When I was diagnosed with HIV just over 25 years ago, I was given eight years to live. HIV was tearing the gay community apart and my diagnosis was almost a relief after a decade trapped in a cycle of sex, shame, fear and regret. The situation seemed hopeless for me and for my friends.
Miraculously, treatments that worked were finally found the very year of my diagnosis, meaning I’ve lived to do so many things I never thought I would. I’ve turned 40 and 50, and will turn 60 and 70. That medical breakthrough in 1996 meant an HIV diagnosis was no longer a terminal one, but rates among gay men remained disproportionately high and stigma rife. Until, that is, we had the tools necessary (thanks to medical breakthroughs) to effectively prevent HIV transmission and set about ensuring they were used by those most at risk.
