Other People's Herpes, or, Why I Wouldn't Give Up My Herpes for Anything

damn right, Boromir

When I first got diagnosed with herpes (see the tag at the bottom for reflections on that process) I went resource-bananas. I talked to doctors (some which weren't so helpful), and talked to friends who have it, but mostly, I binged on google. One of the most comforting, inspiring articles I read was about how having herpes can, in some ways, actually help your sex life. Or at least, tell you more about the people you want to bump uglies with, before those uglies bump.

I actually kind of hate that phrase, "bump uglies." Maybe "bump lovelies" instead?

Today, a friend of mine (unaware of my love for the first article) sent me a new essay by the same author, "How I Found Out I Didn't Have The Herpes I'd Been Living With For Four Years."

It's full of good information, statistics, and reasoning as to why tests for herpes are crappy, why doctors often don't do blood tests, and why herpes isn't (that's right, isn't) on the standard STD. Most fascinating (and something that I hadn't seen before) is that new research is suggesting that genital-to-genital HSV-1 transmission is pretty rare, and that far more common is oral-to-genital HSV-1 transmission. Which makes some sense, when you think about the fact that HSV-1 is designed to live at the top of your spine (and exist on your mouth), and so the shedding there would be more likely to transmit than shedding in a place where the virus isn't designed to exist (say, the labia). The takeaway being: folks with cold sores are more likely to transmit the virus than people with HSV-1 genitally, but the stigma around having herpes (and, arguably, how often people probably disclose) is almost exactly the opposite. As the author says: 

"Genital herpes is so stigmatized that the facts are secondary to the myth."

To sum the article up (although it's worth a read, if you have ten minutes): the author was given a visual diagnosis of herpes four years ago. She had a blood test recently, that came up negative (blood tests for herpes aren't great, and don't actually look for the virus, but rather the anti-bodies it makes, but more details on that in the article). She talked to many doctors, and learned many new things, and based on these things, has decided that she no longer has herpes (or, more accurately, never had it in the first place).

Regardless of what I think of her decisions (more on that later), it's the implication and attitude around the decision that bugged me, especially because her first article was so awesomely positive. I think it's best explained (as many things are) by the grammar. Here's the start of the last paragraph, after she's decided she won't be disclosing her history surrounding herpes diagnosis with her partners:

"I thought I’d never have another herpes conversation after being cleared. Recently, I met someone—a doctor, of all professions—and was so relieved not to have to tell him."

Notice the language. It's not "I thought I'd never have another herpes conversation." It's not "I was glad/happy/noticing that I didn't tell him." It's "have to have." It's "relieved." It's that she's been let go of this burden, this awful thing, that she's been carrying.

And I get that. Herpes isn't a party, and it isn't a cake walk. I actually just recently got an e-mail from someone newly diagnosed, and was reminded of all the stigma and pain and awfulness and self-loathing that can come from this.

But is also isn't a death sentence.

And I'm going to go a little farther than that, actually. I think, given the choice, right now, if I had to pick between having herpes and not having herpes, I'd pick to have it. Yup.

If given the choice to go back and not get herpes, or have it now, I'd choose to have it. Go my herpes. You stick around little buddies, I like you.

That sounds really unreasonable. It's not, I promise.

Because I have herpes, I've had some really amazing conversations, both with strangers and friends. Because I have herpes, I've learned how to talk to asshole doctors and advocate for my health, even when the very people who are supposed to be concerned for my health are doing their best to make that advocacy hard. Because I have herpes, I've gotten closer with people I wasn't as close with before (because we bonded, about having herpes). Because of herpes, I've learned (and am still learning) how to confront people who talk about herpes, or makes jokes about herpes, in shitty ways. Because I have herpes, I've had to explore a million kind of low-risk behavior (read: not putting someone's mouth or genitals on my genitals), which has lead to all kinds of creative sex that I wouldn't have imagined before. Because of herpes, I've taken new sexcapades with new partners slower (I recently had an almost nine-month relationship with no PIV intercourse, which in retrospect, I'm pretty happy about). Because of herpes, I've gotten to know the shame intertwined with my sexuality in ways that I didn't before, and have found better means of coaxing it to the surface and showing it the light, so that it might better turn to steam and float away.

Because of herpes, I've done some of my best writing (on this blog), writing that I wouldn't have been able to do otherwise. That writing has made a difference to other people, both with herpes and without. And that, if I were to pick a singular feeling in all the world, is what I want to do with my life. And I got to do it a little more, because I have herpes.

So yeah I'd pick herpes. And while I don't think the author of the article is necessarily wrong in not disclosing, I don't think she's exactly right either. Because if she is (like I am) working to combat the stigma around having this STD, then talk about it. I think the right answer is as simple as that. You don't have to say you have herpes, but I think, if she really does believe that herpes helped her not sleep with fuckwads (a la the first article), then telling the story of a false diagnosis would be, regardless of ethics, a pretty enlightening experience to have before sleeping with someone.

Or, maybe, she doesn't care as much about sleeping with fuckwads anymore (which sounds flippant, but I mean it seriously; sleeping with fuckwads isn't necessarily a bad thing, and I'm not trying to get all moral-high-ground about someone else's sex life).

Are there luxuires about my herpes that make these declarations easier? Yup. I have HSV-1, so my outbreaks are far less frequent and severe than if I had HSV-2 (I've had three, maybe three-and-a-half since the first one a year and a half ago). I don't take medication every day, because my outbreaks are so inferquent and minor. I'm at less risk of transmitting to a partner. I have the feel-good comparison to oral herpes, and feel-good statistic that more people have my numbered virus than those people who have HSV-2.

And I just want to put out there that it's probably partly because of these privileges (yup, herpes privileges, they do exist!) that I feel this way. Maybe if it was worse, I wouldn't be so staunch about it, or it would have taken me much longer to get here.

Are there things about not having herpes that I miss? Sure. I miss the whimsical, thoughtless fuck. The random night out, in the back of the dance party, up against the wall without talking or really getting to know the person at all. I miss the escalation, with no conversation, from kissing to being bent over a table. I miss the fairy-tale belly-flop feeling of a fling, without the hiccoughs of discussing serious real-world STD repercussions.

Except that really, I don't miss those things at all, and if I do, the reasons for missing them are basically bullshit, when I think about them for more than five seconds. Having sex without talking about sexual health is stupid. The random night out can be just as hot with a jerk-off against the closet door, or even a make-out, and it doesn't put my body or their body at risk. And the fairy tale? The fairy tale is baseless, and cheap, if the bubbly feeling doesn't keep going through, and after, a serious conversation about sexual health. That's a fairy tale I'll pass on, thank you.

Because yes, conversations are hard, and yes, having herpes can, at times, be full of shame and hurt and rejection. But hard doesn't mean worse. Hard doesn't mean avoid. Hard means difficult, hard means thinking, hard means talking and debating and probably crying some (for me, anyway). And without those things, without the difficult, I don't learn anything. Given ignorance or a good old-fashioned grapple in the mud, I take the grapple, every time.

I look fantastic in mud.