After another online hookup with a much older man, I realized that I, too, can open up my heart. Unfortunately, just because you can doesn't mean you should. In my long list of Hinge hookups, this date was fun, straight from the rom-coms I consume when hungover. Paying five dollars to hit baseballs–hit your finger on a ball—shoot hoops, have the basketball bounce on your head, and another five for tap beer in a plastic cup. It wasn't very romantic, but after chugging half of my Budweiser, first date jitters subsided, and I realized that my so-called "5'9 engineer" was 5'7 at best and an electrician. While the red flags were right in front of me, amplified by the LED lights, I chose to ignore them. Maybe it was the melancholic feel of the establishment—very Chuck E. Cheese in the late 2000s—but I thought I felt a spark. Through each embarrassing moment, from my broken glasses to the last-minute run to McDonald's, I felt like such a normal girl—correction, woman.
We all take some risk in search of companionship, and those with HIV are no exception.
As the night came to a close, the awkwardness of dating seemed like a distant memory and all the terrible dates before this one seemed a bit more worth it. Until he ghosted me. The truth is, the goodnight kiss —the one that is supposed to give you that tingling all over— never came. While I felt shivers, I can't say for sure that the below freezing weather didn't influence my decision. Even so, being ghosted is the polite way of saying, "This isn't going to work. Your daddy issues and HIV is a real turn-off for me."
I don't disclose my status on first dates or regular hookups. I used to think I should tell everyone, but when it comes to emotional or sexual relationships with men, I've come to a standstill. Sex is fun, but emotions are dangerous. Conversations on my diagnosis opens up a barrage of questions that I don't want to answer.
Having to tell someone about my status is a lot more difficult than I thought, and the concept of dating while positive is rough. But being chronically online has filled me with the desire to be loved, and my favorite creator—a multicolored brunette woman with a Scottish accent— told me and thousands of other people we deserve love not lust.
So I am going to try. I think this blog is simply an argument that dating, while positive, doesn't have to be harder than it already is, as long as you keep your viral load undetectable, take your meds, and fuck with a condom. Unfortunately, people lie, and humility and stigma come in many forms, such as BV after a regrettable one-night stand during your Portugal adventures. We all take some risk in search of companionship, and those with HIV are no exception. I feel a bit guilty about filling my mind with boys when the world is literally burning beneath our feet, and my fear of the future, or lack thereof, is being replaced with kicks and giggles from a man I met on Tinder—so embarrassing. :)
