@Edric 12 June 2025 more from that month

I Was Only 19 When He Gave Me HIV and Walked Away Like I Never Mattered I was 19 when I fell in love for the first time. His name was Tolu. He was 24, confident, funny, and everything I thought I needed at that point in my life. He used to text me “good morning” before I even opened my eyes. I thought that was love. I thought that meant I was safe.

He wasn’t rich, but he had dreams. He would talk about how he wanted to “make it big and carry me along.” I believed him. I trusted him. I gave him my whole heart… and eventually, my body. Three months after we started dating, I began to feel sick. It started with a fever. Then weight loss. Then rashes. I thought maybe it was stress or malaria. But the test results said something else. I was HIV positive. I was silent. Cold. Confused. Nineteen years old, and the doctor’s voice started to sound like an echo from a faraway place. The first thing I thought was, “No, it must be a mistake.” Then I thought, “Tolu.” When I told him, he didn’t cry. He didn’t even hold me. He said, “What do you mean?” like I brought it on myself. I asked him to go for a test too. He blocked me the next day. I tried calling. I begged his friends to reach him. One of them finally told me the truth: “He’s known for a while. You’re not the first.” That was the day I broke. My parents couldn’t hide the shame. My mother didn’t speak to me for two weeks. My father said, “This is why we told you to focus on your books.” Friends started to avoid me. One of them asked me not to drink from her cup. Another told someone at church. I became that girl the one who “went around” and got what she deserved. But nobody saw the truth. I was just a girl who loved the wrong person. Some nights, I wanted to sleep and not wake up. The pain wasn’t just in my body it was in the way people looked at me like I was already dead. But then something changed. I met a nurse at the clinic named Aunty Grace. She smiled at me and said, “You're not a disease, dear. You're a survivor.” She told me her own story. She was infected 12 years ago by her husband. She’s now a mother of two, living with HIV strong, healthy, and happy. That was the first day I smiled in months. Now I take my medications every day. I speak to young girls in my area. I’ve helped three other women go for testing. One of them cried and said, “Thank you. I thought I was alone.” I’m still healing. I still cry sometimes. But I’m not ashamed anymore. I am not my status. I am not what he did to me. I am still me. If you're reading this, please love carefully, trust slowly, and protect yourself always. And if you’ve been hurt… just know this: You are not alone. You are not finished. You are not broken. Thank you for reading my story. If this touched you, feel free to leave a comment. I just want to be heard.