The internet is evil

To be honest, I think I'm handling this herp thing pretty well, if you take out the fact that I've had more nervous breakdowns in the last year than I ever have had in my life, and that I've got a bottle of pills "just in case" (although clearly I haven't used it). Don't get all crazy on me about the pills, it's hidden, and I would never do that to my mom. But I will say it's having my heart broken- repeatedly- that I have that stash.

Really...I'm doing okay with it. Except when I look up symptoms on the internet. There's no handbook on herpes, in my case the doctor just told me I had it but couldn't provide any real answers. Granted, I had no idea what to ask at that point, but because it's not a fatal disease, I don't think researchers care that much about looking into it, despite the fact that it affects so many people and causes so much physical and psychological pain.

I have been very lucky in terms of the frequency of symptoms, but I also get paranoid about things. I think there's a strong possibility that some things are psychosomatic, but I like to be sure. While I'm a big fan of "googling," in this instance it just reminds me of the fact that I have this, and even though there are so many other people who have it, I feel isolated.

So I'm closing that browser window, and stepping away from things that make me unhappy. For now.

Ugly Duckling...Swan...Coot...Phoenix?

When I first received the diagnosis, one of the hardest things that took a hit was my sense of how attractive I was to others. I remember being at the gym, working out, and wondering why I bothered to work out when I was going to be alone for the rest of my life, tainted and unlovable.

I wasn't always pretty. Actually, I don't really consider myself to be pretty- all I ever hear is how "sexy" I am, but never that I'm "pretty," or "cute" or anything like that. It was even worse when I was an awkward, skinny teen with braces and bad hair. And then I hit my 20's, got some marginal curves, and worked it like I owned it. The fellas seemed to like me just fine, although I doubt it was for my sparkling personality and stunning intellect. While I didn't think I was a supermodel, I knew I wasn't completely tragic.

Now I'm not so sure. I still wonder why the hell I'm bothering to keep myself in shape, as I'm not feeling very attractive. I actually cry every day in fear that I'm going to wind up alone. The only thing that keeps me going with my exercise program is the fact that exercise helps stress, and stress is an H trigger.

I'm still waiting for the moment when it will get easier, and I'll be lovable again. I don't believe it. At all.

Sorry it's been awhile

But as no one probably reads this, I'm not that worried about it. What have I been doing that's kept me so busy? Well, dating. It seems that my love life is busier with the herp than it was without, and I don't know if that's because I'm a lot more guarded than I was (therefore ultimately more attractive because bitch = hot), or just because I'm dating people with it.

Recently, I've been meeting more and more civilians (for those of you not "in the know," those are people who have not been blessed with the gift...that they know of), which brings up the uncomfortable situation of having to tell them if you want to date them. I'm not going to be like some of the giftees out there who don't tell anyone, like my friend R who thinks she's cured. I just can't do that to someone. Nobody told me.

Since it seems like I can't get the secret handshake off the ground, what I've decided to do is have business cards made up. Not with my name or anything, and it's not like I'm going to be dropping said business cards in a fishbowl for a free lunch, but basically I want it to go like this:

"Hi. I have herpes. This may freak you out, but it's not as big of a deal as some make it out to be. It happened, and it could happen to anyone. Instead of looking on the internet and finding some not nice pictures, I would suggest you go to {insert best herp website here} for all your questions. Or you can just ask me, because I learned more than I ever wanted to know. I'm telling you this because I care about you as a person, and want to continue to spend time with you. If you want to be an asshole about it, throw away this card. If you are an intelligent and understanding human being, I'd like to continue seeing you. Have a nice day."

Granted, that may be more than what would fit on a business card, and as my mother says, a little impersonal, but wouldn't it be easier? Just do a drive-by, and not have to sit there for their reaction?

I am still learning about this whole civilian thing, and I'm hoping it gets easier. Right now it is the suck.

I'm proposing the "H" sign

Specifically, I want to develop some sort of non-verbal communication so that we can distinguish each other (because some of us don't get cold sores, and some get cold sores but still think that HSV2 is the antichrist) when we're walking down the street, or at a bar, or whatever. Somehow, I also want those without herpes, but don't mind dating people who do to also pick this up.

Recently, I told someone who didn't take it so well. And by not taking it so well, I mean stopped talking to me. I'm still upset, the waterworks just will not cease. It would have been nice to know where he stood on the issue definitively before I dropped the H-Bomb on him, but hindsight is always 20/20. And basically I'm never telling another person who I care about for as long as I live. Unless they know this:

Here's what I think. Since it can be such a bomb to drop on someone you're dating/interested in/can tolerate for 5 minutes, let's use American Sign Language for the letter H, and the word "bomb". Sure, it may offend some, but getting shot down because of something a) I didn't ask for and b) something that I was nice enough to share makes me care a little less about offending people.

So here we go:

The letter H

http://www.handspeak.com/spell/index.php?abc=aslh

and the word Bomb

http://www.handspeak.com/sign/b/indexBO.php?sort=bomb.

In case you were wondering, I did look for the word "herpes" in there, but couldn't find it.

So start spreading the news. One H Bomb at a time.

Wow, it's been almost 6 months

I had every intention of writing often about my experiences since being diagnosed, but I just wanted it to go away.  Maybe if I thought hard enough and pretended it didn't exist, I could go back to not having herpes, having a normal life, not feeling like an outcast, not suffer increasingly deeper bouts of self doubt.  

Obviously, that hasn't worked, although I have been extremely lucky thus far.  No real discernable symptoms, other than the ones that have been in my head.  The hardest thing is the feeling of isolation, particularly when it comes to dating.  Sure, there are websites out there to connect people with the "gift," but I've found that guys in their 30's with herpes are bigger assholes than those without.  I don't know if they have higher expectations of what they want- more perfection, less patience, or what.  I know that I've become more patient of flaws, but I also know I'm less likely to settle.  I've also noticed that these guys tend to be more about the sex and less about the relationships.  I can understand that your sexual dating pool has been severely limited, but really?  You can't form an emotional attachment?  You can't see me as a person, instead of just a vag that you don't have to drop "the bomb" on?  It gets old rather quickly.

Sure, there are some guys out there who know it's not a big deal.  Unfortunately, there is not a secret handshake to determine who they are.  I've had mostly okay experiences in choosing who I tell, but for the most part it hasn't been someone I'm dating at the moment.   What's difficult about telling anyone is you don't know how they will take it.  Some people think it's contagious from a drinking cup, some people will think you're a whore, some will just automatically rule you out.  The ones who keep reminding me that it's not a big deal are what have saved me.

One of the first people I told is a guy I used to date, but we're still friends.  For 27 (or it could be 28) years old, he's remarkably mature about it.  If only he would be less of other things- he'd be perfect.  But we're better off as friends, so that's the important part.

I also told a friend of mine who I wasn't dating.  He stopped talking to me.  Freaked out like it was going to travel through the phone to Portland, OR.  He's an assclown.

Then there was the ex.  Not just any old ex.  This was a guy who I dated many years ago when I was young, naive, and not old enough to drink.  We had been friends off and on for years, but last year (right before I started dating the douchebag who didn't tell me about this wonderful thing he had), ex and I talked about getting back together.  Needless to say, it didn't work out at the time, for which for many reasons I am kicking myself now.  Despite the fact that our rekindled romance fizzled, we STILL remained friends.  And I told him my situation.  And he really didn't care.  We again didn't get back together, but still talk.  I don't think it's going to happen, mostly because I have so many conflicted feelings about love in general.

Which brings me to what prompted me to start writing again.  Apparently I'm on a kick of wanting to spend time with people who I've known for 10+ years.  Or it could be that I'm just too much into social networking sites.  Whatever.  I started talking, albeit platonically, to an old friend from high school.  Some of our communications did get a little flirty, but I didn't take it too seriously because we didn't live near each other.  Same state, yes.  Same town, nowhere near.  Then things took a turn, and I made the decision to go visit.  Again, the original intentions were platonic, but the flirting got kicked up a notch.  Prior to my trip, I attempted to determine what his comfort level would be if I told him my situation.  I was pretty confident he could handle it, but wanted to see if it would be relevant before I divulged.  It became relevant, and I dropped the bomb.  He took it quite well, just wishes I had told him sooner.   Going along with the secret handshake, I wish there was a magic H ball which would tell you when to tell someone, because I managed to apparently mess up the entire trip.  This is one of the few times in my life I actually REALLY regret doing something.  I wish I had never gone down there.  I don't know if it's because I told him, because I had expectations of him, or if it's because I started liking him more than I intended (and more than he intended), but a royal pile of crap is now following me wherever I go.  He is no longer speaking to me, and I thought we were friends.  I tried to apologize, but he didn't respond to that.  And it's killing me.   Did I do the right thing?  Right now, it looks like no.  A big, fat, no.

Happy F'ing New Year to Me

I really only think I have premonitions part of the time. It's not like I can see dead people, or can predict the future, but there are times I've had some serious déjà vu from what I can only assume were dreams. Granted, I can't recall any of those times right now and it's not like I avoided being hit by a bus, but it was eerie nonetheless.

December 31, 2008- I'm at my friend R's house, hanging out and talking girl talk before we go out for New Year's Eve. We're discussing this dude she likes who is avoiding her because of a cold sore, commenting on what a baby he is over a stupid cold sore. Then we ponder the fact that he could be having an outbreak, and is just afraid to tell her. This goes on for awhile, and then we start drinking.

January 1, 2009- I wake up hungover as all hell, and spend quality time with a toilet. Other than the fact that my head and my stomach are at war, nothing seems amiss.

January 2, 2009- Get a decent night's sleep, wake up and do my morning potty. WHICH BURNS. Not like a too much sex UTI, but like I have a cut. I get out a mirror and look- it seems I have managed to take off some skin in areas where all the skin should stay on. Okay, do not panic, call doctor. Doctor is taking a day off.

January 3-4, 2009- Panic all weekend. Am convinced I have herpes but refuse to drive myself crazy by looking at pictures. Look at other pictures of any other possible diagnoses. Barely wear pants because it's too uncomfortable.

January 5, 2009- Finally get ahold of my doctor's office...appointment is unfortunately in the afternoon. 50% of me thinks it's bad news. 50% of me thinks it's good news.
Sadly, the former 50% won. My doctor, wonderful woman that she is, visually diagnosed it but orders a blood test anyway. I am having trouble functioning as a human being at this point, but make my way over to get poked and donate some O+. Eventually make it home to officially have a heart attack, cry myself dry, and basically wonder what I'm going to do with my life. And not just in a job sense.

January 6-8, 2009- Am unable to eat. Am unable to sleep. Am unable to do anything beyond what a monkey could do, and even then a monkey could do everything better than me. I am on the verge of shriveling up because I have cried every ounce of fluid in my body. There are weird moments where I think that I'll survive and do smart stuff like join a herpes dating website (who knew) and a local group for people with herpes. Then I realize that I have a disease that most people want to vomit when they think about, and I crash again. I await the official diagnosis, but know in my heart that it's true.

January 9, 2009- Yup, I've got herpes. Am still taking what seems like the largest pill on the face of the earth, but am not crying as much.

So this may seem like a lot at once, but I have a lot of catching up to do.