Still HIV+, Still Alive, Still Raising Hell

Hi, I’m idkmybffdee, and this is what life with HIV really looks like.

When I was 22, I walked into a plasma donation center broke as hell, hoping to make a quick buck. I walked out with an HIV diagnosis and a scripted, emotionless dismissal from the nurse who delivered the news. No support, no resources — just a "please don’t come back." In that moment, I thought I was going to die. Because that’s what we were all taught, right? HIV equals death.

Fast forward 14 years, and spoiler alert: I’m still here. Not just surviving but living. I’ve traveled the country, built a career I love, bought a house, gotten married, and developed an addiction to making homemade pasta. I’ve also learned how to handle every dumb question, awkward conversation, and misplaced pity that comes with being openly HIV positive.

People have a lot of assumptions about what living with HIV means. So, let me set the record straight. Below are some of the most important, weirdest, and funniest questions I’ve been asked about my life with HIV, and my completely unfiltered answers.

Do you remember the exact moment you were diagnosed? What did it feel like?

Oh, I remember it all right. I was sitting in a cold, sterile office at a plasma donation center when a nurse called me into a tiny room. She read a generic, detached script informing me I was HIV positive, then told me I could never donate plasma again. No sympathy, no "here’s what you should do next." Just "bye."

At the time, I was already drowning in a bad relationship and financial stress, so the news hit like another brick in an already collapsing house. My immediate thought was, "Great, I’m going to die. That’s cool, I guess." I didn’t cry, didn’t scream. I just shut down. It took me years to realize that I had been handed a death sentence that wasn’t real — because science had already moved past that. It just took my brain a while to catch up.

Looking back, I wonder how different things would have been if that nurse had just handed me a pamphlet or connected me to someone who could explain my options. Instead, I left that building feeling like a ghost walking around in a body that was already doomed. It took a long time for me to unlearn that, to replace that fear with knowledge. Now, I make it a point to educate others whenever I can — because no one should have to go through what I did, feeling alone in something that is actually very manageable.

How long did it take before you believed you weren’t going to die?

Honestly? Years. I was stuck in a relationship with a narcissistic alcoholic who used my status as a weapon, making me feel like I was dirty and broken. He reinforced the idea that I was a walking tragedy.

It wasn’t until I left that mess that I started to actually value myself. Once I started therapy and got real about what HIV actually meant for my future, I realized something: I wasn’t dying. In fact, I might actually be immortal (jury’s still out, but my husband and friends have a running theory).

The shift didn’t happen overnight. It was gradual. Every new piece of information I learned chipped away at the fear. Learning that with proper treatment, my viral load could become undetectable, meaning I couldn’t transmit the virus? Life-changing. Realizing that my life expectancy was the same as anyone else’s? Even better. Eventually, I got to a place where I stopped seeing myself as a statistic and started seeing myself as a person again.

What do you wish people understood about living with HIV?

First off, I’m fine. You don’t need to look at me like I have a tragic backstory playing in the background every time I sneeze.

I actually get more checkups than most guys my age because of my status, which means I’m probably healthier than you. You don’t have to act like I’m fragile. I’m not dying every time I look tired. I’m just a bitch with allergies.

Also, HIV isn’t a punishment. I didn’t do anything “wrong” to deserve this. Viruses don’t care about morality. They don’t check to see if you’re a good person first. It’s just a thing that happened. And with modern medicine, it’s just a thing I manage — like diabetes, high blood pressure, or any other chronic condition.

How do you handle “the talk” with new partners?

I used to try to ease into it, but that just led to awkward exits. Now? I put it on my dating profiles and bring it up immediately. "Hey, before we get into this, just want to make sure you saw that I’m HIV positive."

If a guy can’t handle that, he definitely isn’t ready for the rest of my personality.

There was a time when disclosure felt terrifying. I’d worry about rejection, about judgment. But I realized that if someone wasn’t mature enough to have a conversation about it, then they weren’t someone I needed in my life. Now, I wear my status openly. Not just for me, but for others who might not feel safe doing the same.

Was there ever a time when you thought, ‘I can’t do this forever’?

Honestly, no. HIV is just another part of my routine, like doing laundry or plotting to overthrow the CEO of my company. It’s something that requires attention and care, but it doesn’t define me or consume my life the way people assume it might.

There have been plenty of things I thought I couldn’t do forever — being broke, toxic relationships, shitty jobs, feeling like I had no control over my own future. Those things weighed me down in ways that felt unbearable at times. But dealing with HIV? That one turned out to be easier than expected. Not because it’s effortless, but because it’s manageable. Science has come so far that HIV, for many of us, is a condition that we live with rather than something that dictates how we live.

The real challenge wasn’t HIV itself, but unlearning everything I had been taught to fear about it. Once I got past the outdated narratives and misinformation, it became clear that HIV was just one part of my health — not a life sentence, not a death sentence, and definitely not the worst thing that could happen to me. The hardest battles I’ve fought weren’t against a virus, but against societal stigma, personal doubts, and the people who tried to make me feel small because of it. And guess what? I won those battles.

What’s one thing you do differently now to prioritize your health?

Alarms. So many alarms. My phone is basically a medical nanny reminding me to take my meds.

I also stopped eating sugar (except for my "I went to the doctor" fancy dessert reward system). Oh, and I tell my boss to fuck off when he complains about my doctor’s appointments.

Beyond that, I make sure to surround myself with people who actually support me. Mental health is just as important as physical health. I left toxic environments, cut off people who made me feel like I was less than, and found a community that lifts me up instead of dragging me down. That’s been just as life-saving as my medication.

What’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said about your status?

"I have HIV. Do you really think I have a sense of self-preservation? Anyway, I’m gonna go start a fight."

It’s a joke, obviously, but it’s also a little insight into how humor has been my coping mechanism. People expect someone with HIV to be overly cautious, hyper-aware, and always walking on eggshells when, in reality, I’m just out here living my life. I’ve already faced one of the biggest fears society tries to instill in people, so what’s a little risk here and there? (Within reason — don’t worry, Mom.)

Also, my go-to line when doing stand-up: "I still go to dirty sex clubs because, well… gotta catch ‘em all."

This one gets mixed reactions, which is exactly why I love it. Some people laugh immediately, others gasp, and a few just stare at me like they’re buffering. It’s a test of whether someone understands that humor is a survival tool. If you can’t laugh about the absurdity of life, what are you even doing? My status doesn’t mean I stop having fun, making wild decisions, or pushing boundaries — it just means I get to deliver punchlines that make people squirm in the best way possible.

How has living with HIV made you more fearless in other parts of your life?

At first, I thought getting HIV was the worst thing that could happen to me. Then it happened, and it turned out to be… fine.

Now, any time I’m scared to do something, I just remind myself: "I already have HIV and that turned out okay. So how bad could this be?"

It’s funny how facing one of your biggest fears can make everything else seem small. I don’t waste time worrying about what people think anymore. I go after what I want. I take risks. And if something goes wrong? Well, I’ve already survived worse.

Do you ever feel like you appreciate life more because of what you’ve been through?

It’s not that HIV made me appreciate life. But it definitely helped me put things in perspective.

Before my diagnosis, I used to stress over things that, in hindsight, were ridiculously trivial — whether people liked me, whether I was "on track" with life, whether I was doing everything I was supposed to. But once you get hit with something that’s supposed to be life-altering, you realize just how much of that stuff doesn’t actually matter. Bills still suck, people can still be annoying, and some days will always be harder than others, but overall? I don’t let bullshit dictate my life anymore.

I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. I take naps when I want. I make pasta from scratch because it’s fun, not because I have to impress anyone. I focus on things that make me happy—whether that’s going on spontaneous trips, binging my favorite trash TV, or just saying no to things I don’t want to do.

HIV didn’t give me some grand, profound appreciation for life. It just cleared out the unnecessary noise and made room for the things that actually matter.

What’s one thing you still really want to do before you “continue to not die”?

A lot. I want to travel the world — not just the touristy spots, but the hidden corners of countries where real life happens. I want to eat street food in Bangkok, dance at a queer club in Berlin, and get lost in a tiny bookstore in Buenos Aires. I want to write and star in a gay movie—not just any movie, but one that actually represents us without tragedy as the main plotline. Something ridiculous, something hilarious, something where we just exist and thrive without some looming, unnecessary heartbreak.

And then, of course, there’s the Waffle House fantasy. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but at some point in my life, I fully intend to throw hands with a politician in a Waffle House parking lot. There’s just something poetic about it — the fluorescent lights, the sticky tables, the scent of waffles and bad decisions in the air. It’s the perfect battleground for settling unfinished business, political or otherwise.

Also, in an ideal world, I’d like to be an upper-middle-class white woman. Not forever, just for like a week. I want to experience what it’s like to return something at a store without a receipt and still get a full refund. To ask for the manager and actually get what I want. To drink pumpkin spice lattes unironically and wear yoga pants like they’re formalwear. But alas, I’m an Asian man, so that’s unlikely. Still, it’s on my vision board. And hey, if I’ve made it this far, who’s to say I won’t manifest my way into a Starbucks Gold Membership and a vague sense of entitlement?

Living with HIV isn’t a death sentence. It’s not even that big of a deal anymore. I take my meds, I live my life, and I don’t let anyone treat me like I’m fragile.

I’ve had some wild adventures, made some questionable decisions, and laughed my ass off through it all. And if there’s one thing I want people to take away from my story, it’s this: don’t let fear stop you from living.

Also, if you see me in a Waffle House parking lot, mind ya business.

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