u/elielduarte

Not everyone who touches my body earns the right to enter the most vulnerable part of my story.

In casual encounters, I choose not to disclose that I live with HIV. I make this choice because I have learned that, in the wrong hands, this information can lead to more than simple rejection over a night of sex. It can lead to humiliating exposure, threats to my job, and life-threatening violence. The virus is under control. Prejudice is not.

I take my medication. I keep my viral load undetectable. Undetectable means untransmittable: I cannot transmit HIV through sex. Even so, I use condoms because they protect both of us from other infections, including the ones no one usually wants to account for before taking off their clothes.

When we learn our HIV status, we make a quiet commitment, not only to care for ourselves, but also to break the chain of transmission. What about you? What are you trying to achieve by insisting that I disclose my status? What can you protect me from by knowing that I live with HIV?

Our struggle must be for a society guided by humanity and science. No one has the right to isolate us from life. Not even the virus can do that anymore.

Not disclosing does not mean taking away someone’s right to choose when there is no exposure to HIV. My diagnosis does not turn every encounter into a confession, nor does it make my body a danger that must be announced. If we understand U=U, why do some people still behave as though our status were public information?

Some people disclose their status as a way of building intimacy. I can do that too, when there is trust, care, and a sense that the person will stay. But intimacy is not a toll that must be paid for sex. And no one should have to surrender information that could be used to hurt them simply to soothe someone else’s misinformed fear.

Responsibility means taking my medication. Keeping up with my tests. Talking about protection. Respecting the boundaries we agreed on. Responsibility does not mean offering myself up for judgment to every person who may never know my name again.

My silence does not transmit HIV.
My treatment prevents transmission.

Só estudei para o ENAMED e com provas anteriores dele. Quais provas são bem parecidas pelo Brasil (Sul/Sudeste/Nordeste)?

I’ve been on ART for nine days since being diagnosed with HIV. It has been a real roller coaster, full of ups and downs. I thought everything would be okay, but now I’m starting to feel scared.
I was already experiencing gastrointestinal symptoms before starting ART: stomach pain, nausea, and vomiting.

Those symptoms have eased somewhat, but every evening I experience overwhelming fatigue, nausea, and frequent burping. I also have diarrhea. It lasts for quite a while, and I need to lie down and rest.

What were your first few days on ART like?

I recently posted that I didn’t know who had transmitted HIV to me. Now I’ve found out.
In February, I had sex with a couple. One of them seemed unwell and run-down, with a strange case of pharyngitis very similar to the one I developed a month after our encounter. At first, I thought we had had protected sex, but now I understand exactly what happened: I was raped. They removed the condom without my knowledge.
I won’t explain exactly how, but I gained access to very precise information about the health of one of them—the one who had pharyngitis. I discovered that he has been living with HIV for at least five years and has no history of regular treatment. He gets his vaccinations religiously, but his medical appointments, tests, and medication use are inconsistent.
Looking back, I noticed many disturbing signs in our encounter. He also frequently disappears from social media and then comes back. At one point, he suggested having sex without a condom and filming it. Several times, one of them held me down while the other penetrated me. I believe it was during one of those moments that my consent ceased to exist and the encounter became sexual assault: they removed the condom and continued penetrating me.
I experienced my first symptom in March. Since then, I’ve had several others. I have now started treatment. I went looking for the truth and discovered not only that I had HIV—which I had actually been coping with very well—but also that I had been sexually assaulted without even realizing it at the time.
Please take care of yourselves. Protect yourselves. Stand up for PrEP—the only people who hate it are abusers.

I’m in a very vulnerable place with my diagnosis. I found out a week ago. I don’t feel dirty, nor do I think I’m going to die. In fact, I’ve always had a lot of faith in science. But some questions have turned into fears, and those fears have grown into full-blown paranoia.

I’m 25 years old and have been in an open relationship for two years with a man who is living with HIV and is undetectable. I wasn’t taking PrEP because my stomach reacted very badly to it. I use condoms during all penetrative sex, except with my boyfriend and a friend of ours. Our friend takes PrEP and insists on showing me all his test results without my even asking. I don’t use condoms for oral sex.

Please don’t judge me for sounding crazy. I’m sharing all of this openly, while feeling scared and vulnerable, with no intention of accusing or offending anyone. But I’m terrified of how this happened. These are the possibilities I keep thinking about:

I contracted HIV through oral sex. The chances are negligible, but perhaps I was simply extremely unlucky.

My partner experienced some kind of failure—either virological or related to adherence—his viral load temporarily rose, and I ended up contracting HIV.

Someone removed the condom without me noticing, which would constitute a serious act of sexual violence.

A condom broke without me noticing. I don’t check condoms for damage after sex.

And then there are the darker possibilities that have been torturing me:

My friend is lying about taking PrEP and knowingly falsifies his test results.

My boyfriend stopped taking his medication in a moment of anger specifically to infect me.

I’m really struggling with these questions. I no longer know what—or whom—to believe. I’ve lost faith in my friendships, in my boyfriend, and in science. I’m trying to distance myself from these darker possibilities, but I needed to let this out somehow.

I desperately want to share this burden and perhaps hear other perspectives that might help me cope with the pain of having this blank space in my own story—a gap that is now being filled with very painful thoughts and feelings.

Eu tenho HIV, apesar de não ter o diagnóstico formal. Recentemente fiz 2 auto-testes: um de sangue que deu positivo e um oral que deu negativo. Fui ao hospital e novamente 2 testes rápidos diferentes deram resultados discordantes. Isso está me matando, pois preciso esperar testes confirmatórios para iniciar o tratamento. Enquanto isso, alguns profissionais tentam me encher de esperança.

Mas a verdade é que eu já aceitei.

Há meses tenho tido sintomas esquisitos que sempre pareciam ser explicados por algum contexto da minha vida. Recentemente, surgiram linfonodos cervicais aumentados. Achava que podia ser algum tipo de câncer, pois perdi muito peso. Uma voz na fundo, meio silenciada, já me dizia: pode ser HIV. Mesmo com o cuidado dos preservativos, aconteceu (não tolerei bem a PrEP, sempre fiquei enjoado e com diarreia).

Agora estou na saga de um diagnóstico inconclusivo, tendo que contar e recontar minha história enquanto espero os resultados mais acurados. Eu só queria iniciar logo o tratamento, ficar indetectável, controlar meus sintomas.

Sei que para a maioria das pessoas o HIV chega como um diagnóstico terrível, e realmente foi um choque. Mas para mim, também foi uma resposta e, de certa forma, um alívio (já que a outra hipótese possível para meu caso era um câncer).

Não tô feliz. Mas também não estou me sentindo sujo, culpado ou com raiva. Minha libido desapareceu e me sinto mais vulnerável que o normal. Quero muito começar a ser cuidado e levar uma vida com saúde e disposição, longe dos resfriados esquisitos que eu vinha tendo.