Ronkonkoma, New York

Positive since 1987

Dear HIV:

This is probably one of the most difficult things I have had to do. I’m not sure where to start, so I guess I’ll start at the beginning. I remember being introduced to you in 1986 with disbelief. I remember feeling numb, dazed, confused, lost. I think back to the many times I went to have my blood drawn in hopes of you being a mistake and hoping you were maybe hepatitis instead. But no, there you were.

I hate you so much. You inflicted pain and despair not only on me but on my mom. She was the only one who knew my status for the longest time, which took a toll on her too. My family, especially my dad, didn’t want to believe it. I remember being told by my sisters that I didn’t attend one family day because I was so sick with flu, laryngitis, bronchitis, cold, etc., I sounded like I was dying. After I told my dad, he went into his room and cried like a baby. It broke my heart to hear that. My heart breaks every time my mom holds back her worries in order to comfort me. And when she does cry, I know she’s reached her emotional limit.

I hate how my life has changed because of you. I was fine without you. I was even fine the first couple of years after knowing you existed, up until the time I had to face you on a daily basis. Having to constantly take a pill every day, then two pills, then a handful of pills. I hate you. Did I mention that? I hate not being able to trust myself or any man with the fact that I have HIV, and fearing that if they knew, they would leave.

I didn’t tell many people in my life. When the realization of what I did hit, I was so very sorry, because I hurt a longtime friend. They eventually forgave me and came back into my life. When I tried relationships again, I was forced to speak up. What happened was my worst fear: I was left alone, I was treated badly, I was rejected, which made it even harder for me to be honest about it. I hate living with all these fears. It’s just too much at times. I ended up hurting another special person in my life by not telling him the truth. Who knows how things could have been if I’d only opened up?

I hate that I am not able to have a child, at least not without the possibility of making my condition worse or passing it to my unborn child. I could not live with that. It’s hard to live with myself, let alone put that burden on a child. For years I put you so far in the back of my mind—at least, I thought I was doing that. I guess a lot of the bad decisions I’ve made were because of you, as well as my feelings of being unworthy or damaged goods.

My health has been getting a little worse every passing year. I’m not able to work like I used to, which has caused me a lot of grief. I belittle myself, and I feel humiliated by going to places like social services, who make life hell for you. I’m angry when people think I’m lying about my illness because I don’t look the part. I’m angry because I need to use the money I’m supposed to get from my father’s death to help me live with a roof over my head. I’m angry because this has also caused grief with my family. I’ve completely exhausted my mom both emotionally and financially. My mother has been mostly my sole supporter. It’s not fair that I should still need all of her help. I’m supposed to be helping her. I feel like shit because of it, and then feel even worse when I’m happy she’s there to help. How messed up is that? It’s been an emotional roller coaster that never stops. No wonder my head always hurts.

My last word to you is, “I wish you were dead and buried and no longer existed in this world. The world would be a better place.”

Ungratefully Yours,

Pamela Biafora

What adjectives best describe you?

Supportive, compassionate, driven.

What is your greatest achievement?

Being a survivor and not giving up on myself, my life, and those who love me

What is your greatest regret?

Lying about my status to those I loved and cared for while starting or in a relationship. This was many years ago. A lot has changed with myself since then.


What keeps you up at night?

My own brain. I’m constantly going over things in my head to see if I dealt with the situation accordingly.

If you could change one thing about living with HIV, what would it be?

Making it like a common cold: easy to get rid of.

What is the best advice you ever received?

To love myself. I am worth living and fighting for. Comply with medications and keep healthy.

What person in the HIV/AIDS community do you most admire?

I have met some pretty impressive women lately in a mindfulness-based stress reduction (MSBR) class, women recently diagnosed and longer connected by HIV. Sharing and supporting each other is a gift.

What drives you to do what you do?

I won’t give up on what could be.

What is your motto?

Find the positive from something negative.

If you had to evacuate your house immediately, what is the one thing you would grab on the way out?

It would be my man and my dog (a.k.a. my son). I would do whatever it took to bring them to safety.

If you could be any animal, what would you be? And why?

Dog. My dog is a Lhasa Apso, a small lap dog. She receives and gives love unconditionally, never leaves you, senses when you are sad, and snuggles and kisses you. She puts a smile on my face every single day.