How I Was Re-Born As A Modern-Day Leper Or My First Year With My "Friend" Herpes

I was 24 years old in 1990, and I didn't believe that things could get any worse. I had recently graduated from college, and I was in a really bad financial situation. The nation was experiencing a severe economic downturn. The ghost had recently passed after a long, gloomy winter, and to top it all off, I was going through a terrible breakup with a vindictive girlfriend.
Naturally, I was pitifully foolish to believe that things couldn't get any worse, and life quickly demonstrated this. My relationship with this stunning, energetic, city-dwelling woman had started off rather well. Before we ever got together, we had spent six months pursuing each other in a very passionate manner by phone and letter. We were separated by almost 1200 miles when we first met, and I was still a student at the university. We began as friends, and as was to be expected given that we were both in our twenties, our love developed gradually and with all the zeal and intensity. Unfortunately, what seemed so amazing from a distance turned out to be a disaster up close. It didn't take long for things to go horribly wrong once my classes concluded and I flew down to live with her. She told me she had herpes, but our sex life was still hot. She told me that she could sense when she was experiencing an outbreak and that it was cool for us to have an unprotected, natural sex life as long as we avoided having sex at those times. She definitely genuinely thought that to be true, and I did, too. She had only recently contracted the illness herself from a man she had had a casual sexual encounter with who failed to disclose his infection to her.
Out of bed, we never got along as well as we did in bed. The tall, gorgeous princess with fair complexion and her tall, black artist with dreadlocks. Unfortunately, we didn't get along at all. We brought about war rather than peace. And I have to admit that a lot of it is my fault. Even though I didn't like the treatment I was getting from my beloved, I undoubtedly contributed more than my fair part to the conflict during that period of my life when I had very little tolerance for some things and was furious about how the world was treating me. The chemistry between us was terrible once we were in the same room. After a relatively brief period, the connection ended, leaving us in a state of confusion, rawness, and disarray.
In a very tragic turn of events, we were reunited two days after the infamous breakup. I was sitting next to her in a hospital waiting room less than 48 hours after making a vow that I would never see her again. She was staring at me with a mix of sadness, remorse, and intense hatred. I had no idea what to say to her or how to feel. I was attempting to grasp the scenario while floating about in space.
As you can see, my readers, I was experiencing what would turn out to be my first outbreak of herpes. I was overcome with discomfort and all the flu-like sensations that are common during initial outbreaks, which began as an itching irritant on my foreskin and swiftly developed into a furious, swelling colony of tiny lesions. I didn't know what was going on with me. I do recall wishing at the moment that it wasn't AIDS or herpes. I even think that gonorrhoea or syphilis would have been better. My ex-girlfriend of two days had to accompany me so that we could both get tested at the same time because the doctors indicated they couldn't identify what I had.
I recall feeling terrible for her even though we both despised each other at the time, and I'm sure she still does. Even at that time, I was aware that she would have been distraught if it turned out that she had actually given me Herpes. So there we were, experiencing a range of emotions, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.
Naturally, the doctors tortured us by requiring us to wait a week or so for the test results. They sent a swab of my lesions to a different location. The news was positive when the phone call finally came in. My herpes test results were negative. The doctors stated that they were still unsure of what I had and that it might have been a simple foreskin infection from rough sex. I called her right away to let her know the good news because I was so relieved. For a split second, we truly had something constructive to talk about. For both of us, that test result was a huge relief. Unfortunately, and strangely once more, it only served as a reprieve for one of us.
She deserves praise for being honest with me. I honestly had no notion what the hazards and ramifications were at the time. Though I was willing to take the chance, I was unaware that this would actually be the most ironic final exchange in what had been the worst relationship we would ever have.
I forgot about Herpes and carried on with my life. However, Herpes didn't completely forget about me. Two months later, I experienced another epidemic, and then another one a month later. It was furious, so I barged into another hospital and demanded to know what was wrong. The medical professionals at this hospital were more skilled, and after examining my penis, they declared that I had herpes. Since there was no blood test for herpes available in Canada at the time, they verified this using their own cotton swab test. They informed me that false negatives for herpes were frequent because, even though you had the disease, you would receive a negative result if there wasn't enough virus on your skin at the time of the test. They told me that I would have this illness for the rest of my life and that my sexual life would never be the same, and that there was nothing they could do to help. I wanted to call my former partner and scold her for the incident. I didn't have the heart to confront her about this, despite the fact that she was at the time seeking revenge on me by attempting to ruin my career and telling everyone who would listen how poorly I had treated her. Therefore, I have never told her and I will never tell her that she gave me herpes.
My ultimate diagnosis of herpes would hurl me into a realm of anguish and guilt that I am unable to adequately convey. In a lot of respects, I thought my life was over. In a way I had never felt before, I felt unclean. My entire body froze at the mere mention of the term herpes. The physicians lacked empathy and were aloof. Although we were close, I was unable to talk about this with anyone in my traditional West Indian family. I had no one with whom to converse. I kept thinking about strange fatalistic ideas day after day. I wanted to hide under the guise of enforced celibacy at the very idea of having to tell someone that I had this condition.
Like a figure from the Old Testament, I felt cursed. Although I was an arsehole, like most men my age, I was unquestionably not bad enough to merit this kind of punishment from the gods. In every sense of the term, this was clearly overkill.
After I was able to acknowledge that I had herpes, I realised right away that it would last forever. I would never be a "whole" person, regardless of what I did or who I became. that I was permanently "marked." I had become a member of a caste of outcasts. I was one of the numerous contemporary lepers—those depressing, ethically troubled individuals who have herpes. I certainly did not enjoy being a victim. What a weight to bear for the remainder of my life.
I was one of them now, indeed. However, I didn't truly understand what it meant to be one of them. It would take years and a lot of both freeing and tragic events to find out.
What's the point of telling you all this? Of course, narcissism plays a part. Humans naturally want their stories to live on in some form, and this is how I want some people to know what happened to me and how I felt about it. My motivation, however, is primarily for my own recovery. I refuse to fall prey to this illness and the cruel, illogical dread and hatred that society has for those of us who suffer from STDs. I was in a monogamous relationship when I contracted herpes, so I wasn't leading a high-risk lifestyle. However, I do not deserve to be ridiculed or shunned because of my involvement in high-risk activities. When you have herpes, the closet is the worst place to be. Be my guest if you want to feel like a leper and let people treat you like one, but I'm not going to live that way. I have made the decision to liberate myself from this illness rather than allow it to jail me. I no longer hesitate to use the term and let others know that I belong to "them." Although I have herpes, I am not herpes. The virus is at peace with me, and I am at peace with it. I've learnt to love helping people break free from the stigma and am content with where I am in the world.
I will detail my journey from being a herpes victim to being a holistic herpes treatment specialist and a herpes spokesperson in part two of this story, "Nine Years in the Wildness: My Personal and Professional Quest for a Holistic Herpes Treatment Plan." The road is just getting started, but I was able to transform the worst negative in my life into one of the largest positives. With at least 60% of the general population in North America suffering from either type 1 or type 2 herpes, we are genuinely living in a Herpes Nation.
ZZZZZZ
Title: How I Was Re-Born As A Modern-Day Leper Or My First Year With My "Friend" Herpes
Christopher Scipio is the author.
http://www.articlecity.com/articles/health/article_2191.shtml is the source URL.
Date saved: July 25, 2007, 12:30:11
category: health
article:

I was 24 years old in 1990, and I didn't believe that things could get any worse. I had recently graduated from college, and I was in a really bad financial situation. The nation was experiencing a severe economic downturn. The ghost had recently passed after a long, gloomy winter, and to top it all off, I was going through a terrible breakup with a vindictive girlfriend.
Naturally, I was pitifully foolish to believe that things couldn't get any worse, and life quickly demonstrated this. My relationship with this stunning, energetic, city-dwelling woman had started off rather well. Before we ever got together, we had spent six months pursuing each other in a very passionate manner by phone and letter. We were separated by almost 1200 miles when we first met, and I was still a student at the university. We began as friends, and as was to be expected given that we were both in our twenties, our love developed gradually and with all the zeal and intensity. Unfortunately, what seemed so amazing from a distance turned out to be a disaster up close. It didn't take long for things to go horribly wrong once my classes concluded and I flew down to live with her. She told me she had herpes, but our sex life was still hot. She told me that she could sense when she was experiencing an outbreak and that it was cool for us to have an unprotected, natural sex life as long as we avoided having sex at those times. She definitely genuinely thought that to be true, and I did, too. She had only recently contracted the illness herself from a man she had had a casual sexual encounter with who failed to disclose his infection to her.

Out of bed, we never got along as well as we did in bed. The tall, gorgeous princess with fair complexion and her tall, black artist with dreadlocks. Unfortunately, we didn't get along at all. We brought about war rather than peace. And I have to admit that a lot of it is my fault. Even though I didn't like the treatment I was getting from my beloved, I undoubtedly contributed more than my fair part to the conflict during that period of my life when I had very little tolerance for some things and was furious about how the world was treating me. The chemistry between us was terrible once we were in the same room. After a relatively brief period, the connection ended, leaving us in a state of confusion, rawness, and disarray.
In a very tragic turn of events, we were reunited two days after the infamous breakup. I was sitting next to her in a hospital waiting room less than 48 hours after making a vow that I would never see her again. She was staring at me with a mix of sadness, remorse, and intense hatred. I had no idea what to say to her or how to feel. I was attempting to grasp the scenario while floating about in space.
As you can see, my readers, I was experiencing what would turn out to be my first outbreak of herpes. I was overcome with discomfort and all the flu-like sensations that are common during initial outbreaks, which began as an itching irritant on my foreskin and swiftly developed into a furious, swelling colony of tiny lesions. I didn't know what was going on with me. I do recall wishing at the moment that it wasn't AIDS or herpes. I even think that gonorrhoea or syphilis would have been better. My ex-girlfriend of two days had to accompany me so that we could both get tested at the same time because the doctors indicated they couldn't identify what I had.
I recall feeling terrible for her even though we both despised each other at the time, and I'm sure she still does. Even at that time, I was aware that she would have been distraught if it turned out that she had actually given me Herpes. So there we were, experiencing a range of emotions, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.
Naturally, the doctors tortured us by requiring us to wait a week or so for the test results. They sent a swab of my lesions to a different location. The news was positive when the phone call finally came in. My herpes test results were negative. The doctors stated that they were still unsure of what I had and that it might have been a simple foreskin infection from rough sex. I called her right away to let her know the good news because I was so relieved. For a split second, we truly had something constructive to talk about. For both of us, that test result was a huge relief. Unfortunately, and strangely once more, it only served as a reprieve for one of us.
She deserves praise for being honest with me. I honestly had no notion what the hazards and ramifications were at the time. Though I was willing to take the chance, I was unaware that this would actually be the most ironic final exchange in what had been the worst relationship we would ever have.
I forgot about Herpes and carried on with my life. However, Herpes didn't completely forget about me. Two months later, I experienced another epidemic, and then another one a month later. It was furious, so I barged into another hospital and demanded to know what was wrong. The medical professionals at this hospital were more skilled, and after examining my penis, they declared that I had herpes. Since there was no blood test for herpes available in Canada at the time, they verified this using their own cotton swab test. They informed me that false negatives for herpes were frequent because, even though you had the disease, you would receive a negative result if there wasn't enough virus on your skin at the time of the test. They told me that I would have this illness for the rest of my life and that my sexual life would never be the same, and that there was nothing they could do to help. I wanted to call my former partner and scold her for the incident. I didn't have the heart to confront her about this, despite the fact that she was at the time seeking revenge on me by attempting to ruin my career and telling everyone who would listen how poorly I had treated her. Therefore, I have never told her and I will never tell her that she gave me herpes.
My ultimate diagnosis of herpes would hurl me into a realm of anguish and guilt that I am unable to adequately convey. In a lot of respects, I thought my life was over. In a way I had never felt before, I felt unclean. My entire body froze at the mere mention of the term herpes. The physicians lacked empathy and were aloof. Although we were close, I was unable to talk about this with anyone in my traditional West Indian family. I had no one with whom to converse. I kept thinking about strange fatalistic ideas day after day. I wanted to hide under the guise of enforced celibacy at the very idea of having to tell someone that I had this condition.
Like a figure from the Old Testament, I felt cursed. Although I was an arsehole, like most men my age, I was unquestionably not bad enough to merit this kind of punishment from the gods. In every sense of the term, this was clearly overkill.
After I was able to acknowledge that I had herpes, I realised right away that it would last forever. I would never be a "whole" person, regardless of what I did or who I became. that I was permanently "marked." I had become a member of a caste of outcasts. I was one of the numerous contemporary lepers—those depressing, ethically troubled individuals who have herpes. I certainly did not enjoy being a victim. What a weight to bear for the remainder of my life.
I was one of them now, indeed. However, I didn't truly understand what it meant to be one of them. It would take years and a lot of both freeing and tragic events to find out.
What's the point of telling you all this? Of course, narcissism plays a part. Humans naturally want their stories to live on in some form, and this is how I want some people to know what happened to me and how I felt about it. My motivation, however, is primarily for my own recovery. I refuse to fall prey to this illness and the cruel, illogical dread and hatred that society has for those of us who suffer from STDs. I was in a monogamous relationship when I contracted herpes, so I wasn't leading a high-risk lifestyle. However, I do not deserve to be ridiculed or shunned because of my involvement in high-risk activities. When you have herpes, the closet is the worst place to be. Be my guest if you want to feel like a leper and let people treat you like one, but I'm not going to live that way. I have made the decision to liberate myself from this illness rather than allow it to jail me. I no longer hesitate to use the term and let others know that I belong to "them." Although I have herpes, I am not herpes. The virus is at peace with me, and I am at peace with it. I've learnt to love helping people break free from the stigma and am content with where I am in the world.
I will detail my journey from being a herpes victim to being a holistic herpes treatment specialist and a herpes spokesperson in part two of this story, "Nine Years in the Wildness: My Personal and Professional Quest for a Holistic Herpes Treatment Plan." The road is just getting started, but I was able to transform the worst negative in my life into one of the largest positives. With at least 60% of the general population in North America suffering from either type 1 or type 2 herpes, we are genuinely living in a Herpes Nation.

Location:

Share :