Access to health care in Texas is not just about whether someone has insurance or can afford a doctor’s visit—it is about survival. As a young adult navigating this system, I have faced challenges that go beyond policy failures. My experience reflects the consequences of a system where limited resources create barriers to care, leaving vulnerable individuals without the support they need.
I was diagnosed with HIV after surviving a hate crime. Health care access became a critical concern in the aftermath, yet the system was not designed to ensure my stability. Even as a U.S. citizen, I encountered targeted discrimination—not just from individuals but from institutions that should have been a source of protection.
While working at a nonprofit dedicated to legal advocacy, I lost my job unexpectedly, along with my income and health insurance. This left me scrambling to find life-saving care in a system where access is conditional and health care is treated as a privilege rather than a right. My experience underscores the dangers of an inequitable system—one where those who need care the most are often left behind and where even those fighting for justice can find themselves without support.
Without access to essential health care, survival becomes uncertain. That is why it is crucial to create systems that ensure everyone—regardless of status, background, or circumstance—can receive the care they need to live healthy and stable lives.
Texas, despite being one of the wealthiest states in the country, continues to fail its young adults—especially those of us who are already marginalized. I have witnessed firsthand the consequences of a broken system. Having lived near the border, I have seen people trafficked, exploited, and disappeared. Public health resources that should have been used to protect vulnerable populations were misallocated and manipulated by corrupt individuals for personal gain. I have seen funds meant for public health initiatives siphoned into systems of harm, used to cover up human trafficking operations rather than prevent them.
My identity as a Latino has been tainted by this corruption. Public health is supposed to be about healing, safety, and equity, yet I have seen it weaponized against the very people it is meant to protect. It is this reality—not just my HIV status—that has driven me to pursue a career in public health. I have seen how surveillance systems fail to protect those at risk, how health care resources are deliberately mismanaged, and how policy decisions actively contribute to suffering instead of alleviating it.
Medicaid has been a lifeline for me, but it is not a sustainable solution when policies and eligibility requirements shift with every election cycle. One change in leadership, one funding cut, and I could be left without the care I need to survive. Lawmakers must understand that health care access is directly tied to safety. When resources are limited, people become desperate, and desperation leads to violence, resentment, and harm. The solution is not to pit marginalized communities against one another but to ensure that everyone has access to the care they need so that no one feels forced to destroy another person’s life just to gain control over their own.
Policies must be in place to protect young adults from being discarded by the system—whether through job loss, health care cuts, or outright violence. We cannot allow scarcity to justify harm. The reality is that people like me should not have to fight this hard just to exist. I have done everything I was supposed to do—worked, studied, earned degrees, contributed to my community—yet I have been punished simply for being who I am.
This is not just my story; it is the story of countless others who fall through the cracks of a broken system, left vulnerable to exploitation, illness, and violence. Public health should be about protecting people, not endangering them. Until our policies reflect that, survival will continue to be a privilege rather than a right.