I found out I was HIV positive in the spring of 2005, just a few weeks before my 24th birthday. There wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary, just time for the seasonal STI screening I felt every sexually active gay man should engage in. I remember being impatient to get the appointment over with, so I could meet up with my friends at the record store; and I remember being able to see the results in the doctor’s sad, kind eyes before I heard them come out of his mouth. As he talked about how far we we’ve come since the ’80s and advances in medical understanding, I felt waves of numbness wash over my body. I just kept thinking “My life is over.” Of course I was wrong, but at the time I was convinced I had just been handed a death sentence.