I don't care what anyone says; recovery from chemsex is an entirely different journey than with any other substance or process addiction.
Men aren't just quitting a chemical; they are walking away from a community, culture, and, at times, a safe haven from the burden of societyal norms.
When you leave chemsex behind, you are not leaving behind a vice. You are leaving behind an identity, a set of relationships, a way of moving through the world.
You are grieving.
You were given a temporary relief from the shit gay men have to live with on a daily basis, a free ticket to fuck without shame, freedom from pain.
Of course, we eventually realize that chemsex may provide relief from suffering, but it also becomes the cause of it.
And that is when we realize that the suffering it causes outweighs the relief it provides. We must walk away. That part of us must die.
The grief of this man we were able to embody is real.
I've found it helpful for men in recovery to compare their grieving process to the five stages of grief, first mapped out by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross for people facing death.
You may not move through them in order. You may spiral back. You may camp out in one for months. That is the shape of real grief.
DENIAL
Denial is where most guys live before they ever reach out.
For me, I barely had time to be in denial because of the frequency of my use. When you are slamming multiple times a day, your brain won't function at a critical level.
Subconsciously, I was denying the problem. Even when I was being evicted from my home, I couldn't comprehend that it was actually happening. The sheriff gently escorted me out the door, where I stood on the street in shock. I was officially unhoused.
Denial for many guys can sounds like:
I can moderate.
I can keep this going.
I only take it for energy.
I can use it on weekends.
This is not a problem yet.
My life is not falling apart.
My dealer is my best friend.
The sex is incredible, the community accepts me, and I belong here.
Denial is the belief that you can sustain the chemsex life indefinitely without consequence. It is the voice that minimizes. It is the voice that compares your using to other guys who are way worse.
Denial is not stupidity. It is survival. Your brain is protecting you from a truth it is not yet ready to face.
But denial has an expiration date.
At some point, the evidence becomes undeniable. The G-outs stack up. The money disappears. The loneliness deepens even in a room full of guys. The paranoia sets in. The body breaks down. And then you have a choice: keep denying, or finally admit that this is costing you something you cannot afford to lose.
That is when the grief actually begins.
Journal Prompts:
- What truths about my using have I been minimizing, comparing away, or refusing to look at directly?
- Who in my life sees what I cannot see yet, and what have they tried to tell me?
- If I were watching a friend live my exact life, what would I say to him?
Exercise: Write a one-page evidence list. No softening. No justifying. Just the facts of what your using has actually cost you in money, relationships, health, time, dignity, and dreams deferred. Read it out loud to yourself.
ANGER
Once you admit there is a problem, the anger comes fast. It is white hot, and it needs a target.
During this stage, I held such unfounded contempt for those who cared for me the most. I was so bitter toward my mother and sister who had kept me alive and safe during my use when I made misguided decisons.
I was like a child throwing a tantrum. My candy had been taken from me. Oh, how I spent time dwelling on the injustice of the world-- why couldn't I just enjoy myself? Why couldn't I just live the life I wanted?
Some other common anger points:
You are angry at your dealer for making it easy to use.
You are angry at the guys who introduced you to this life.
You are angry at yourself for being so hungry for connection that you walked into it willingly.
You are angry at the community for making it feel like home when it was actually quicksand.
You are angry that you have to give up something that felt so good, so alive, so real.
You are angry that other guys get to keep using without consequences while you are here having to rebuild everything.
You are angry at recovery, at your coach, at the process that is asking you to grieve something beautiful and terrible at the same time.
The anger is righteous. It is justified. It is also the energy that either propels you forward or keeps you stuck.
If you stay in anger without moving through it, you will use again just to punish everyone who hurt you, including yourself. The anger is telling you something true: something real was taken from you. And it hurts.
Journal Prompts:
- Who am I most angry at right now, and what specifically did they take from me?
- Where is my anger pointing me toward something I need to grieve or protect?
- What would it look like to honor my anger without letting it run my life?
Exercise: Write an unsent letter to one person you are angry at. Your dealer, your ex, the friend who introduced you, yourself. Do not hold back. Say everything. Then read it, sit with it, and burn it or shred it. The release is in the writing, not the sending.
BARGAINING
Bargaining is the negotiation between the life you had and the life you are building.
I tried negotiating with Tina. She will always win. After some time being meth-free, I would convince myself that I was strong enough to use meth recreationally. I tried to fit so many different variables into place: once per month, only on vacation, only with so-and-so... Nothing ever worked for me.
How might you be bargaining:
It sounds like:
If I just stay friends with these guys but don't use, I can keep the community.
If I just see my dealer once to say goodbye, I can have closure.
If I just go to one party sober, I can prove I have control.
If I can be one of those guys who uses recreationally, who can handle it once in a while, I can maintain my relationships and my job and my dignity.
Bargaining is looking for every possible loophole, every exception, every way you might be different from the other guys who could not moderate.
Bargaining is the compromise your mind offers when you realize you cannot have both the chemsex life and your freedom. You are looking for the middle ground, the way to keep the parts you loved without paying the price.
Bargaining often looks like a relapse.
You meet up with an old friend. You tell yourself it is just to catch up. But your body remembers. Your nervous system recognizes the ritual. And suddenly you are using again, and you tell yourself it was just one time, you can stop whenever you want.
Bargaining is the ghost of denial wearing a new mask.
It is your grief trying to find a way to have it all. But there is no middle ground between freedom and the pull of the meth identity. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can grieve fully.
Journal Prompts:
- What deals am I trying to make with myself, with my using, with my community right now?
- What am I most afraid to lose if I let go fully?
- What is the loophole I keep returning to, and what truth is it protecting me from facing?
Exercise: List every bargain you have made with yourself in the last six months. Every "just this once," every "I can handle this," every "if I just." Next to each one, write what actually happened or what would have happened if you followed through. Notice the pattern.
DEPRESSION
Depression is where the bargaining stops working. You have tried every negotiation, every loophole, every compromise. You have finally accepted that you cannot have both worlds. And that acceptance feels like drowning.
When I was spit out on the other side of my bargaining, which looked like sitting in jail, I fell into despair.
The magnitude of what I had done and the road before me sunk me into a dark pit. I was frozen with fear and regret.
Depression can lead you right back to use because it feels like meth is the only relief. Thank God I was being drug tested multiple times a week. That forced me to feel my feelings.
Depression in grief is not clinical sadness.
It is the weight of finality.
It is the moment you understand that those guys, that community, that version of yourself, that is gone.
You will not get it back.
The friendships that were built on shared using cannot exist the same way sober.
The dealer who was your best friend will not be your best friend when you stop buying.
The sex, the rush, the feeling of being wanted and desired and seen in that specific way, that is not coming back in the same form.
Depression is where you give yourself permission to grieve what was real and good and alive in that life, even though it was destroying you.
It is okay to admit that you had a good time. That will allow you to move to the next stage below.
This is the moment to practice allowing your emotions to fully express themselves. Feel the depression fully.
Do not try to make yourself feel better. Feel the depression better.
Because in the depression is the final surrender. You wave the white flag. And in that surrender is the readiness to move on.
Journal Prompts:
- What am I actually losing, named one by one, in this transition?
- What did the chemsex life give me that I have not yet figured out how to give myself?
- If I let myself feel the full weight of this loss, without rushing to fix it, what comes up?
Exercise: Write a eulogy for your chemsex identity. Name what was beautiful about that life. Name what was destructive. Name what you will miss and what you will not. Treat it like a real ending, because it is.
ACCEPTANCE
Acceptance is not happiness about what you lost. It is not gratitude for the pain. Acceptance is the moment you stop fighting the reality of your new life. It is the moment you fully embody and emotionally connect with the 2.0 version of yourself.
You have viscerally connected with your new identity and have a clear idea of how you will show up after meth.
You can ask yourself:
What would this version of me do right now?
What would he think?
How would he spend his day, his time, his energy?
Acceptance is when you have taken your vision and embraced it with every cell of your body.
The chemsex identity is gone, and you are still here.
You are still alive.
You are still worthy.
The guys, the dealer, the community, the rush, that chapter has closed. And you do not have to keep one foot in that doorway hoping it opens again.
Acceptance is when you can remember the good moments without needing to go back.
You can acknowledge that you had real connection, real pleasure, real belonging in that life, and also know with absolute certainty that staying would have killed you.
You are building something that lasts. You are becoming someone you actually want to be.
Journal Prompts:
- Who is the 2.0 version of me? Describe him in detail. How does he move, speak, spend his time, treat his body, choose his people?
- What does he do when he is lonely? What does he do when he is rejected? What does he do when the longing returns?
- What is one choice I can make today that this version of me would make?
Exercise: Write a day in the life of your 2.0 self. Start with how he wakes up. What he eats. How he moves his body. Who he talks to. How he handles stress. How he ends his night. Make it specific and embodied. Then pick one small piece of that day and live it tomorrow.
CLOSING
You may see yourself in all five stages.
You may spiral between them.
You may camp out in one for longer than feels comfortable.
That is the shape of real grief. The invitation here is simple: where are you showing up the most right now? Which stage is asking for your attention?
In the newsletters ahead, we are going to break down each stage in depth.
You will learn what it actually feels like to move through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
You will get a real plan for processing each one, tools to work with what arises, and a path forward from wherever you are standing right now.
For now, just notice. Just witness where you live in this grief. That awareness is already the beginning of movement.
Love you, Dallas
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