Six years of partying takes its toll. I started out in the city, back in 2012, full of optimism, life and a new job working in consultancy. I was moving and breaking free from my past to become someone new, find my success and achieve my dreams.
Within the first few months of moving to the city I decided to come out as gay. There had always been something there. In fact I had already been attending saunas, craigslist, to sleep with older men and find as much sex as I could, discretely. I had no initiation into the gay world, but to simply manoeuvre myself into the bottom position. One of my first experiences on my job was missing my train home. I had to find somewhere to stay. Drunk and out of options and not willing to pay, I found myself a sauna.
Fortunately, after having worked several years in a burger joint I had found a slimmer, more attractive version of myself. I am incredibly boy next door looking. Totally drunk out of my head; I don’t really remember a lot a part from the words “Does he want fucking? Yeah, I think he does.” I woke up the next day. Took a shower. A visitor from another city told me that the whole sauna had found my ass hanging out in the air, I don’t even know if it was safe, but all I remember is that I don’t remember anything.
I was late for one of my onboarding days at work. Full of shame I went to a shop to buy some clothes so that it didn’t look like I had done something naughty. Three months later I was told I had three STI’s (gonnorhea, syphilis and chlamydia).
My introduction into this world didn’t get much better. I would always be drunk and sleeping around. It escalated. I found myself with a wonderfully accented friend who would take me around sex parties from Friday night thru Sunday. I’ll call him Mickey. A mixture of Grindr, Sex, Mephedrone, GHB, Water, Cocaine – taken up the nose, in bombs, diluted in water syringed up the bum, and blown up straws into bum, led to an ecstasy and sex high that lasted all weekend and ended in a curry on a Monday night exhausted after covering up in work.
At least I told myself, the sex was safe.
It escalated further. When Mickey broke up with me I didn’t know what to do. I was in puppy love. So I did the same thing, started on the Cyrstal Meth, found myself experiencing the highs and lows of intravenous drug use. Overdosing and crying in the emergency room, in hospital. Overnight stays. I had a HIV+ diagnosis. I was pleading, asking for help but it didn’t come. I was experiencing a crisis induced by trauma in a world that I had found myself in. Then came the endless searching on BBRT for sex parties and drugs. In fact, at one point I had found myself just looking for drugs, sex was a bonus. I experienced psychosis.
Underneath this all was an incredibly sad person who couldn’t find his path. And then came Mr Love. We partied together but the dynamics changed. I found some stability and love and care. He wasn’t employed, lived minimally but found the care to feed me. Eventually we parted ways and I found myself out of love. I was deeply unhappy. But the using had diminished. When I couldn’t find myself sober, I went to a shrink. I had reached the last crisis I could tolerate. I went for a bi-polar assessment. I came out from the shrink with a referral to an addictions specialist. I soon ended up in Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous. Life could not be more lower.
The only thing I kept throughout all this madness was my job and I had managed a promotion in all the chaos.
Today I am still at the start of my sobriety. The path to recovery isn’t a silver bullet, its a process. A dynamic process that lasts many years and allows me to grow further and farther and in a new way.
I’ve started this anonymous blog as a way of writing and sharing with you my experiences, in an unstructured way. If you feel you have a problem with emotions; alcohol; drugs; narcotics; money; life, please look for the similarities not the differences. I have no judgement of you and have no advice to share. I only have my experience. Listen to what you need.