Loneliness bites the hardest when you find out something you never wanted to know: you’ve tested positive for gonorrhea. You might think you’re the only one who’s ever gotten the news. But here’s the thing—around 82 million people get gonorrhea every year, according to the World Health Organization. In New Zealand, cases doubled within the last decade. Hearing you have an STD turns your world upside down in seconds, and the emotional fallout can weigh heavier than the physical symptoms. It’s not the pain when you pee that keeps you up at night. It’s all the what-ifs. Am I dirty now? Did I ruin my relationship? Do my friends have to know? It’s a punch to the gut, and it lingers.
The Emotional Rollercoaster of a Gonorrhea Diagnosis
You walk into the clinic feeling nervous—maybe it’s a routine check, maybe something felt off. But as soon as the nurse says “positive for gonorrhea,” it feels like time freezes. Suddenly there’s a pit in your stomach you can’t ignore. It’s not about the bacteria; it’s about how you see yourself. Thoughts race: Am I reckless? Will I ever be trusted again? Shame is quick and loud, screaming that you’ve failed some invisible test.
For most people, what comes next is anxiety, sometimes full-blown panic. One study from Otago University found that up to 65% of people diagnosed with an STD wrestle with “heightened feelings of shame, isolation, and fear of disclosure” for weeks, sometimes months. Friends and family might mean well, but you’re not sure how much to say, or if you should say anything at all. It feels like you’ve got a dirty little secret glued to your skin.
The mental pressure doesn’t stop at shame. There’s guilt—especially if you think you might have unknowingly passed it to someone you care about. You replay recent encounters in your mind, questioning every detail, every choice. Some folks go into full detective mode, combing through texts and conversations, trying to pinpoint the exact moment life went off the rails. Others retreat completely, ducking out of social invites, avoiding even their closest mates. Loneliness piles on top of the stress.
Anxiety brings its own mix of symptoms—trouble sleeping, focus shot to bits, more stress eating or losing your appetite. And if you’re already dealing with depression or insecurity, the diagnosis can hit even harder. Relationships often take a direct hit, with trust and intimacy suddenly under threat. It’s not the infection itself that undoes your confidence, but the way your mind spirals around what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.
Worse, gonorrhea is still wrapped in stigma. Even though it’s treatable and not exactly rare, most people only know the worst horror stories. The stigma sticks. A recent survey of Kiwi adults showed that 73% believe having an STD would “negatively affect their self-image.” People worry about being labeled “promiscuous” or “unsafe.” None of that makes it easier to talk—or to forgive yourself.
Why Gonorrhea Feels So Personal: The Weight of Stigma
What is it about this diagnosis that feels so much more personal than, say, the flu or a stomach bug? It’s the cultural script. From sex ed to TV dramas, STDs are used like cautionary tales. “Be safe or else,” you hear as a teenager, as if life is just a series of dodged bullets. So, when you get the news, it feels like you broke the rules.
Even in a place as open-minded as Wellington, the sense of stigma can feel old-fashioned and sticky. We don’t talk openly about sexual health the way we talk about mental health or physical health. This secrecy breeds fear. When I talk to mates or even strangers on the bus, almost everyone knows someone who’s had an STD, but almost no one admits it straight up. The silence twists into shame.
Stigma makes it a million times harder to ask for help, or even basic comfort. One guy I know worried that telling his girlfriend would end things for good. He replayed imaginary arguments in his head for weeks before finally coming clean. She was angry, but they worked through it. If he’d kept it to himself, it might have eaten him alive.
Treatable infections, like gonorrhea, don’t fit the boogeyman story we’re told. Sure, left untreated gonorrhea can cause bigger issues—infertility, pelvic pain, or complications in pregnancy. But most people recover completely with a simple antibiotic shot. The real pain often comes from silence, not the symptoms.
Even so, guilt over “letting it happen” and the fear of being judged can keep people from seeking help in the first place. I talked to a uni student in Newtown who put off getting tested for weeks, terrified someone would see her at the clinic. She wound herself up so much that the anxiety was worse than the infection itself.
Here’s a strange truth: you can do everything right with protection, and still get gonorrhea. Condoms help, but they’re not perfect. The bacteria are sneaky. Sometimes luck just isn’t on your side, and that’s not a sign of shame or weakness.
If stigma is what weighs you down, honesty ends up being the only lifeline. Telling someone—anyone, even your GP—can open a window and let the shame out. There’s relief in not holding it in, even if it’s awkward at first.
Talking About It: Opening Up Without Falling Apart
Nobody has the perfect words for “I have gonorrhea.” It feels weird even writing that sentence. But unless you’re planning to live as a monk, you’ll have to talk about it at some point—especially with anyone you’re romantically involved with. There’s a lot riding on these conversations. Fear of rejection, fear of blame, fear you’ll make things worse. That’s normal.
Still, most of the disasters we imagine don’t actually come true. When you give people the simple facts, not just the scary rumors, they tend to surprise you.
Here’s what makes this part a little bit easier:
- Keep it simple. “I just found out I have gonorrhea. I’m getting treated and wanted to let you know so you can get checked, too.”
- Stick to the facts. Gonorrhea takes a few days to show symptoms, but many people feel nothing. Most people recover completely with one round of antibiotics.
- Don’t apologize for being human. If you want to say sorry for causing worry, go ahead, but don’t take on guilt you don’t deserve. Nobody’s immune to bad luck.
- Pace yourself. You don’t have to tell everyone right away. Prioritize people who might be affected first, then decide who else needs to know, if anyone.
- Breathe. Give people a chance to react and catch up emotionally. Let them ask questions. You don’t have to have all the answers immediately.
For parents, especially dads like me, there’s another layer: how open should you be with your kids? For small kids, they don’t need to know more than you’re not feeling your best. For teens and older, especially if you’re modeling honest health conversations, it might be a chance to push back against the silence and shame.
The same approach works for talking with friends. Some will be awkward or make jokes—it’s a defense mechanism. Others will appreciate your honesty and may even open up about their own close calls. You never know who you’re helping by telling your story first.
If you’re genuinely struggling with what to say, there are sexual health hotlines in Aotearoa where you can run through conversations with a real person. Sometimes saying it once in a low-stakes environment helps you rehearse for the real talk.
You’re never required to spill every detail about your sex life or choices. Think of it as sharing health info, just like you would if you had chickenpox. You’d want people who could be affected to know, not the whole neighborhood.
Getting Back to Yourself: Coping Strategies for Mental and Emotional Recovery
Maybe you’ve started your treatment, but your thoughts are still spinning. The biggest surprise for me and a lot of mates is how sticky the self-blame can be. But life doesn’t freeze right after a diagnosis—you still have to go to work, parent your kids, cook dinner, and get out of bed the next day. So what do you do to actually recover, inside and out?
- Give yourself time. It’s normal to feel out of sorts for a while. That doesn’t mean you’re broken, it just means you care about what happened.
- Stick to your treatment. This one’s obvious, but finishing your course of antibiotics helps put the problem in the rearview mirror, physically and mentally.
- Eat, sleep, and move if you can. Physical health gives your brain a break from ruminating. Don’t underestimate a long walk or a game of backyard cricket with the kids.
- Let yourself talk. Even if it’s just one friend, a health worker, or an anonymous forum, saying what’s on your mind gets the worry out of your head.
- Resist the urge to Google every worst-case scenario. Stick to trusted sources—family GP, New Zealand Sexual Health Society, or Health Navigator NZ. There is a lot of noise and outdated info online.
- Jot down what you’re feeling. Writing—yes, even just a list—makes worries easier to untangle. I’ve seen people do this on their phone in the café, just dumping whatever hurt onto the notes app, and walk away lighter.
- Know that setbacks don’t define you. One diagnosis doesn’t sum up who you are, just like a scraped knee doesn’t mean you’re a bad runner.
- If you’re feeling stuck—like you can’t eat, can’t sleep, or can’t think about anything else for more than a week or two—talk to a professional. Kiwis tend to tough things out, but mental health is worth as much attention as your body.
- Gonorrhea is unbelievably common—and the truth is, most people will deal with an STD at some point in their life. That doesn’t mean everyone talks about it, but it means you have more company than you think.
- Remember the numbers: most cases are treated and resolved with no long-term effects. You can still live, love, hook up, and move on.
- Practice small acts of self-compassion. Make your own coffee, take a hot shower, listen to music that comforts you. You’ve survived tougher things.
- Read real stories from people who’ve been there. Knowing you’re not the only one goes a long way in smashing shame. You’ll find forums and podcasts with candid, honest experiences—no sugarcoating, but no doom and gloom either.
- Set a plan for testing in the future. Many clinics offer reminders or easy drop-in services—turn it into a habit, like brushing your teeth. There’s power in being proactive.
- If you’re in a relationship, use this as a launch point for bigger conversations about trust, protection, and what you both want. For lots of folks, this is actually a turning point for better intimacy, not just an awkward moment.
- Last but not least—let yourself laugh. Sex is messy and so is life. Sometimes laughing at the awkwardness is the only way out of your own head.
Getting that call from the clinic, feeling the bottom drop out of your stomach, is the bit everyone remembers. But it’s just a moment, not a sentence. The stuff that comes next—how you talk, how you heal, and how you take care of yourself—doesn’t leave you stuck. You mess up, you face it, you move forward. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll come out with a story a little bit braver, a little bit more real, than you ever expected.
