I grew up in Detroit, Michigan. At around age four someone abused me and that shut it all down.  I don’t know what trauma went down.  I have no idea. But I was four when I knew something wasn’t right. I became covetous about other people’s physicality- I felt inadequate and wanted to have it, wanted to be it. Later, I understood it to be gay-ish, but it was a bitter, isolated thing- an inadequacy thing. I had all this body-tripping hatred and was anorexic in high school-I wouldn’t eat. 

I was tormented in public schools and eventually put in a gifted children’s school. At the gifted school there were a lot of gay people but we didn’t really talk about it. No one did anything like dating.  I didn’t understand the horny thing because none of my peers were discussing that.

In 1983 I went very, very new wave. I did a very extreme look for Michigan. Big floppy hair seagull wings dyed manic panic red, huge rhinestone earrings, weird art clothes I painted head to toe with giant eyeballs. I started going to the New Wave Night Clubs with my sister.  Really bad, ghetto, bombed out “can’t find it” nightclubs with dead rats in the toilets. We’d be up ‘til four in the morning on weeknights.  My mom let us because we’d get up and go to school the next day.  I went as extreme with it as I could, and that attracted a lot of people.  We had fake IDs, drank a lot, met all kinds of older people and got to see gays, trannies and freaks.  It was a very mixed crowd- early hip-hop people- grand master flashy sounds mixed with Dead or Alive and Morrisey. We felt very elite, very adult, and very cool. 

I was completely sexually shut down in high school; I had never orgasmed.  In high school normal guys circle jerk if they’re straight, gay, or whatever. There was none of that. No one taught me to jerk off. I had no idea what that was about- and the AIDS thing really put a squelch on it. I remember reading Newsweek around 1985 “They’ve traced it to anal sex and gay men”. I remember all of these articles damning anal sex that didn’t have scientific merit. The behavior was demonized.  Because of that and because the clone culture made me sick, I didn’t want anything to do with it.  The clones seemed pinched, uptight, and creepy.  I think what I smelled on them was the artifice- all those signifiers- tight 501’s, flannel, handlebar mustaches- ugh!  It seemed so contrived. What I was looking for was freedom- to be unaffected and unafraid. To be “real” like strait teenage boys in swimming pools- I yearned for that freedom and facility- because I was always very in control of my body and hiding it, and saw myself as if from a third camera at all times. 

So, I didn’t really know what this ‘gay thing’ was or how I fit in or didn’t- but I remember thinking “This is never going to fly in Detroit.”  You’ve got to get away from your family, everyone who knows you, and the guilt by association AIDS. After going to various art schools, I came here to San Francisco with high school friends thinking, “Well, if you’re going to be a freak, this is the place to do it!” 

When we came here I was in homosexual denial. To make it less threatening I went to a coming out group at UC Berkeley- it was a therapeutic environment- a good tactic.  I was 21 and they were all like 18.  They’d invite me back to their dorm rooms, sneak me to the top bunk and try to fool around with me, and I didn’t know what to do with them.  Because of my post-traumatic things it was very hard to be touched physically.  Fortunately I was always saved by campy dorm room drama- “Don’t let the straight roommate know we’re up here fooling around!”  Saved from the horrors of having to get off with these guys. Back then there wasn’t really anal sex involved.  You simply didn’t do that. Later in life we would just get so drunk that both parties would pass out, which meant you wouldn’t have to approach the subject of AIDS and safe sex.  So, anal stuff was pretty much not done in that generation-that time period- that age group.

At that time the Queer Nation explosion was happening. I dabbled in groups like that and ACT UP. It was socially fun, purposeful, and interesting. When you went to a bar, you were there to make connections, plan meetings, and talk about agendas. There seemed to be an urgency and a relevance to being “party trash.”  The two went hand in hand- art, politics, partying, sex.  Queer Nation did good things- it brought people together in ways that loitering around bars wouldn’t do.  I’d get into sexual situations with ACT UP people but I couldn’t stand their meetings. There was so much in-fighting, it was such a harsh vibe.  I’d go to some demonstrations- make some funny politically relevant art sign and hope to get in some magazines. 

It was not expensive to live here. There were always art freaks running around and I met cool people who were older- mentors. Everyone was starting their own clubs. After ACT UP meetings we could go to Club Chaos at the Crystal Pistol.  There was Klubstitute and Uranis- performance clubs mixing theater, rock and roll, alt culture and people from all these different scenes and genders;  writers, theater people, and political people. Those are the people I started having sex with sometimes- freak boys and performer people.  It was always a big, sloppy alcohol scenario to abate the whole fucking aspect of it and to avoid the HIV drama. 

My social group didn’t want me to know they were on speed all the time. I had a car and they relied on me to drive them around while they were twirled out.  They were a little bit older than me and I guess they were protecting me.  They decided to let me have some speed one night.  I had no idea what it was.  I had never even done coke before.  I was totally naïve about it. After doing it I felt so together, and up, and confident, and fun.  I, of course, put on many outfits before going to a party.  These guys were into different types of drag and often spent the evening putting on twenty outfits and maybe spending 10 minutes at the bar, that whole routine. At first meth was social and later sexual.

Meth induces for me, and I think for the majority of gay men, a hyper-hyper sexual mind state. I don’t really know the mechanics of brain chemistry but I know it hits your dopamine pretty hard which makes you horny as fuck.  Around that time I won some money and later Daddy kicked off and I got a trust fund.  It wasn’t much, but I had the privilege of being able to trip out for days on crystal with people and get real intense into these psycho-sexual head trips. Speed made me feel very horny when normally I would never be horny. This went on for years and my alcoholism would come and go.  I’ve had sexual experiences with over 2,000 people.

            I didn’t really hang out with full tilt/full-time tweaker people.  Being “a tweaker” wasn’t an identity thing back then- but I had started using it for sex a lot.  I would keep it to once a month and think that was all right. I still could never fuck.  All of these weird fetishes came to the surface so I was too busy doing that to even bother with fucking.  I had the safest sex for years.  I don’t have HIV now.  I really should, but I think it’s because speed kept me from fucking like a normal person, irony of ironies. 

My sex thing was stuck and there I was thinking I could tweak my way through it.  I became a real sex club hound. I was compulsively picking up guys, two or three times a week, spending at least a day or two with them. Many men who use speed for sex know …or at least I know… it puts me on autopilot.  I don’t have a lot of repression issues around most sexual acts- except the fucking thing.  Maybe it was stigmatized through AIDS.  I actually find fucking repulsive. I don’t like penises or asses.  I’m not interested.  It’s all about torso’s and face’s for me. Every time I’d have a sex scenario with someone, for some reason it became a psychotherapy marathon.  People were very needy and I’m not saying I am some magical therapy-Mother-Teresa person, but I was genuinely very interested in people on a personal level and they bonded with me on an emotional level. Maybe for me, it helped detract from the fact I couldn’t get off and that I had all this body trauma.  I knew I was covering over a lot of things that were broken in my life.  Masking things and creating that horniness-illusion that my body couldn’t physically do on its own. I also knew the connections were an illusion, when the last line was gone, the whole scenario would be gone.

Knowing that, I couldn’t really be in the moment. I think the drug works better for some people and covers up this stuff more completely.  For me, I’m always conscious about the illusionary aspect of it, and that is somewhat depressing- especially with the crash.  Thinking about how much time I spent having those kinds of sexual experiences- it kind of made sex more of a problem for me.  It made it more repugnant or repulsive.

I met my first boyfriend tweaking at the End Up. He was eight years older than me. I had no experience with dating, love, making boundaries, what codependence is, or any of that crap.  I was a nervous wreck around him because he was so controlling. He was alternately abusive, adoring, codependent, nuts, brilliant, sad. He wanted to know where I was at all times. He wanted exclusive monogamy.  We were co-using. He didn’t work.  He was a mess. I enabled him all the time and visa versa.  I rescued him a lot. I felt that need to be needed.  I became a 24/7 drunk.

When he got tossed out of his apartment, I took him in.  I started to pay for things.  I didn’t know he was incredibly in debt.  It became this weird parental rescue trip, which I didn’t realize I had been doing most of my life and would continue doing even after him.  My downward spiral started then and I haven’t been the same since then.  I left him when he got violent with me.

Then came a rebound boyfriend- a very sweet young hot Italian boy who I thought was way out of my league. It was a big crystal connection. Going to his apartment was fun and got me away from my household- which was having its own speed drama from hell (including orgies in my living room and people spooging on my leather furniture). When we partied and would do the same amount of speed it became apparent he was tweak-damaged, it had a totally different physiological and mental effect on him. On top of that, he would stay up for five days in a row, get psychosis and lose his mind. It didn’t work out.

I finally learned to shoot my wad so to speak. It’s so weird, when I orgasm this emotional wave comes, like a tide coming over me- immediately drenching me in shame and self-disgust.  And it’s not like I was raised Catholic or otherwise instructed to demonize this stuff. It is what it is. I’ve never been really afraid of AIDS- I just thought, “Well, you do what you do and protect yourself and the other person.  How hard can it be?” And there have been accidents.  I have bottomed. Speed allowed me to bottom out for the two boyfriends and various other people, which I don’t really like doing, but I love being the object.  Speed puts me in this weird narcissistic tripped out state- enjoying myself as an object and getting into seeing myself as an object in mirrors. Even though I have body issues, when I am high I am able to self fetishize. Thinking you’re hot, being able to isolate body parts or sex acts away from the grid. It’s like OCD and things become disembodied pieces and parts. There are often a lot of different things going on at the same time- you are simultaneously hyperfocused and being in many places at many times- you can steer your mind through however you want to do it. 

With speed there’s also a really great social thing- everything was so amplified.  Fuck, you spend like two days with someone that you don’t even know.  They’re endlessly fascinating, they reveal so much. Then of course, once the last line is gone, you’re like, “Oh well, here’s my phone number.”  That’s the kiss of death.  I used to have trash bags full of them.  Does anyone call anyone? Is it a real number?  It’s not really relevant.  This is all pre-internet stuff.  I’ve actually never done internet hook-ups.  I like the hunt.  I like the vibe.  Which speed was great for, at the time.  It really put me in that animal exhilarated “flight or fight” hunter mode.

It always began with a couple drinks.  It’s not uncommon- then several more drinks.  Leading to the decision “Oh, I think I’ll tweak today.”  You call up a dealer, go rendezvous, and then you’re on autopilot.  Sometimes I would think “Oh my God, I should just go home and do some art or play with my sad cat, do laundry- something.” But, no. It’s this night of the week and this thing is happening in this bar that attracts this type of guy you are interested in.  Despite whatever inadequacies I felt in those cruising situations I wanted to be there anyways. Because for me ‘not participating’ has always been much worse. I feel like I’ve got to throw myself into the snake pit because the ‘non-participating thing’ plagued me all through childhood and high school. I accrued all this pent up covetousness I had to over compensate for later. 

Speed would force me into a state where things would just happen.  I think a lot of gay men are on a very similar trajectory- letting that drug do all the work for them when they don’t really know how to manage it themselves. Personally I don’t have any problem with being emotionally vulnerable- I’m an open book with people.  I actually like myself quite a bit and always have.  When I do speed I’m looking for a more physical type of fix.  It always feels like a fix, the sex hunt thing, it’s like a fix.  I think I have this in common with so many gay men- speed puts you in a “me- as –animal” state. It’s like emotional armor that allows guys to do things and present themselves in ways they wouldn’t otherwise.  Like someone putting on a leather harness they would normally never even think about wearing- when you are high suddenly it lifts, supports, and separates in ways you could never imagine! 

My life was pretty hideous. My alcoholism was so full tilt I was seizing up if I didn’t have a drink every fifteen minutes. Eventually I was like “Shit.” I went home to Michigan where there wasn’t any crystal.  When I decided to move back to San Francisco I had finally gotten SSI for depression- I bounced from place to place with various degenerate messes.  My alcoholism came back several times; I had some seizures, some hospitalizations… not pretty.  The drinking was stealing all my rent money and I’d get physically addicted quickly.  I quit drinking because it was putting me in seizures, making me look bad, ugly, bloated icky.  Alcohol as a crutch doesn’t make you socially acceptable.  You go into a store.  You stink like booze.  You’re dropping things.  Hello, get away from him…you know what I mean?  You think you’re being more connected and it’s easier, but it just makes everything so much harder.  Booze is one of the most evil, insidious, hideous, drugs.  I was like “to hell with this shit.” 

I had dabbled in recovery before. I used to go to Stonewall.  I went to NA for a while; I understand how it works for people. It doesn’t really work for me.  I don’t do instructions- even if I buy a clock radio- I just don’t. I thought NA would be a healthier place to meet people on a social level than floating around bars.  Bars are so alluring as temporary fixes. Ultimately I think that speed can be very, very isolating.  It may seem social and sexually accepting, but later it’s very isolating for me- and I’ve seen it be like that for a lot of other people.

I ran into an old trick of mine that I had speed sex with like 12 years ago. He was now homeless and had lost all his teeth, which often happens.  We hung out a few times and that started some consequential thinking in my head.  He wound up at a residential program and told me about it on the street.  He said “Jason, you’ve got to get out of this scenario you’re in.”  I interviewed for the program and it went well.  I knew that beyond my drug and alcohol use- the bigger part of the picture that needed fixing were my social ills, my feelings of inadequacy, isolation, alienation, rejection and economic disempowerment. 

I knew I was really broken and isolated.  Coming back to San Francisco after being away in a Michigan- everyone in SF seemed so perfect, so money, so young, so built, and so gay. I felt so alienated because it wasn’t the funky, punk rock art kookiness that I had lived in.  I felt like I could not keep up with anything in this city anymore.  That led to more isolation, and so I thought, “Well, this residential program environment might teach me some things that I really don’t know anything about.” I thought it might help me address the bigger picture that causes me to use- because the using is just a little band-aid on the rest of it. 

It was a gay specific program and the counselors were very smart and the program let you learn to self advocate.  It’s an intense 3 month boot camp.  Gay men in this culture, often we don’t know how to be intimate with each other in a supportive way and not in a sexual combative way, and that happened there very intensely.  You’re with these people almost 24/7 at first.  To feel cared about mutually is a very intense and beautiful thing.

My big problem at first was that I didn’t listen enough and I was too quick to make sure my needs were getting met- I was being competitive.  I was looking for the differences instead of the similarities, the commonalities, between me and other people.  If you are going into a program, really examine the way you interact with people and society on a bigger level. To me, that is really the cause of whatever chemical “addiction” problems you might be having.  Just be really, really open, you know? And try to have a good time with it, because actually it is a lot of fun. They do try and make it fun and interesting for you.  Enjoy the people for who they are.  Everyone is interesting.  Everyone is fascinating on some level.  Try to avoid the drama. Especially if you’re with a bunch of gays- just try to do everything you can to diffuse that.  Don’t play into anyone’s manipulation and don’t get into your own…don’t think you’re a little kid at school being a brat to the teacher.  There’s a difference between self advocating and being socially dissident- looking at something in your own perspective and being fucky for fucky’s sake, there’s a big difference. 

Don’t victimize yourself with labels.  Don’t be identified by some “addiction.”  Look at the bigger picture.  Depending on the program you go to, they might try and do that with you -they think it helps because it seems to work for some people. Don’t let other people identify you.  Figure it out on your own.  You’re the authority of yourself.  People might think they can guide you because they think they’re experts, but nobody is really truly an expert.  They might just give you a certain perspective.  And if you’re fortunate enough to be in a group situation, let all of the different and diverse voices work for you. That has been very helpful for me. 

That program taught me amazing things that I never could have predicted. It taught me a lot of self acceptance and acceptance and admiration of other people.  I gained appreciation for things in myself I never knew I had- and in other people, too.  I learned to be more diplomatic- we’re all kind of like untrained dogs, you know? With our various ill socialized behavior problems.  It was a lovely, lovely experience, it didn’t concretely teach much about “recovery” per se. But it fit my concept of recovery as a more holistic thing. 

Nowadays I do one-on-one therapy at Stonewall and groups with other people- it’s about being yourself and thriving with yourself. I try look at everything on a more appreciative and open level- you could say spiritual.  I’m not quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t all have to be about sex, drugs, and no rock and roll.  Thriving in life and thriving with other people is my kind of recovery. Offering and getting respect and being fully in the moment and fully engaged and not isolated and hiding and terrified.  And it’s about not letting the things that are broken about me totally rule and define me.

I began appreciating the moment. It is about being it’s about right now. Right now is fine.  I’ve always felt that if I have something to protect, something that’s worth living for, something I’d want to keep in my life- it would keep me sober or at least not a spun-out, dependent, drug altered mess at all times- so I pursue it. 

I don’t really plan on doing meth any more.  It’s not interesting anymore. I’m not going to shoot low and settle for something that doesn’t feel supportive to me.  That’s what I used to do. On drugs I used to do it all the time.  It needs to be more authentic to me now, not like the disposable illusions that meth would always bring me. 

That extends to everything in life… I can’t keep on shooting low or accepting things that aren’t right for me. Being codependent and taking care of other people- getting caught up in that need to be needed.  I can’t keep on doing that. I’m forty. I don’t like this aging thing at all, never did.  But life is short and I can’t keep on making those compromises. That’s what’s keeping me together now. 

I really feel an obligation to give to other people.  I don’t want people going through the crap that I’ve gone through.  Eventually I will help out with some art thing, some therapy thing, work with youth, right now I really don’t know. I’m going to keep myself together first. 

I am still in a program, so in some ways I’m not in the real world yet. We have curfews and we can’t go to or do X, Y or Z.  We have to account for every minute.  In some ways I just want to chuck it all and get the fuck out of there, but I have a strong sense of self preservation.  I’m not going to wind up in some gutter- I have done far too much work on myself.  I can’t really put everything on hold and pretend it doesn’t exist- the sex thing, the body hatred thing. I’ve got to get my body back to a place where I can somewhat accept it.  I’ve got to establish some kind of social support system because I don’t really have any.  That isolation, that loneliness- that will totally do me in and lead me to drugs and self-destruction.  Those are things I need to build in order to get back into the real world.  And that will be the real test.

 

Resources:

1) The Stonewall Project is a harm reduction counseling program for men who have sex with men (meaning queer, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning, or no label) who have questions about speed, want information about speed, want help dealing with speed etc. There's no requirement that you be clean and sober, or even want to be, to join us. 

Drop in One on One Counseling is Available! 

Mon-Friday 4PM-5PM at 3180 18^th Street, Suite 202 (near Folsom)

Wed. 5:30-7PM and Sat. 2PM-4:30PM at Magnet 4122 18th Street (near Castro)

Stonewall Drop In groups   

Wednesday at 6:30PM-8PM, 3180 18th Street, Suite 202 (near Folsom Street)

Stonewall (415) 487-3100

Magnet (415)  581-1600

2) Tweaker.org  Is a site for gay guys who use crystal meth. Tweaker.org does not promote meth, glorify it or glamorize it. Tweaker.org does not condemn using it, criticize it or demonize it. Instead, tweaker.org provides information, support, and resources.