'I Would Not Change My Experiences for the World': BTAN Los Angeles' Robin Barkins

Robin Barkins

I'm new to the Black Treatment Advocates Network (BTAN), having just received my training this past February. My mentor and various friends urged me to take the training, and I'm glad they did. Besides learning of the scientific developments and different medical trials, I was able to reconnect with friends from Cocaine Anonymous, and they saw how far I have come.

I am originally from New Orleans. In my 29 years I have survived sexual molestation by a family member, mental-health issues, two hurricanes—Ivy and Katrina—and a 12-year drug frenzy.

I contracted HIV through a threesome I had with this guy and another girl—she told me later that he gave it to her, too, but I still didn't tell her that he gave it to me—and was diagnosed with HIV at 15. At that time they tried to give me treatment, but I said no because I viewed it as a death sentence.

That's when I began living my life suicidal. I had it all planned out: I had a ninth-grade education, no hopes, no dreams; I was extremely violent and started using all kinds of drugs—weed, heroin, Ecstasy, cocaine—hoping I would never wake up. But I never tried to take pills to end my life; I was too cowardly for that.

During this time, no one knew I was HIV positive until 2009, when I hit rock bottom so bad that I told somebody my story to get sympathy for some crack. Then, of course, they told other people. But that still didn't stop me from living my lifestyle; it didn't stop me from being on my mission to die.

It wasn't until I was in jail in California that I came out about my condition. I was in the holding tank at Carson Courthouse in California when I heard all these girls coming in, and there was this one girl who just stood out to me. She was saying she was pregnant from her pimp and she was his "bottom bitch"—a street term for the main girlfriend. And I told her, "You don't think your pimp is sleeping with all these other girls unprotected? It don't matter if you're his bottom bitch; HIV is real out there." And I was just telling them my story, how I got infected and everything. Then I realized how my story was helping them, because they started asking questions. That's when I knew I wanted to help me.

I started consistently taking meds in 2010. When I sat in that doctor's office in the county jail, my viral count was 7,449 and my T-cell count was 200. After all those years smoking; turning tricks; getting trichomoniasis, syphilis, genital warts, herpes—all that stuff—and my viral load is now undetectable and my T-cell count is 881. I still can't believe it, and that's why I say I got a God that loves me.

I was able to get legal help from attorney Carol Telfer, who worked pro bono to get me on probation, allowing me to be accepted into the rehabilitation program at one of the Prototypes women's centers. That's when I realized I wanted to take charge of my life. I stayed there for three years altogether and am proud to say that I am currently five years clean and sober, and my strike has been dismissed. My mission now is to help women and men who are suffering with HIV, domestic violence and substance abuse. I want to give them hope and let them know they are not alone.

I'm so thankful I had the opportunity to take the three-day BTAN training. I now have the tools under my belt to go into the community, to schools, colleges, churches and organize people around raising awareness and ending the stigma associated with HIV among our people. I am also better equipped to help the ones that are infected by letting them know about the different medications and that you don't have to die today. I mean, we're living; it's not a death sentence anymore.

I'm truly grateful that I can be a warrior for those who have not yet found their voice. I really, truly believe that God allowed me to be here for a reason and he gave me an assignment because he knew I was strong enough and tough enough to handle it. I'm truly grateful that he chose me. And I would not change my experiences for the world.

As told to April Eugene, a Philadelphia-based writer.