This is What Happens When Manipulation is Disguised as Love by @AugstMcLaughlin
“Do you know how likely it is that you have HIV?” my then boyfriend asked. “That we have HIV?”
What? His words stung though I could barely wrap my mind around them.
We’d only been together a few months, but the relationship already felt serious. This new kind of seriousness was unfathomable.
I was a model/actress, he was a scientist/physiologist. If either of us understood STI risks and overall health well, it was him.
Shortly before, I’d described symptoms I was struggling with. His storm of questions had started with my physical health, shifting quickly to my lifestyle habits.
“How many partners have you had?” he asked, his tone more doctor than boyfriend.
I began to count in my head.
His stare deepened. “You don’t even know how many guys you’ve slept with?”
“I know approximately. I’ve never had to care.” I came up with a number.
He paused, disappointed. “I never would’ve guessed you were promiscuous.”
Had I been? Later, I would realize he’d “slut”-shamed me. At the time, I wondered if he was right—if I really was “slutty” for having more partners than a good girl has and HIV was my punishment.
“Wait.” An epiphany showed on his face. “That photo of you with _____ (a celebrity). Was he… Did you….”
Gulp.
“Tell me you used protection,” he demanded.
“We did…most of the time.” Shit.
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. You know he has STIs, right? And, at least, a 50/50 chance of HIV?”
Then, those life-altering questions: “Do you know how likely it is that you have HIV? That we have HIV?”
Sweat coated my palms. I shook, tears flooding my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
We sat in silence.
“Listen.” Voice softening, he reached for my hand. “If we do have this, it’s okay. I love you. We’ll be okay. There’s good treatment now…”
In that moment, I promised myself that I would make it up to him, no matter what our health outcome turned out to be.
Sure it was a newish relationship, but everything had seemed ideal—until now. Everyone loved this handsome, successful, kind and charismatic guy, coining us the “perfect couple.” The least I could do for hurting us was up my commitment.
I canceled my plans to visit family for the holidays; I would stay with him, likely forever. How could I have done something so awful?
The next day I took myself to a clinic that offered free, rapid HIV testing. Sitting in the lobby, I felt an odd kinship with the people around me. Some of us probably have it.
My heart broke as a man exited the clinician’s room sobbing.
Deep breath. My turn.
Is this it? The moment I learn that my life changes forever?
The woman who conducted the test told me she was living with HIV herself. She was vibrant, beautiful and nearly put me at ease. I wondered if the lavender aroma was her choice of perfume or used as calming aromatherapy.
She looked down at the test.
Oh, dear God…
She looked me in the eyes. “Negative.”
The stress balloon I’d become deflated as I leaped into her arms. “Thank you!”
From there, I saw my physician, who assured me that I merely had a bladder infection.
I tucked my HIV test results into a greeting card, with an apologetic note to my boyfriend. We spent the holidays together, just the two of us, me still riddled with guilt over the stress I’d brought upon us and grateful that he’d stuck by me anyway.
Beneath the guilt and gratitude, a sense of off-ness poked at me; something wasn’t right. Actually, many things weren’t right. I would later realize that jealousy and the desire to control and “keep” me inspired his extreme reaction to my UTI symptoms, and many similar bumps along the way.
Eventually, I’d listen to my instincts—but not until the bumpiness triggered a lasting flare-up of the major depression I’d struggled with years before.
There’s a meme I’ve seen many times on Facebook that says, essentially, “Before you go self-diagnosing yourself with depression, make sure you’re not simply surrounded by assholes.”
Well, sometimes both are true. Sometimes the very sensitivity that makes us more vulnerable to depression makes us more vulnerable to toxic relationships. But it can also help us.
Depression ended up saving me; I had to get out of that relationship in order to thrive again. I sought help—both therapy and temporary medication—left my boyfriend and moved to a healthier place, physically and emotionally. No longer blaming myself, I’d broken free from the manipulation that had been disguised as love.
About the Author:
August McLaughlin is an award-winning, nationally recognized health and sexuality writer, radio personality and host and creator of Girl Boner®. Her work appears in DAME Magazine, the Huffington Post, The Good Men Project and more. Kirkus Reviews called her first novel, In Her Shadow, “an engaging story with an inventive structure and an intriguing focus on body-image issues.” Her latest book, Embraceable: Empowering Facts and True Stories About Women’s Sexuality, is a celebration of women’s sensuality. Each week on Girl Boner® Radio, she interviews relationship experts, celebs and more, exploring women’s lives and sexuality “like no one else.” Known for melding personal passion, artistry and activism, August uses her skills as a public speaker and journalist to inspire other women to embrace their bodies and selves, making way for fuller, more authentic lives. www.augustmclaughlin.com Twitter: @AugstMcLaughlin
Interested in learning more about Rachel’s services or books? Click here. Purchase Broken Pieces or Broken Places on Amazon.
Photo courtesy of pixabay
The post This is What Happens When Manipulation is Disguised as Love by @AugstMcLaughlin appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
