My Journey of How I Learned to Live and Love Myself as a HIV-Positive Gay Man

By Marc Oldland

Did you know that the most recent UK-wide estimate is that 106,890 people received HIV care in the UK in 2019? My name is Marc (He/Him), and I am one of them. I am also a Programme Office Lead within BBC Technology Group and BBC Pride Network’s Community Outreach Officer and Board Member. This is my story of living with HIV, how I came to terms with my diagnosis, how I told my family and friends, and how I found hope and truth in the face of stigma and discrimination.

The Flu

Have you ever had one of those ‘fleeting bugs?’ I have. It was 16 years ago; I felt somewhat ill for a couple of days. I put it down to a bit of a cold or ‘man flu’ as we commonly call it. I was young, fit, and healthy and it didn’t phase me, so I brushed it off. I took a day off work sick, but let it pass. I would come to realise a couple of months later that this wasn’t a bug, it wasn’t the flu. It was something much, much more. It was Seroconversion.

The Diagnosis

It was a sunny Friday afternoon in June in 2007 when I headed to the sexual health clinic at my local hospital. I was twenty-four, out, proud, and never in a million years thought I would be told three words which would go on to change my life, forever.

As I waited impatiently for my sexual health screening results, I can remember daydreaming thinking what I was going to be wearing that night as I was heading out for a night out on Canal Street. I think as with most people back then, HIV was never something that would ‘happen to them.’ As my daze lifted, ‘Marc Oldland’ was called by a frosty faced woman, ‘this way,’ as I was called to a small room. I had not even got to the other side of the 8ft box room and sat down before she clearly said, “you’re HIV Positive”. I was handed a leaflet, told to take my time, and left in that room, alone, which had now closed in on top of me. Still in absolute utter shock, my throat dry, feeling completely numb, I wiped a tear and left the hospital.

The Denial

Meanwhile, I felt like a broken vase, shattered into pieces, and damaged beyond repair. For me it was like life was over and all that was left was a dark and empty void where no one would want to know me. People didn’t get HIV, which was an 80’s and 90’s thing, my naive and uneducated head said. ‘Why is this happening to me?’ I had my one-way flight booked to Sydney only 3 months later for my working holiday year out. After a difficult personal year, I had chosen to give my job up, pack up my life and go in search of ‘finding myself.’ And nothing, not even being diagnosed with HIV, was going to stop that.

After that, I left Manchester and it couldn’t be timelier for someone hiding a deep dark secret, I flew to Oz…. and did not say a word, sitting in a cloud of disbelief when my plane took off, thinking that it ‘would just go away.’

I knew I had seroconverted, but I was ashamed to that I ignored my newfound status, I was determined to have an experience which I would never have again. I had placed my diagnosis in a small box, sealed it and put it on a shelf in the back of my mind that would continue to open itself and spill its contents over the floor. I really did make the best of my year and had a fantastic time. It was difficult, I won't lie, but my resilience was steadfast, and I swept up the contents, put it back in the box, and ceiled it back on that shelf time and time again.

When I returned from my travels, I was referred to a more local sexual health service who would go on to provide my antiviral HIV care up until today. In fact, reflectively, they have been brilliant over the years. Over the coming years I had my medication changed a couple of times, first starting with three tablets a day but as medicine progressed, I needed just a blood test twice a year to check my viral load, CD4 count and kidney and liver functions. Eventually becoming that one tablet a day would keep me healthy and undetectable. I wish society had been more forgiving at the start. It would have been much easier on the mental health trauma I endured.

I had not told my family or friends, feeling too ashamed and disgusted in myself. When HIV was ever mentioned on the gay scene, people would run a mile. I remember telling one friend after a couple of years, who I went on to find out he had told numerous people in one of my social circles. He had outed me as positive behind my back, with no remorse or consideration. It made me feel physically sick. I had been betrayed and felt people would look down on me as if I were something dirty and disgusting which you had just stepped on.

The Disclosure

At the same time, I felt this enormous burden every time I saw my family and other friends and could not say those words “I’m HIV Positive, but it’s okay. I’m okay.” It was 5 years before I told my family of my diagnosis, doing so in a true Marc outburst. I sent a text message to my mum, dad, brother, and sister “and by the way, I’m HIV Positive”. Suddenly the weight had been lifted from my shoulders, like taking off my backpack from Oz filled to the brim with my worldly possessions (plus a ton of bricks in it). The sense of relief getting it off my chest and being able to be my true, authentic self was powerful. It elevated me to a place where I should have been all along, a place not restrained and shackled by society, by judgement or reckoning, but in harmony and at peace in my own skin.

I was free at last.

The Acceptance

As a result, I went to bed that evening and had the best sleep in 5 years. My family all took the news with shock but were loving and caring. That was all I needed. To have their acceptance. I was empowered to tell select people of my status. I felt it my duty to be educated, to tell people of my status in the hope that there were others just like me. I wanted to help others understand that living with HIV is not a death sentence, that I live a completely ‘normal’ life (whatever that means). The topic of HIV has even been a dinner conversation or over glass of wine with friends which has been an interesting journey to understand what others POV (point of view) is, and their understanding and feelings are about the subject. But that was okay, it helped me to own my status, to openly tell my sexual partners. What was difficult in the early days suddenly started to become easier. There was the light at the end of the tunnel.

People today on the gay scene are much more knowledgeable and understanding. Whilst they might not fully understand the science, I find it less and less as time goes on that people do not have a grasp on what HIV is and precautionary measures. HIV can be passed on through infected semen, vaginal fluids, rectal secretions, blood, or breast milk. However, HIV is not transmittable through sex with a partner who has HIV but is on treatment and has an undetectable viral load. The most effective precautionary measures are by taking PrEP and using a condom.

However, sadly there is still a stigma behind being HIV positive. I am fortunate now to move in circles where there is acceptance. But deep down it is always at the back of my mind when meeting new people. Having to ‘explain myself,’ thinking, ‘do they judge me for it?’

Today, I am not without my faults, but I am proud to be who I am, and I am not ashamed of my status. I am healthy, happy, and hopeful. I am grateful for the people who have supported me, loved me, and accepted me for being me. I am passionate about raising awareness, breaking stigma, and helping others who are living with HIV. I am living proof that HIV is not a death sentence, but a life sentence. A life sentence of courage, resilience, and happiness.

The Plea

This is my story and I urge anyone reading this to get tested and be safe. Take ownership of their body and their life. The more recent estimate for England (not the whole UK) is that there were 95,900 people living with HIV in England in 2021. Of these, around 4,400 are undiagnosed and do not know they are HIV positive. Join me in breaking the silence and the stigma, help those who are diagnosed know that it is okay. Educate yourself and understand that people like me, under effective treatment ‘can’t pass it on.’ Undetectable equals Untransmittable (U=U) which was never understood by people when I was first diagnosed. I am truly grateful that PrEP is so widely offered now, to anyone at risk, take advantage of this scientific miracle.

Together we can eradicate HIV from the UK. My hope for the future, deep down in my heart, is to see that happen sooner than later.

Source: Terrence Higgins Trust and National AIDS Trust