今日吃瓜

FOR聽the past two weeks I have been an inpatient at a private psychiatric hospital in Melbourne. I鈥檓 in the addictions program, because for eighteen months I鈥檝e struggled through a substance abuse problem involving crystal methamphetamine.

The first time I used 鈥榠ce鈥�, it was in the apartment of a man I鈥檇 just met via a gay 鈥渄ating鈥� app. I鈥檇 been out, boozing away an October night, and he was among the most attractive men I鈥檇 ever laid eyes on. I couldn鈥檛 believe that someone like him 鈥� with that body, and that face 鈥� wanted me to pay him a visit.

When I arrived, we made small talk mid-undress, before he pulled out a pipe. I hesitated. I鈥檇 heard all of the horror stories 鈥� my mother would often pull me aside in my adolescence, showing me videos detailing 鈥渢he horrors of meth use鈥�. But when he offered I remember thinking, 鈥淚 can鈥檛 say no to this man. He鈥檚 way too hot. I鈥檒l never get this chance again.鈥� 鈥� So I took it.

That morning escalated into a full day of non-stop partying, as I was introduced to a drug that was made to reel you in. It鈥檚 a factual statement when people say it鈥檚 amazing, because it鈥檚 incredible by design. It chemically induces a massive dump of dopamine and serotonin, and is, in that way and many others, absurdly addictive.

I remember the aftermath being horrific. The comedown tore me asunder, and I swore I鈥檇 never do it again. Then midweek, when the horrible consequences had faded, a little voice in my head 鈥� I describe it as 鈥榓 voice that doesn鈥檛 belong to you鈥�, a creeping vampire 鈥� started to whisper, 鈥淵ou could definitely do that again.鈥�

What was a brief tryst became an unstoppable problem. I went on to overdose twice. I鈥檝e been taken to emergency more times than I can count. And every time I lapsed, I became so ashamed that I would take myself to hospital, because the alternative was to hurl myself from a nearby bridge. It was an addiction, and at the start of this year, something snapped. I knew I needed that extra bit of help.

So here I am, on this bed, in my room 鈥� Room 3.19 鈥� facing my demons in all their hideous glory, for what I hope is the first and last time.

Mine isn鈥檛 the type of addiction you see in the media, and it鈥檚 certainly not the standard crystal meth habit witnessed by the nurses in this clinic. Australia鈥檚 cultural narrative surrounding ice use involves topics like homelessness, violence and poverty. While homelessness and the like are certainly plausible factors, those elements don鈥檛 typically involve gay men. My addiction wasn鈥檛 just to the ice; it was to the sex as well. It was an insidious combination that had me fantasising about taking ice and having sex, until suddenly I couldn鈥檛 have sex without wanting ice.

This is the reality for gay men all over the world. This is chemsex. It鈥檚 a topic that has been barely broached by our mainstream media in Australia. Sure, it鈥檚 been researched by Triple J鈥檚 Hack, and explored in brutally honest documentaries like VICE鈥檚 Chemsex 鈥� but I鈥檝e never heard a story told that wasn鈥檛 viewed through the lens of journalistic voyeurism. So I, as a drug addict in recovery, am telling mine.

The difference between caring for yourself in the outside world, and caring for yourself in rehab, is that on the outside, you can ignore your problems. You can mute the world and reject concern, visit a counsellor once a week to say, 鈥淗ey, I鈥檝e got a problem鈥� 鈥� only to forget their words the following fortnight from your half-an-hour session, blindly declaring 鈥淚 can鈥檛 remember what we talked about. And I didn鈥檛 do the homework.鈥�

Yet in rehab, there is no escape from your woes. They stare you in the face every day when you get up to look at yourself, in the mirror of your suicide-proof bathroom. When you鈥檙e chain-smoking on the foyer pavement with the yellow line dictating where you cannot cross, you are thinking about your addiction. When you鈥檙e in group therapy, you are being forced into cycles of cravings and introspection. And when you visit your psychiatrist, you鈥檙e constantly reminded of your progress and the horrors that brought you here.

I used to think, 鈥淭here鈥檚 no clarity like relapse鈥�.

Fuck that. There鈥檚 no clarity like rehab.

But when it comes to a topic like chemsex, the nurses on your floor, the group therapists and your psychiatrist might not fully comprehend the complexity of your addiction. The severity of chemsex trends is a relatively recent development for the mainstream health sector, the issue amongst gay men being primarily dealt with through gay community organisations.

As my nurses are assessing me, I can鈥檛 help but think, 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 understand at all鈥�. As I sit through my addictions groups, I鈥檓 wondering if these programs 鈥� tailored to alcoholics unable to function without thirty-six beers in a night, and pill-poppers incapable of walking past a chemist without gut-churning desire 鈥� are at all beneficial to me. I tell myself I鈥檓 not your 鈥渦sual addict鈥�. I鈥檓 not like any of these people. I don鈥檛 have it quite like they do.

And yet I am hesitant about venturing back into the world. I fear the world of gay men, gay culture, community health organisations and rampant substance misuse. For the simple reason that I鈥檓 not sure I鈥檇 get much help there, either.

Gay men in Australia despise being pathologised. We鈥檝e grown up being told that we鈥檙e somehow defective. That our very beings are a scourge and our sex lives forbidden. As a result, we鈥檝e developed our own communities; 鈥渟afe spaces鈥� won through a desperate fight for survival during very difficult decades. We鈥檝e earned these spaces as gifts from struggling forefathers.

We鈥檝e inherited gay sexual liberation among these spaces 鈥� and we have it, in spades. It鈥檚 in our dildo-adorned window displays in gay districts, our saunas and sex-on-premises venues, our gay magazines and advertising campaigns. Gay sexual liberation is everywhere.

Our nightclubs are awash in party drugs used 鈥渇or pleasure鈥�, recreationally. In the past, there were drugs like MDMA and ecstasy, and rarely would you see men checking into treatment clinics with issues involving addiction. We fought for the right to use these drugs, against all eyebrows raising and finger-wagging. And how dare you ever infer that we could ever be addicts, and that we are anything other than liberated homosexuals.

Now, newer struggles to coincide with our successes have been bestowed upon the younger generation. 聽More powerful drugs have entered the scene, like crystal meth and GHB. These are drugs that have real consequences, which cost lives in both the short-term and the long. All over the world, frightening tides of change are rising, as more gay men enter addiction services and emergency clinics due to crystal methamphetamine and GHB misuse. Our self-messaging 鈥� 鈥淗ow dare you imply we could ever be addicts? We鈥檙e powerful and free鈥� 鈥� simply isn鈥檛 working as we鈥檇 hoped it would.

Gay health organisations in Australia notoriously understate the severity of the problem. Australian gay reviewers berated Chemsex for being 鈥渟ensationalised鈥� and 鈥渆xploitative鈥� 鈥� when myself and so many addicts in recovery saw it as nothing more than an honest depiction of a brutal truth.

And we call meth 鈥楾ina鈥� 鈥� the name of a fun party girl 鈥� to distract from the reality of the risky substance we鈥檙e using.

These are growing trends we never had with ecstasy or MDMA. We never saw them during our fight for gay sexual liberation. We never lost men to seedy apartments in weeklong benders on powerful drugs capable of stopping our hearts, easily accessed via our gay 鈥渄ating鈥� apps. And yet here they are, these hurricane horrors, with chokehold vice-grips on the throats of our youth, young ones ill-equipped to handle them.

I fear returning to my ordinary world; because I worry those safe spaces have become stagnant. These spaces need to be re-imagined, reinvented to help a newer generation of homosexual men unable to withstand the greater forces that push against them.

I love my community. I love its vibrancy, its colour, and its insistence on responding to hatred with love. I love the victories we鈥檝e made, whether for gay sexual liberation or the right to simply exist. What I do not love 鈥� I cannot 鈥� is the resistance towards vulnerability; the stone-cold advertorials for gay nightclubs, which purport that to be a gay man, is to be harsh, fuck-mad and the visual embodiment of physical perfection.

We come together in times of strife 鈥� then trot along to our gay bars and clubs, full of judgment, vitriol and value based solely on aesthetics. We need to do more than just get intoxicated and show off our sexiness; we must turn them into places where we can meet as real-time humans. Places where we can discuss more kindly the issues we don鈥檛 talk about online. 聽Places where we can be vulnerable, at last, after so many years of strife.

The time to fight for gay sexual liberation and safe spaces is over, those victories won. The time to redefine them is here. And we must do so from a place of self-awareness and self-care, with compassion for our partners and our friends, through trying years of greater risks and more ferocious harms.

I remember I had an overdose that saw me riding on a gurney into an emergency room. The hospital didn鈥檛 have any beds available 鈥� full of people with real problems, not self-inflicted – so I was left in emergency, unable to rest or sleep, my heart pounding and head throbbing, feeling like I was going to die, for eight straight hours.

I have survived to stand here, sober and in recovery. Here I am in rehab, getting the help that I need. But I will never forget that night. I never want to feel that way again.

And I don鈥檛 want anyone else in my community to feel that way either.