HIV Positive, Yet Innocent

I was known by everyone as the good girl the innocent, decent, intelligent, God-fearing lady who minded her business and worked hard. I had a stable job, dreams neatly planned, and a heart full of love. My fiancé adored me, my mother prayed for me daily, and my siblings looked up to me. Life felt safe. Predictable. Blessed.

That illusion shattered the day my body began to betray me.

It started with constant weakness. I lost weight without trying. Fever came and went like an uninvited guest. I brushed it off at first, blaming stress and work. But when dizziness joined the list, I knew I had to see a doctor. I walked into the hospital with confidence, not fear. I had nothing to hide. I had lived carefully.

The tests were routine or so I thought.

When the doctor called me back into his office, his face was unusually serious. He avoided my eyes as he spoke, gently, slowly, as if each word might break me.

“You tested positive for HIV.”

The room spun. My ears rang. I laughed not because it was funny, but because it sounded impossible.

“How?” I asked. “Sir, there must be a mistake. I’ve never had sex. Not even with my fiancé.”

He explained the need for confirmation, but I barely heard him. I walked out of that hospital feeling like a dead woman trapped in a living body. That day, something inside me almost died.

I called my fiancé immediately. At first, he was shocked. Then confused. Then silent. When we met, I noticed something new in his eyes doubt. Fear. Suspicion. He didn’t shout. He didn’t accuse me. But the look he gave me hurt more than insults ever could.

“Let’s go to another hospital,” he said, reluctantly.

We did. I prayed the entire time. I begged God for mercy. I promised everything.

The result came back the same: HIV positive.

That was the end.

My fiancé didn’t say much. He just slowly withdrew, like someone backing away from fire. Days later, he stopped calling. Then he left completely. Just like that, the man who once promised forever disappeared, leaving behind silence and questions.

I cried every day. I lost my appetite. Food tasted like sand. My body was weak, but my heart was weaker. I locked myself in my room and drowned in thoughts. What did I do wrong? Why me? How could this happen to a virgin?

My mother noticed the change. A mother always does.

One evening, she sat beside me and held my hand. “Talk to me,” she said softly. “You’re fading.”

I couldn’t hold it anymore.

I told her everything.

She froze. Then she cried. Not the loud kind quiet tears that soaked into my shoulder as she pulled me close. We cried together like children lost in the dark. That night, my secret was no longer mine alone, and somehow, it felt lighter.

Life didn’t end. It only changed.

I learned. I accepted. I stood up again.

I began treatment. I took my drugs faithfully. I ate fruits, exercised, and protected my mental health. Slowly, strength returned. Hope returned. I realized HIV was not a death sentence it was a condition, not my identity.

But one question still haunted me: How?

Through counseling and education, I finally understood. HIV is not caused by sex alone. It can be transmitted through shared blades, pins, unsterilized injections, or careless medical practices. I remembered moments,salon visits, injections at roadside clinics, shared sharp objects I never thought twice about.

Ignorance almost destroyed me.

Today, I tell my story because silence kills. Assumptions kill. Stigma kills.

You can be innocent and still be infected. You can be careful and still be vulnerable.

So please be careful. Don’t share sharp objects. Be mindful of where you receive injections. Ask questions. Protect yourself.

HIV is not the end of life,

but ignorance can be.