Member Perspectives: Lex Brown

As we prepare for our exciting tour to South Africa next June, we have shared stories from current members who recall chorus friends they lost to AIDS. We will be meeting with groups and individuals in Johannesburg and Cape Town who continue to be effected by the global pandemic, where about 20% of the adult population are fighting the disease and medical help is not always available.

The final story is from Baritone Lex Brown, who bravely shares his story of his HIV diagnosis in college and the isolation he felt and the action he’s taken within the poz community. Lex will be traveling to South Africa, serving as a model of an HIV-positive man who is not letting his diagnosis define who he is.

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It has taken me a long time to be comfortable revealing that I am HIV positive. I’ve faced shaming from within my family and bullying by students at an Ivy League university who are supposed to be the best and the brightest. I came close to giving up, to losing it, to simply slinking away from all that I wanted to achieve. But I have come out the other side. I’m here to tell you, it’s not all pretty, but I am proud of who I am and the work I’m doing on behalf of HIV-AIDS in our community. But let’s go back to 2014, when this journey I never wanted to take got started.

I was finally at Cornell, my dream college, working toward my degree in Food Science. I was not quite one semester in, when I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was with a guy I thought was nice, who told me his status was negative. I had not been sexually active for six months prior to this and viewed him as someone I could legitimately date. We had sex, and he did things I didn’t say were ok, and I was furious. Three months later, as I was in the ER for anaphylaxis from eating a raw carrot, a routine HIV test was done. That fateful trip to the ER let me know that I had seroconverted and was HIV positive. I was devastated, hardly able to move.

The first person I told was my Dad, who I’m close to. When I told him I was gay years earlier, he warned me about being safe and begged me to always be smart about sex. He had a cousin who died of AIDS before I was born and was very concerned about my health. That call was rough. It was the first time I’d ever heard him cry. My younger sister was a great source of support, never judgmental, but we’ve always had that kind of loving and supportive relationship and turn to each other through all the big and small events in our lives.

My mother and my older sister, however, were not as loving about it at first. They actually told me I was a “slut” (yes, they used that word) and I deserved what I got. I was crushed and didn’t talk to them for months.

My first reaction after getting hit with the diagnosis was to withdraw, but I was in college and had to keep going. While the medical profession must protect patients’ privacy, word did leak out into the community at Cornell. At an Ivy League university, in 2014, I faced a lot of hate and misinformation. It ran the gamut from stupid questions like, “Can you get it from kissing?” to outright bullying and shaming. Some people called me names such as “Infested” and “Disgusting.” And, much to my surprise and dismay, I was a pariah within the gay male community at Cornell.

While gay men at Cornell weren’t welcoming, I connected with a few guys on Scruff who listed their status as poz. They were so friendly, giving me their phone numbers to call and talk and ask questions. It really helped. I finally saw light and the end of a very dark tunnel. I knew that I would pay this forward when and if I got through this.

Things got dark for me. I was pushed to the breaking point, lonely and isolated. But I cooperated with the New York State Health Department in investigating my case, because it would ruin me if I seroconverted someone because of lack of knowledge. At the same time, I had no community, no one to talk to. I knew that if I was facing so much hate and poz-phobia on campus, others must be too. But there was no way to connect. I couldn’t find anyone who was HIV positive on campus because there was no support group at Cornell. In 2014. In my second semester, I ended up snapping.

In order to save my sanity and stop the panic attacks, I found Haven, the GLBTQ Student Union at the school. And Haven lived up to its name. I connected with a transman at the group and began confiding in him, finally someone who would listen to my story without hurling insults and judgment.

I founded the first HIV Support Group on campus with him. This was like coming out all over again. I organized a panel discussion on HIV with some doctors and my friend, who was once in a serodicordant relationship and offered his view on the ignorance and anxiety he faced from others in the community. I’ve had anxiety issues my whole life, and the months after my diagnosis did nothing to help that situation. The fact that I was out to the Haven group was challenging. I was very edgy, but this felt like I’d found something I truly believed in, it was clarifying for me. I was fed up with all these shady bitches who had been taking my power away and I stood up. The support group gave me some of my power back.

I was strategic about the future of the HIV Support Group. The group stayed as part of Haven which had resources and a solid place within Cornell. I brought together negative and poz people to demonstrate transparency and to be a symbol to turn those ignorant notions into education and fact. I co-chaired AIDS Awareness Week at Cornell and opened the “Condom Couture” Fashion Show, garments made entirely out of condoms and dental dams, by coming out about my status in front of 300 people to educate and enlighten the Cornell community.

During that time, my old nemesis anxiety showed up again, but I had it under control and I’m glad I did it. It got really strong feedback from some of the audience, but still the gay male community was mostly keeping its distance. It made the front page of the Cornel Daily Sun. There was no turning back.

I graduated with my degree in Food Science in 2015, and came back to Boston. My relationship with my Mom and older sister is better now, my sister actually kind of apologized to me and said she was tough on me because she didn’t want me to take a victim stance. I tried out for and joined the BGMC in September of 2017. My viral load is undetectable. I’m comfortable acknowledging my status now even though not everyone else is comfortable with it.  I am talking to newly diagnosed guys who reach out to me on Scruff, paying forward the wonderful treatment I got from those guys in Ithaca.

I still fight anxiety and social isolation. I take medicine every day, and if I were to miss for more than one day, the medication could become ineffective. I am a different person than I was in my early days at Cornell. And not to sound too optimistic, but there has been a silver lining. I’ve found my cause, I’ve found my voice, and I know who my friends are.

In South Africa, my hope is that the chorus can help bring dignity and be the example and support for PWAs that I did not initially receive.