Excuse my language

So how did I end up here in the land of HIV in the first place?

By fucking.

I mean by having vaginal intercourse with men without condoms.

It wasn’t even no kinky stuff going on either. I was too young to know anything about the levels of intimacy and all of that. I was just letting them in, free of charge.

There was nothing special about the position. There was nothing special about the scenery either. Not that I could pinpoint the exact time, date and location of when this person’s virus found a way to get into my bloodstream or nothing but I know one thing for sure and two things for certain:

I didn’t have an actual orgasm until about 2 years after my diagnosis. 🤫 You read that right. I had been out here giving out the goodies, done contracted a damn life-long STI and wasn’t even getting the full experience! What a dummy. You couldn’t tell me nothing though.

For some reason, I had equated SEX with LOVE and COMFORT. Of course, looking back I see that I had the game all the way messed up. I was doing it all wrong.

You know why I gave away so much of myself? I will tell you why and it may come as a surprise …

I didn’t love myself

Actually, I hated myself and the attention of these guys made me feel so good.

I thought I was too fat. Not for these niggas though. They love big girls!

People said I acted too white. Not for these niggas though. They love white girls!

I wanted to die. These niggas ain’t want me to die though, cus they wanted some more of this easy wet, wet. 

Ok let’s be real here. None of them niggas cared anything about me. And at least one of them bastards didn’t give a shit about what happened to me after he was done. That was the one that knew he was HIV positive. 🤬

Tip: Don’t even let him put the tip in without a jacket on that jawn.

At the age of 19, there was NO ONE who could have taught me how to love myself. I had to do that on my own. But I did not know how. I didn’t know how to look past all of the childhood trauma, the stretch marks spread across my stomach, or the oppression I endured living in a place I felt I did not belong.

I knew that there were good things in life and I was not one of them.

And if I wasn’t good enough before, how was I supposed to be good enough now with HIV?

I’ve been trying to figure this out ever since.

What not to do: DO NOT ignore the cries of a younger person. Listen harder when they stop talking because they will then begin to speak through their actions.

+ Ci Ci +