By Christian Alexander
“Disclosure.” It is one of the few words in the English language that still disturbs me. In fact, it’s right up there with racial slurs, ethnic slurs, the all-to-often used four letter words (f…, sh… etc.), and the word “faggot” (I’ve never cared for either being called one from some uneducated straight person, nor do I like when gay men call each other that word). I was brought up to have some semblance of etiquette and some language just won’t do.
My third (and last) “husband,” if you will, and I eventually come to this conversation fairly late in our relationship. We had this old fashioned courtship thing going on, straight out of a good romance novel. From the night we met, there was instant chemistry. It was a fairy tale. (No pun intended. Okay, maybe a little intended.)
After having been on several dates, the night came when he took me back to his place. I was elated and terrified at the same time. Here was this stunning, witty, intelligent, charming, talented man. He was interested in ME! He laughed appropriately at all my jokes, and when his lips were pressed against mine, I’d forget all about my HIV and any thing else that was on my mind.
He gave me the requisite tour, and poured some cocktails. I think I managed one sip of my drink and he got out half a sentence before we were literally ripping each other’s clothes off. He gently took my hand and led me to the bedroom. Knowing what was about to happen, I HAD to tell him. I had to “disclose” my health status.
Now mind you, we are both half naked in his bed, and I was longing to be with him. Before things could go further, I somewhat abruptly ruined the mood by having “the talk.” We did and it was wonderful – at least for a while. Until, that is, he started to pull a way
from me.
He told me that he was falling for me, but he was too afraid. Afraid he’d become attached to me and I would get sick, or worse the possibility that he could catch it as well. We parted as friends, but there was just too much emotion there and I haven’t heard from him in over a decade.
My therapist owes him a pretty sizeable debt of gratitude. I think my issues with this time period paid for his new BMW, but I can’t be sure. But, as ever, I digress.
After having been through all this, I began to wonder when the appropriate time was to tell someone I was interested in (and hopefully was interested in me) that I was carrying HIV. Waiting until you are in the bedroom getting ready to be together is definitely not the route to take. Dinner never seemed to work well either. “Could you pass the salt, oh and by the way” – I tried that once or twice.
I had what I thought to be a good conversation about it with one man in particular. I still thought that even after he hadn’t returned from the bathroom after a few minutes. Turns out, he just left. But, at least he had the courtesy to pick up the check on his way out while I sat there oblivious.
After I sat there for a good half-hour, angry with my date for having abandoned me, I began to wonder how I would handle that kind of news from someone I had just recently met. Personally, I’ve found it best to just blurt it out when the conversation allows. Better to get it out of the way. If they don’t run for the hills, there are always possibilities. If they stick around, who knows?
The sad thing is, AIDS is a four-letter word. It’s the elephant in the room that no one wants to mention. The community, at least from what I have seen personally, seems to have slipped into a “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” mood.
My advice? For what it’s worth, if you are one of the many people in the community with HIV/AIDS … don’t hide it. We’ve all come out of the closet once. Just think of this as the spare-room closet. It may have taken me 17 years to realize, but this is NOT something to be ashamed of. Unfortunately, it is a part of who we are. Granted, it wasn’t a welcome addition. But when you just let it be the unspoken elephant, all you end up with is a lot of peanut shells.
Follow your dreams. Once in a while the universe smiles on you!