It was the day before the holidays, June 28, 2012. I was finishing my second year of sociology at the University of Nancy. A year of flirting, of existential blur and outings. I drank a lot, had a lot of fun and went to school sporadically. Most of my time, I spent in the cinema. I was waiting to join an IUT of journalism in Cannes, the following autumn.

I was a little lost, but I was fine, free, I was 20 years old.

That day, I had to have surgery for a benign problem. I had an appointment with the gynecologist . I had just sat down in front of him when he told me that the blood tests requested by the anesthesiologist were positive for HIV. In shock, a tear flowed. I remember first saying, "My life will change. Then asked, "Why me? The doctors calculated that I had been contaminated six months before. I could not help thinking that it was frightfully unfair. I had so many friends who enjoyed without hindrance, without paying attention, never. They were HIV-negative and were much worse than me, who had "only" four unprotected sex in the year, with good boys. But it was silly: the virus does not care about who it attacks. I was responsible

I joined my best friend in the waiting room. We did not collapse. As a medical student, she told me everything she knew about the virus. Back home, I cried without being able to stop. It was uncontrollable.

Then I called three of my four lovers. They assured me in turn that they had been tested: they did not carry the virus. There remained the fourth, a boy who had met at a party six months earlier, which I had not heard of. That night, I had made him a blowjob, point. It could not be him: "A blowjob, that can not be enough. "The virus is in the pre-seminal fluid," a nurse informs me later. It is enough that it is very present in the body, that it is not treated, so that the boy is very contaminating. A small sore in my gum could promote contamination. The loop was complete. In my mind, women were less affected than men ... So that's exactly the opposite.

Before starting treatment, I did not know much about tri-therapy.

I felt good, I was healthy, a little depressed, nothing more. I went to see my mother in the Vosges. She picked me up at the station, and I told her everything in the car. Who, when, where and how? That's all she asked me. His reaction was neutral, neither alarmist nor guilt. Much later, she told me that it was part of the vagaries of life. Young people die on the road, others commit suicide, some fall ill. Even today, I wonder if she really thinks it or if she just looks good ... My father, he is still not aware. I can not tell him. I do not want to impose that on him.

During the summer, the medical appointments were chained. I knew everything would be fine, I was supported. And yet I experienced my first anxiety attack. It happened suddenly, at the Monoprix cash desk. In the street, I stood firm. Once at home, I wanted to vomit, I cried, I was suffocating. I had this very strange feeling that an alien was running through my veins. I saw the virus climb into every corner of my body. I wanted to tear my skin, to bring out this monster. I was afraid of illness, of moving, of my new school ... It was too much. It happened to me two or three times. Then it calmed down. The anxieties pass.

I started the treatment mid-August: three tablets every twenty-four hours, for life. I made my return serenely. I had almost no side effects, I still do not have any. The doctors had instructed me to be intractable with my lifestyle: stop drinking, smoke , pay attention to me and others.

In November, I met a boy. I felt that we liked, but I resisted.

I was very much alone. I had to breathe, adapt, find peace. We did not have a choice. We loved each other, more and more. Talking about the virus was probably the most difficult step to take. He became my main supporter for everything. He was there. He was afraid, but he stayed. We had to relearn sexuality. With condom. It happened to him to have no more libido. He wanted to break that plastic barrier, to free himself from this restrained sexuality. That too, it had to exceed it. But I think we are very much in love. For two years.

Treatment has become a habit. Between 7:30 pm and 8 pm, I swallow my medications. The first six months, I programmed an alarm on my phone, as for the pill. This mermaid crept into my life to remind me that I should not let a virus ruin my body. It was abject, I thought I was going crazy. Then I deleted this alarm. I was settled. Strange as it may seem, my virus has gradually become a friend. The alien has turned into a fan that I allow to walk in my body.

It's part of me. It's hard to explain, but if you take it off, you'll cut off some of my identity. I grew up with; if I was totally cured, it would probably be another big shock.

I feel guilty. Not to have stopped the pandemic, to have contributed to its extension. While I had access to the condom. Millions of women around the world are living with HIV. Some contracted it as a result of sexual violence; others do not have access to treatment, pass it on to their child for lack of resources. They did not have a choice. Me, I made a mistake. Being HIV-positive in France in the 21st century is nonsense. Finally, I feel guilty about the state.

My salary is very expensive for Social Security: € 1,000 per month.

Three years ago, I had plans to move to New York. Today, France keeps me alive, so I stay. I owe something to my country. I do not have AIDS, and will never have it.

But every day I'm injecting unknown molecules. I'm afraid of growing old prematurely. To change, to lose control. So I decided to testify. I believe in the urgency of fighting against ignorance, because the situation is getting worse. One in three students never use a condom. Hedonist and light, I was, too. But this recklessness is an insult to the struggles of previous generations, activists in the fight against AIDS. That's why I testify. To jostle teens, students, and their parents. They hold the authority; that they abuse it, exceptionally.

Testimonial originally published in Marie Claire magazine's issue 753, May 2015.