My Rare Disease Became the Best Dating Filter I Never Asked For.

Eda Dolunay
2 hours ago
7 min read

As children, most of us romanticized that dark allure at least once. Watching vampire films and TV shows, there's always a voice inside us that whispers, "I wish..." The jet-black hair, the porcelain skin, and that unshakable, powerful presence. You can hypnotize people. You're faster, stronger, and above all, you're always shrouded in an untouchable, "cool" mystery.

I'm Eda. A 23-year-old, modern-day vampire. But unfortunately, my life isn't quite as aesthetic as it looks on screen. In my world, porcelain skin means going into battle every time I spend too long in the sun, especially during the height of summer. My mystery isn't an effort to be "cool"; it's a strategic survival plan to prevent my blood from staging a flare-up and destroying me at the slightest hint of sleep deprivation or stress. While vampires in films are portrayed as superheroes, in my real life it means bathing in SPF 50 sunscreen before every single date, never stepping outside without a hat, and trying to hide the sunspots on my legs as if I'm making some kind of intentional fashion statement.

The mysterious answers I gave on dates to questions like "Why aren't you drinking?" or "Why are you leaving so early?"were actually just my attempts to stay alive. But the most tragicomic part of it all was men assuming this was a calculated, well-rehearsed "hard-to-get" tactic I was playing on them.

At that moment, looking at those shallow men sitting across from me—who saw my health as nothing more than a glitch in their own comfort—I couldn't help but wonder: Was I supposed to be sad that this disease had ruined my love life, or should I actually be grateful that it saved me from such selfish people through nothing more than a metabolic burden?

The Biological Bodyguard: More Than Just a Myth

If you're familiar with the origins of the vampire myth, you probably know that the legend is rooted in a tragic medical reality: porphyria. While this connection was popularized in 1985 through biochemist David Dolphin's theory, the roots of the story stretch back to the dark streets of medieval Europe. The skin of people with porphyria is so sensitive to UV rays that contact with sunlight can cause severe burns and blisters. The image of the vampire turning to ash in the sun was born from this painful reality. In severe cases, receding gums can make the teeth appear longer and sharper, creating the illusion of vampire fangs, while the accumulation of porphyrin can turn the teeth a reddish-brown hue. Even the blood-drinking and "madness" portrayed in vampire stories have been linked to what we now understand as porphyria attacks.

Legends say vampires drink blood to survive. My reality is the exact opposite. I have to protect the balance of my own blood to stay alive. In the eighteenth century, my pale skin and avoidance of sunlight would probably have made me the subject of local folklore. Today, it simply makes me the protagonist of a series of romantic tragedies.

Being a vampire is particularly ironic in the modern dating scene. When I tell people about my condition on a date, the responses usually fall into three tragicomic categories.

"I'm actually a werewolf too, so maybe let's not meet during the full moon."

As if we're on the set of a fantasy film.

"Do you bite? You won't drink my blood, right?"

As if it's a dietary preference rather than a medical condition.

"How do I know you haven't hypnotized me into going out with you?"

At that third question, my inner voice immediately replies: "Honey, if I had the power to hypnotize anyone in the world while Jacob Elordi is out there, do you really think I'd choose you?" People think it's a fantasy story. But the moment they realize that sleep deprivation, stress, and a lack of routine can literally poison my blood, that "cool" vampire image quickly gives way to reality. And that's where my story really begins.

The Defective Dress and the Broken Machine

When my last relationship ended—and the reason for the breakup was precisely that vampire heritage flowing through my veins—I felt like a wild animal that needed to be tamed. Or worse, I felt like an expensive dress bought in an end-of-season sale that nobody wanted to wear because it had a defect.

I was excluded. I was lonely. And, most painfully of all, I felt like a medical pamphlet nobody had bothered to read.

During that time, so the person across from me wouldn't complain about me being "broken," I completely exiled myself from the sunlight. I became a shadow that only emerged under the moonlight in midsummer, hiding behind oversized hats, SPF 50+ sunscreen, and oversized sunglasses during the day. The long skirts I wore to hide the sunspots on my legs weren't a style choice. They were shields of shame. Because explaining why my legs resembled a constellation was far harder than exhausting my date's shallow imagination.

"Why does it take you so long to get ready?"

"It's just one cocktail. You won't die!"

As I buckled under those questions, I began presenting myself to the world as a broken machine that constantly needed fixing. And the most ironic part? Men thought my survival strategies were part of some mysterious woman persona. While they believed I was trying to be unreachable, I was simply trying not to spend the next day in bed recovering from a flare-up.

Every weary "yes" I gave to unplanned nights and every attempt to "look normal" became a quiet betrayal of my own blood. Back then, I saw porphyria as the greatest obstacle standing between me and love. But I couldn't stop wondering: Was my body sabotaging my love life, or was my love life sabotaging my body?

Until I accepted my own reality, I was missing the greatest secret that the noble blood in my veins was trying to tell me: I wasn't broken. My standards were simply being protected at a metabolic level.

The Biological Bullshit Detector

In reality, everyone should have much clearer boundaries when dating. We should know what we want, and if we don't, we should at least know what we don't want. Not knowing either is the ultimate rookie mistake. Our boundaries protect us from getting hurt, preserve our self-respect, and remind us that love should never come at the expense of ourselves. But relationships have a funny way of blurring those boundaries. Sometimes we get swept away by the attention we're receiving or distracted by how attractive someone is, and we overlook the red flags. It can take months for most women to realise that the man sitting across from them is selfish, inconsistent, or deeply lacking in empathy—especially if he's putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. I, on the other hand, can reach that conclusion within the first 48 hours. Sometimes all it takes is watching his reaction when I tell him I don't drink.

I used to think being a "vampire" was an obstacle to my dating life. Now I realise this defect in my blood was actually one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given. Think about it. How "special" can someone really be if they insist on taking me out in the middle of the afternoon after I've already explained my sensitivity to the sun? Or how healthy could a relationship ever become with someone who mocks me for refusing alcohol?

In reality, this disease became the perfect detector of how much respect someone had for me and my boundaries. Porphyria filters out all the weak links in my dating pool before I even have to. It immediately shows the door to the impatient ones, the "you're so high-maintenance" crowd, and the people who don't want me—they want the problem-free version of me they've invented in their heads.

My body tells me something incredibly simple: If a date sees your health as an inconvenience, he's choosing his comfort over your wellbeing. And let's be honest. What narcissist could tolerate the focus shifting from himself to a woman's metabolic balance?

I experienced the most tragicomic example of this at the end of one date. When I suddenly had a flare-up for reasons I didn't yet understand, instead of supporting me, the man sitting across from me looked terrified. "I'm so scared of you right now that I can't even look at you." Then he put me in a taxi and sent me to the hospital. As I sat in the back of that cab on my way to the emergency room, I found myself thanking God. Not because I was sick. Because I'd been saved from a man with so little compassion before I'd wasted any more of my time. It was a blessing that it ended that early.

On that taxi ride, I couldn't stop wondering: Does our body sometimes notice the red flags before we do and wave them at us through metabolic crises?

Sorry, I Only Date People Who Are SPF 50+ Compatible

In the back of that taxi, I understood one thing very clearly: My love life hadn't been ruined at all.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. My body was stopping me from wasting time on the wrong people.

It was teaching me that I was the most valuable thing I had to protect. It was proving that everyone who tried to tame me belonged far away from me. My love life had simply become more selective because, above all, my blood had become more selective. I wasn't broken. I was simply different. And let's be honest—we all are. Every one of us comes with our own complexities, boundaries, vulnerabilities, and needs. None of those things make us difficult to love. They simply determine who is capable of loving us well. Most importantly, we all deserve a healthy love in which our boundaries are respected.

Now, no one gets to gamble with my metabolism by saying, "One drink won't hurt." No one gets to steal my next day by saying, "Just stay a little longer." My condition taught me that the ultimate luxury is being able to say the most elegant "no." What I once carried as a shield of shame—as a defect to be hidden—I now see as a very narrow and very prestigious door through which only the truly worthy can pass.

Looking at my pale reflection in the mirror as I put on my red lipstick, I know something I didn't know before. No wrong heart can weary a woman who is at peace with her own blood. If it weren't for porphyria, perhaps I would still be a "normal" woman trying to please everyone else while melting beneath the sun at shallow dinner tables. Instead, I became someone who shines within her own darkness.

Yes, vampire disease ruined my dating life. And thank God it did.