Telling one's story isn’t easy. It’s hard to push the words out knowing someone is going to hear, read it, and maybe even tell someone else about it and give their opinions. The problem is vulnerability. It’s difficult to open up and accept people’s love as being unconditional, regardless of what has happened to you in this thing called life that we all have in common.

What's uncommon is how each of us experiences life. It’s what tells us apart. It’s what shapes us. It’s what lights a fire under our ass or what makes us cry uncontrollably. Well, this is me, all of me. Everything I hold in, everything I hate and love about myself. Everything that makes me, me. Edward Casto.

I felt a lot of shame as I grew up. I was born to a mother who couldn’t take care of my brother, sister and I, so we went into the foster care system when I was 3. I ended up getting adopted the day after my 6th birthday in 1997. The people who decided, “Hey, we want you,” were white. We moved to Spokane to a farm about 25 minutes outside of town. Unfortunately, as I grew up, I found my new home came with a lot of problems. You can only imagine trying to run a house of 15 kids. I was the middle child in an even bigger family. I went from having a mother who couldn't take care of me to a mother who showed no interest in me. She did love it when we all did the chores, though. She would yell at us while she sat with her eyes glued to her computer screen. And birthdays sucked. You could tell who she liked more by the things she gave each person.

At age 12 or 13, I learned about HIV in school and Ryan White, the kid in Indiana who contracted the virus through a blood transfusion, got kicked out of school, then took his case to the Supreme Court. For some reason I was super curious about this virus because since I could remember, I had been taking medication and didn’t know why. So, I went home and asked my mother if I had it. She said no.

Then, not even a week later, she asked me if I wanted a bike and called me into the van. Not 5 seconds go by before she says to me, “Do you remember that question you asked?” And of course I remembered. My mom says, “Well you are HIV-positive. You were born with it.” I got the bike. A blue mountain bike. I loved it and hated it. It wasn't because she loved me but because she felt sorry for me that she bought me this present. To me it was like she was trying to put a band aid over a bullet hole. Like, “I can't fix this and I don't know how to deal with everything that comes with it so here is a toy to distract you.” An attempt to cover up the fact that I have what once was considered a life-threatening disease and the fear that comes with it. That feeling of excitement over my new bike was gone just like that. I no longer cared about the object. I no longer wanted that bike or to ever please my mom again. It was a moment that I will never forget.

And just like that my life changed dramatically. Not only do I not live with my birth parents anymore. I had a new life out in little old Freeman Washington, in the middle of nowhere going to the worst school for an all-Black family. I was already dealing with my insecurities of being different at school, but now I was even more different. Now I know I am HIV-positive.

Life takes twists and turns. Even though I went to 3 different high schools and 6 different foster homes, I still graduated. Definitely not at the top of my class, but I graduated. The support I couldn’t find at any of my foster homes I found in school and church. I was never a troublemaker and my teachers, friends, and even my friends’ parents were kind and supportive. At one point in my high school years, I became a youth group leader that people looked up to. Nobody knew I had HIV. I was normal in the eyes of society. I even became prom prince my senior year. I was so shocked and surprised at being given this status that I couldn't even walk up the stairs straight, I was shaking so bad.

Then graduation came. My adopted mom came to see me graduate and gave me three hundred dollars and told me, “I didn't think you were going to make it. Here’s this and I'm sorry that your childhood was shitty.” This might not sound like a big deal, but that small ounce of acknowledgment from her made me feel like I was on the top of the world. I had achieved something my mother didn't think I would be able to do. After graduating and getting that little ounce of recognition, I gained more confidence. I wanted to get out there and make friends. I was so sure of where I was going. I had the world in my hands.

A year and some change went by after I graduated. I was just living, trying to figure out how to adult and have fun at the same time. I was exploring this new adventure, a life where I could be me. Eventually I found a girl I really liked and we started dating. We told each other our fantasies, and one of the ones we both had in common was to have sex with another girl together. A threesome. She talked to one of her friends who was bi-curious and she was interested. One night they came over and we had fun...for the moment.

My girlfriend made the decision that we shouldn’t tell the girl we wanted to have sex with about my status because if we did, she wouldn’t want to do it with us. And I just went with it. At that time, Washington law stated that if you expose someone to HIV through unprotected sex without disclosing your HIV-positive status first, even if they don’t contract the virus, you could be charged and convicted of a felony and be sent to prison. Long story short, my life was thrown into a cell even though my viral load was undetectable and the other girl did not contract the virus from me. I was 19 years old and I had never been in any trouble with cops. I felt I was a good kid who had just been through a lot. But I didn’t know what a lot was until I went to prison. I got pushed back into depression, into fear, into judgment. Into a life I never saw myself in. Not only am I HIV-positive, I’m a felon and now I have to register as a sex offender. I have been made out to be this monster. This evil person who is out there trying to infect people. Not knowing who I am, this system has labeled me as the villain. The person who doesn’t deserve to succeed. And I internalized that for a long time.

Life after getting out of prison was rough. I felt the only thing I could do was go back to school and get a degree. I did this as a way to gain a source of income from financial aid and maybe, if a miracle happened, someone might look past my record and offer me a job. I didn't get a real job until 2015, three years after getting out. I started doing construction for $13 an hour because that's what I could get.

While in college, I took an intro to communications class. When I learned that my professor owned a dinner theatre place, I had this flashback. A memory of the day my brother and sister and I got taken away from our birth mom. I remembered my little ol’ self watching a Michael Jackson movie and thinking how real it was, but I obviously later learned that it was this style of art called acting. Because this memory from so long ago had stuck in my brain, I felt called. So, after class one day, I asked to audition for this play called The Love of Jimmy Valentine and I was given the part of a detective. My first acting gig. I felt honored, but man did I suck. My experience during that show made me change my major and take acting classes at Spokane Falls community college. Best decision ever. I was able to be someone else. I could be on stage and not have people see me but the character I was trying to portray. When I was on stage I felt like it was okay to express feelings and have people accept them.

Which brings me to today and this project: Through Positive Eyes. In this project it's me playing me. I may not have been able to tell every detail, but this is Edward playing Edward. Me telling my story. I'm so used to holding back and keeping my life a secret, however, I’ve always felt that when I open up about who I am and my experiences I’m not accepted. Now I say fuck it.

I have learned that it’s okay that I have gone through so much. I’m choosing to not let my past break me. It’s up to you how you want to use what you’ve been through and what you want to bring to the world. We need stories that let us know it’s okay to be us… that we are worthy…. Everything is going to be okay…. I want the world to know that the things we see as uncommon in each other can be seen as beautiful, loved and wanted.

If you get nothing else from my story, let it be this. It doesn’t matter where you come from or what you’ve been through. As long as you’re trying to be better today than you were yesterday…then you’ll be alright.