Mr. Chlamydia

The last time I explicitly wrote about E was after we’d returned from our spontaneous trip to Miami and I was confronted with the issue of his swamped work schedule. I was high off our baecation, on the verge of infatuation, and wanted to give our novel relationship a fighting chance, so I was flexible about his unconventional 80+ hour workweek. 

I told him I was glad to work with his availability and see him whenever he had time. Even though he had two full-time jobs I was hopeful that with concerted effort we could continue getting to know each other. He was committed to work; I was committed to romance. It turned out his schedule wouldn’t be our biggest hurdle though. It would be his STI diagnosis.

Two weeks after we got back from the east coast E sent me a grim text. “I have terrible news,” he prefaced. “This is the most embarrassing text I’ve ever sent.” He said he’d tested positive for chlamydia. My first thought was that he was being a bit dramatic. My instinct was to make light of it. “I’m not surprised considering the first thing you said was condoms make you soft,” I texted back, throwing in a smiling emoji to indicate I wasn’t upset. 

Let me rewind a bit. The first time I was about to have sex with E (the first night we met) I asked if he had protection. He had it but used it hesitantly. He said condoms make him soft. Initially he put one of the latex barriers on, but it quickly was removed.

I knew having unprotected sex inherently brought risks. I assumed he was aware of those risks as well. When E removed the condom there was no discussion about STI testing or status. At that moment we both submitted to a nonverbal agreement of accepting the possibility of contracting an infection, or at least that’s what I thought. 

*Back to our post-Miami conversation.* E replied to my text with, “At least you can find humor in something like this. I think it’s horrendous.” He told me it was the first time he’d ever gotten a sexually transmitted infection. At first I didn’t believe him — he was a 32-year-old man who apparently had a habit of not using protection. How could this be his first brush with an STI?, I thought. 

I’d gotten chlamydia for the first time when I was seventeen. To me, it was a ‘been there, done that’ coming-of-age experience. To E, it seemed to be a blame game puzzle he had to solve. When I thanked him for informing me of his status he replied, “If you got it, mind letting me know? I’m trying to find agent X.” I thought it was silly for him to try to track down the origin of transmission. That’s when it occurred to me that it was, indeed, his first bout with an STI. I didn’t reply to his text. But a week later he reached out again. 

“Get tested by chance?” he asked. 

I didn’t comprehend why he was clocking the chlamydia, and why we couldn’t simply get treated and then move on with our courtship. Because I knew I’d been exposed to the STI, my doctor and I decided it was best for me to be treated for it with a single dose of medication, assuming I had it. Then after the treatment we’d do a full STI screening to make sure I was all clear.

I explained that to E. His response was that he didn’t know “who to trust” about his “illness.” Typing that now makes me cringe, but when this was all unfolding I felt both empathetic toward him and personally, I felt hurt. I knew he’d been dating around and I knew I hadn’t given him the STI; I’d only been sleeping with him. He was treating the situation as though he’d been betrayed by one of the several women he was involved with, as though one of us intentionally infected him. Although I knew I wasn’t the culprit it didn’t feel dignified to try to convince him of that.

As upset as I was, it also didn’t feel right to chastise him about the irony and ridiculousness of his behavior. I decided the best approach was to be compassionate and understanding. I recognized that E was being confronted with something I’d overcome in adolescence. I needed to put myself in his shoes to understand his state of mind. I remembered how jarring it was for me when I got chlamydia in high school. So after some thought, I drafted up a heartfelt message explaining to him that getting an STI is nothing to be ashamed of, and that most sexually active people will have one at some point. 

I was proud of how maturely I handled the situation. I thought being understanding and patient with E would leave the door open for us to maybe continue dating once the drama of the STI died down. I thought it would take a few weeks at the most, but I went months without hearing from him...five months to be exact.

Then a couple weeks ago I got a cheeky email from E, asking how I felt about seeing “an old friend” for wine. I was surprised to hear from him after all the time that had passed. I decided to indulge him and let him take me out to dinner. I wanted closure and to see what he had to say for himself.

Over chicken meatballs and street corn ravioli we rehashed the events of five months prior. He told me he’d been overwhelmed with everything at the time and needed to take a step back to reevaluate things. 

During our conversation one of my burning questions was finally answered. For months I wondered how many women he’d been hooking up with during the time we were involved. I found out it was five. 

I also found out that in the time since we’d stopped talking he’d gotten someone pregnant and convinced her not to go through with the pregnancy. “Do you use condoms now?” I asked. He told me he still doesn’t. 

Reuniting with E assured me that it was a blessing we stopped dating five months ago. I’ve completely lost attraction to him after reconnecting and hearing him tell me about his toxic dating patterns.

To be clear, I never was upset about chlamydia. I knew what I was potentially getting myself into by engaging in unprotected sex, and I could never place the blame on my partner, particularly when I hadn’t asked about his most recent test results. I don’t ever want to participate in perpetuating the stigma of sexually transmitted diseases and infections. 

What upset me about the scenario with E was how he handled the situation. It was trifling for him to cut off the women he was dating when he was the one irresponsibly having sex with multiple people. His internalized shame and stigma was on full display when he attempted to figure out who was the source of the infection. 

What I learned from this is how crucial it is to be on the same page as the person I’m having sex with. Being sexually active comes with responsibility and risk. Going forward I’ll make it a point to insist on using condoms, or at least talk to my partners about what expectations are when beginning a sexual relationship. If you’re reading this, I hope you will too.