I was always scared I would end up alone. When I was 11, my parents, who had troubles with alcohol, sent me to my grandmother's house for summer holidays.I never came home. My parents left me to live with my grandmother. And with the indelible feeling that the most important people in my life don't need me.

I tried to be as good at everything as I could, so my parents, or anyone else, would want me. I wanted to be remarkable, special.

At that time, some glossy magazines wrote: if you want a good relationship, you have to be free, interesting and open-minded in sex. And I decided that sex is my territory. I became a hunter. Sex became my art, my stage, my main interest. I experimented in ways that my partners would remember. There, I felt really good and powerful. I was willing to do anything. Just to be special to them. But it never really worked for long.

I had hundreds of partners, hundreds of experiments, 3 years of normal marriage, one daughter. And one really deep depression. In my marriage, I felt I wasn’t a good enough mother, wife, or lover. So I started to hunt again. More often. More risky. More desperate.

Eventually, I realized that I was sex-addicted. Honestly, I needed professional help.
But to be even more honest, I didn’t want to stop. Because that was my way to be special and feel alive. I was sure something had to stop me. Two weeks later I got my HIV-positive test. Thanks, Universe! It’s not what I wanted, but it worked, even if it scared me.

What if nobody wants me anymore? What if everyone will just be scared, because of stigma? At that point, I realized that I still have one person on my side. The one person who will always protect, respect, and fight for me. Myself.

That’s when I decided that I don’t want to live in a world where people are scared because of misinformation. I started to talk about my HIV with everyone. And mostly people were thankful because there was no fear and no excuses in my words. No reason why they should be careful with me. Instead, I gave them reasons to be closer to me, to talk openly, to feel safer for sharing their own stories. Sharing like this, I finally discovered that I AM special.

It still happens, someone's fear is stronger than all my words, all the studies I share, and my undetectable viral load. At these moments, I feel helpless. I can’t do more.

But it doesn’t hurt me anymore. Because HIV already gave me the most important connection. With myself.