This is a story from an anonymous reader about their journey with alcohol and drugs from a young age and how they found their way through the darkness with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA).
“I started drinking and using drugs when I was around 16. At that time, I didn’t fully grasp why; it just felt like a lot of fun. From the very beginning, I drank until I blacked out and quickly moved on to harder substances with older guys I met while sneaking out to club in a nearby town.
Looking back, it’s taken me a long time to realize that alcohol allowed me to escape from myself. I hated who I was and had incredibly low self-esteem. My father rejected me around age 12, and I sought what I now recognize as paternal love online. Unfortunately, older men in their 30s and 40s took advantage of my vulnerability in the worst ways. Alcohol dulled the pain and gave me a false sense of confidence. Even on the last night of my drinking, a decade later, it still masked my pain.
I excelled academically, getting straight As and attending some of the best universities in the world. I landed high-powered jobs in politics, all while being a mess. Not every day, but usually from Thursday to Sunday, I was intoxicated. I knew I was struggling, but I never thought my behavior was abnormal; I believed I was living my best life among others who also drank heavily and used drugs. In hindsight, I see how unhappy I truly was.
When I wasn’t high or drunk, I was paranoid, constantly on Grindr looking for anyone or anything to hook up with, unable to form meaningful relationships, and completely lost when it came to managing my emotions.
By the end of my drinking and drug use, my life was painfully monotonous. I repeated the same routine weekly, surrounded by the same people, visiting the same bars and clubs, engaging in the same destructive conversations. I only socialized when I was drunk; otherwise, I was alone at home. I often woke up in the middle of the night, plagued by visions of demons watching me. On Sundays, after days of partying on MDMA and cocaine, I would lie on my sofa, sweating and crying, hearing voices. I felt incredibly alone and sick.
Despite all this, I didn’t recognize that I was a drug addict or that there was an alternative to my way of living. It felt normal to me because I had never experienced life differently. I never realized that the substances I thought were the best part of my life were actually destroying me.
In the summer of 2012, I visited my best friend in the States. She had seen my drug and alcohol use worsen over the years. While there, a mutual friend—a beautiful girl doing a PhD—who had been sober for two years in AA shared her story. My best friend suggested I was behaving like her. It took months for that idea to sink in while I partied harder than ever, engaging in increasingly reckless behavior and becoming more paranoid and upset.
Eventually, one November morning, I called my friend and confessed that I couldn’t continue living this way. I wasn’t sure if I would have harmed myself, but I was desperate. She hung up but called back moments later, saying she had found an AA meeting in my city and booked a taxi to take me there, knowing I wouldn’t go without that push.
So, I went. I sat at the AA meeting, cried for an hour, and then went home. I tried to drink a beer but couldn’t. That was seven years ago, and I haven’t touched alcohol or hard drugs since.
Being sober is a gift, even if sometimes I wish I hadn’t received it. Once I stopped drinking and using drugs, my mind exploded with clarity. I had to learn how to interact with people and deal with family, friends, and work without escaping into substances. It was incredibly painful, beautiful, and intense.
I couldn’t have done it alone. While some manage to get sober without support, I was too frightened. For me, AA worked well. It isn’t perfect, but I found unconditional love from people who truly understood my struggles—straight, old, young, men, women—everyone wanted to help.
Over the years, it has become easier, even though the beginning was very lonely. Suddenly, I didn’t know what to do on weekends without alcohol to ease the anxiety of the gay scene and clubs. I made mistakes: I dated a drug addict, took jobs surrounded by alcoholics, and attended chemsex parties sober. But somehow, I didn’t relapse.
I believe that behavior was part of letting go of the life I thought I wanted. It was painful but necessary. After about six years of sobriety, I felt strong enough to start therapy. I learned what it meant to be a gay teenager in a world that didn’t accept me. I confronted the trauma of being raped and abused by older men and realized how I had blocked that out for years. I understood that my struggle with intimacy stemmed largely from this trauma.
I also discovered why my self-esteem was so tied to being noticed by other guys, why I obsessed over my body image, and why I felt invisible in clubs. Overall, being sober is incredible. I’m learning about myself and experiencing each day without substances clouding my perception. Experiencing Berghain without drugs is possible and beautiful, and waking up refreshed the next day feels amazing. I feel everything now; there’s no escape. It’s both a blessing and a curse.
I’ve made peace with my family, including my dad, who wore pride trainers this past summer to show his support. Most days, I’ve let go of the past abuse. While it’s not completely over, I feel more secure in myself, and intimate relationships are less daunting than they once were. I have no doubt that if I hadn’t stopped when I did, I would be dead. For that reason, I’m grateful.
My sponsor, a wonderful woman I met years ago in AA, once told me to wear life like a loose garment. I can do that now. Most days, I feel joy in being alive and living my life. I try to share this with anyone who’s open to it, even if I annoy some people in the process.
I don’t believe there’s a right or wrong way to live. We’re all on our own journeys, with unique experiences, pains, and loves. I needed alcohol and drugs to survive, and I could only stop when I was ready to see that there was another way.
I’ve known several people who have overdosed and died from addiction, and it breaks my heart. Even though it frustrates me that so few choose to get sober and wake up, I do my best not to judge. We live in a challenging world, especially as LGBTQ+ individuals, and we do what we must to cope.
I wish more LGBTQ+ people understood that it’s possible to be a happy, sober person and that drugs aren’t necessary for a fulfilling life. It’s not easy, but neither is being a drug-addicted alcoholic. Go to an AA meeting with an open mind. Listen for the similarities, not the differences. And if that feels too daunting, just ask for help. If you reach out, the universe will respond in some way. That’s been my experience.”
