to apologize and explain himself. “I just can’t let anyone know about my status. I thought being safe would have been enough. I never wanted to be responsible for someone else getting this. This was my biggest fear.”

I could have pinned Mike as the bad guy for not disclosing and lying about it later, but in this moment I saw a man before me, anguished and broken by his own fears. I wasn’t sure that any of the rest of us were all that different. It wasn’t the moment for placing blame.

Instead of lashing out against Mike’s mistakes I decided to take responsibility for my own. I was the only one who knew about the broken condom and could have spoken up and given him the opportunity to tell me about his status so I could have gotten Post Exposure Prophylaxis (PEP) treatment. But I didn’t. And that wasn’t Mike’s fault.

For many of us it’s easier to play the victim than it is to take responsibility. Yet after having gone through HIV, nothing about life felt black and white anymore. Perhaps as humans who are messy and fallible, we are all just trying our best to desperately navigate these shades of grey. So while most people would have gotten furious, I had never felt more connected to another human being in my whole life.

Mike cancelled his plans for the rest of the evening so we could bond in our newfound chaos. As night came upon us, we laughed and cried together while ordering take-out and pondering about the mayhem of life. Without a need for anger or blame, the only forgiveness either of us needed was for ourselves.