David

David, born 1975, gay, positive since 2004

The day I got diagnosed is one I’ll never forget.
I had just met my newborn nephew for the first time. On the way home, my doctor called and told me to come in right away.
I already knew.
Hearing the words didn’t make it any easier.

My first thought was: One arrives, one leaves.

I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to.
I spent the day walking through the city – alone, aimless, and completely overwhelmed.
There were offers of help – but I couldn’t say yes.
Not because I didn’t need it, but because it would’ve made everything real.
Being seen felt dangerous.

Back then, it felt like a second coming-out – not about who I love, but about what I carry.
The fear of being left out. Of being judged.
Would I lose my job? My family?

My friends held me up. They gave me space when I had no words.

That was 2004. I was 28.

Today, I’m doing well – physically and emotionally.
I live my life, not my diagnosis.
I work in aviation, which takes me around the world – and somehow, always back to myself.

I ground myself by hiking, gardening, fixing, building –
but mostly through real, honest connection.

That’s why I became a Buddy.
To offer space.
To simply be there.
To listen without pushing.
To search for questions you might not dare to ask yet – and maybe to hold the silence, if that’s what’s needed. Together. Not alone.

Sometimes all it takes is one conversation.
No pressure.
No judgment.
Maybe while walking.
Maybe over coffee.
Exactly when you're ready.

We Buddys are here.
I'm here.

David