What My Black Star Tattoo Really Means

I got it after a diagnosis—a small mark of pride and survival.

I’m Alexander Cheves, and this is LOVE, BEASTLY—a blog about sex, feelings, and manhood. It’s written mostly for men—gay, straight, bi, MSM, or just curious—but some readers are women, and some don’t fit into categories. Everyone’s welcome here.

This is one of my more personal essays. Heads up: these can sometimes include explicit content or emotionally triggering subjects.

This post includes a free preview. Subscribe to read more and unlock the full archive.

---

I haven't really come out and said this directly yet, at least not on this blog: I'm HIV-positive. It’s a story.

Many people ask me about the tattoo on the back of my neck—a solid black star. It could fit inside the ring left by a coffee cup on a napkin. It’s not large. I've never explained any of my tattoos before, and in general, I don’t think tattoos need explaining—I don’t think they have to have meanings. But this one does.

I got the tattoo in 2014, a few months after I learned I had HIV. I went to the tattoo parlour with some friends one day after class. None of them knew my reason for choosing a black star—not even the tattoo artist—but it was nothing less than a private commemoration, proof that I had been through something, that I was still in something, and was surviving it. Now, it’s a reminder that I was once very, very sad—suicidal, even—and made it out on the other side, not unchanged but still living. The tattoo is not easy to see, but every now and then I see it in a photograph someone takes of me from behind, and it makes me feel a little proud. That freshly 21-year-old boy I once was did not know how to cope with a new and severe diagnosis and did not have any familial support, any friends going through the same thing, or any help. He was alone, and while all his peers were working on their college assignments and trying to get internships, he was deciding the very stuff of life—whether to keep doing it, whether he wanted it or not, and whether he would ever be able to find love in it.

He did. He has. I have. HIV was a blow, but it was also a lesson in needing my gay community, really for the first time, and needing the love and care of others. In time, I found the elders, the people who would guide me and take care of me. I found the right friends. I found other HIV-positive people. And I found great sex and even greater love.