21andcounting
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2019
- Messages
- 2
I had no excuse not to make this post: for every (gay) man who has struggled with an amphetamine addiction. Currently I am 21 years of age, I suppose that may narrow the relatability of my experience. Writing this is going to be hard for me, I can already feel it. I want to firstly say that I am aware that I am responsible for my own decisions, whether influenced, intrigued or encouraged. I moved away from my parents who live abroad for their jobs to attend a University at home in the US, since I'd missed it being away for 4 years. I arrived to PA alone, no family whatsoever, with my home state of New York within arms reach.
My amphetamine rollercoaster started back in the summer of 2016 at the age of 18. I had set out from my college apartment in PA with the adamant belief that one way or the other - I would live in New York City for the summer. I paid no attention to the intangible parts of this decision, including having a place to stay... I took a backpack full of clothes and toiletries and my plan was to Grindr jump from apartment to apartment until one of them took me in. In hindsight, that was the dumbest (but also the most fun) thing I'd ever done. Around day 5, my good friend in Long Island found out what I was doing and immediately demanded I come stay with her.
I headed to Penn Station, but before i could get away from the man that would change my life, I got a Grindr message. Standing on the platform waiting for the LIRR to arrive?
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and read the sarcastic message. I immediately appreciated the humor and we talked the entire time I was on my way to my friends place (about and hour, which if you know Grindr, is a long time). We exchanged phone numbers and he begged me to come see him in Manhattan. I agreed, but had already committed myself to a few things with the friend I was staying with.
Three days later I headed into the city again for what I was deceived into believing was a date at a nice restaurant. I got a text as I arrived at Penn Station, only 6 blocks from the restaurant we'd planned to meet at, reading "Come by my place first, I'm running late". Agitated, I took the B train uptown. I arrived at his place to find him a scurried mess, a cute scurried mess, but one nonetheless. In my royal blue shirt that my friend and I had picked out an outlet store for my special night, I sat and watched a not nearly dressed man hurry around his apartment. He was a mess, communicating disconnected thoughts. I was so naive at that time that him being on drugs was the furthest thing from my mind. I just thought he was a fast paced person.
He then made the case for us to stay in for the night. He kissed me and asked me if I did drugs. Having done molly, smoked weed and tripped acid all in the past year, I said yes. He took out a box from underneath his bed. The black leather box had a red velvet interior that held a glass pipe and a plastic dime bag enclosing crystals of some sort. None of this raised a red flag for me, I?d never seen any of it before - it was all brand new. I asked him what it was, to which he replied ?Tina, it?s a gay party drug?. He convinced me the box was a collection of random leftover items from a party thrown by his friend that past New Years Eve. Easy, willing, nineteen - and a bit infatuated, I agreed. And so I went on to smoke the substance for the first time. I felt little to nothing initially, but as the hours rolled by, I felt the subtle intensity creep over me. Him and I proceeded to have sex for 7 hours. 7 hours I understood not a minute of after I came down. I felt exhausted, dry and used. I fled his apartment and back to Long Island. I cried and masturbated for days, and only ate baby carrots.
I returned to see him, he promised we would get to know each other. Both of our judgements, flawed and perverted, ended up smoking again. Me and him became best friends. I stayed with him for 3 days. On the third day, a loud and convicted knock shocked me awake. We were being evicted on the Upper East Side. The most embarrassing thing that could happen to anyone, was happening to me. He urged me to stay with him. He immediately found us an apartment and we crossed the park to stay at our new three bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side. We laid down on spring mattresses thrown on the floor on TJ Maxx sheets we?d just purchased. Attempting to be romantic, I bothered him while he was asleep, and he hit me in the face. I left. I fled to see a friend in Philadelphia. The second day of being there, he called me back into Manhattan. Telling me I could stay there for the summer and that he?d gotten me a job. I moved in with him and got addicted to smoking the amphetamine. This sexually devious subculture welcomed my youth and addiction with a raging excitement. ?Pump the twink with drugs and he?ll let you pump him with dick.? A statement that held true. I became one of New York?s Citi Bikes, easy for anyone to ride. I cared so little for my reputation, my health, any of it. I only cared for the drug. I became a monster.
The summer ended. I returned to school. Brand new. I was brand new about everything. I quickly found Tina communities around my school. I quickly found older men that would get me high in exchange for my body. I had no idea how to see the beauty in sex. It became a perverted sweaty act. I went to New York for Thanksgiving break, and one of the men I?d met over summer - that sold the drug in Hell?s Kitchen - told me he?d gotten me a hotel room at the London. I accepted and headed there from Penn Station. I was introduced to GHB, and on the fifth day of being sexually promiscuous, I overdosed on GHB. I hadn?t eaten for days and I was out cold. I woke up while I was being raped, tied up and surrounded by naked men. I slowly escaped and walked across New York during what was reported as the coldest Thanksgiving in 30 years. Terrified, alone and freezing.
I was a shell of everything I once loved.
I fled to Brooklyn to see my friend. Later that week, I came back to Pennsylvania and trapped myself in my room for days.
Many situations like these took place. My life was a series of me getting super high and running away from the people that got me high. I changed as a person, and will probably never possess the power to return to who I once was. I would change everything. I would go back and yell at my nineteen year old self that thought he?d found an elite niche to live in. Pompous and skinny, I thought I owned the world. Frail and insecure, I see that everyone owned me. I sit here writing this, hoping in my heart that I will never feel as alone as I did sitting on the sidewalk in a snowstorm, or that I?d be found passed out beyond waking on the floor of a stranger?s house. I hope that I will never demean myself like that again. I hope I can see the beauty in sex again. I hope I can love something more than the drugs one day soon. I hope that you find ways to destroy yourself that don?t involve glassware. Our minds on their own are enough: enough to take us to the depths of hell and back. And men, men will use you regardless. Don?t let them have something as powerful as addiction to hold over you. Speak for yourself, respect yourself and love yourself enough to stay away.
My amphetamine rollercoaster started back in the summer of 2016 at the age of 18. I had set out from my college apartment in PA with the adamant belief that one way or the other - I would live in New York City for the summer. I paid no attention to the intangible parts of this decision, including having a place to stay... I took a backpack full of clothes and toiletries and my plan was to Grindr jump from apartment to apartment until one of them took me in. In hindsight, that was the dumbest (but also the most fun) thing I'd ever done. Around day 5, my good friend in Long Island found out what I was doing and immediately demanded I come stay with her.
I headed to Penn Station, but before i could get away from the man that would change my life, I got a Grindr message. Standing on the platform waiting for the LIRR to arrive?
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and read the sarcastic message. I immediately appreciated the humor and we talked the entire time I was on my way to my friends place (about and hour, which if you know Grindr, is a long time). We exchanged phone numbers and he begged me to come see him in Manhattan. I agreed, but had already committed myself to a few things with the friend I was staying with.
Three days later I headed into the city again for what I was deceived into believing was a date at a nice restaurant. I got a text as I arrived at Penn Station, only 6 blocks from the restaurant we'd planned to meet at, reading "Come by my place first, I'm running late". Agitated, I took the B train uptown. I arrived at his place to find him a scurried mess, a cute scurried mess, but one nonetheless. In my royal blue shirt that my friend and I had picked out an outlet store for my special night, I sat and watched a not nearly dressed man hurry around his apartment. He was a mess, communicating disconnected thoughts. I was so naive at that time that him being on drugs was the furthest thing from my mind. I just thought he was a fast paced person.
He then made the case for us to stay in for the night. He kissed me and asked me if I did drugs. Having done molly, smoked weed and tripped acid all in the past year, I said yes. He took out a box from underneath his bed. The black leather box had a red velvet interior that held a glass pipe and a plastic dime bag enclosing crystals of some sort. None of this raised a red flag for me, I?d never seen any of it before - it was all brand new. I asked him what it was, to which he replied ?Tina, it?s a gay party drug?. He convinced me the box was a collection of random leftover items from a party thrown by his friend that past New Years Eve. Easy, willing, nineteen - and a bit infatuated, I agreed. And so I went on to smoke the substance for the first time. I felt little to nothing initially, but as the hours rolled by, I felt the subtle intensity creep over me. Him and I proceeded to have sex for 7 hours. 7 hours I understood not a minute of after I came down. I felt exhausted, dry and used. I fled his apartment and back to Long Island. I cried and masturbated for days, and only ate baby carrots.
I returned to see him, he promised we would get to know each other. Both of our judgements, flawed and perverted, ended up smoking again. Me and him became best friends. I stayed with him for 3 days. On the third day, a loud and convicted knock shocked me awake. We were being evicted on the Upper East Side. The most embarrassing thing that could happen to anyone, was happening to me. He urged me to stay with him. He immediately found us an apartment and we crossed the park to stay at our new three bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side. We laid down on spring mattresses thrown on the floor on TJ Maxx sheets we?d just purchased. Attempting to be romantic, I bothered him while he was asleep, and he hit me in the face. I left. I fled to see a friend in Philadelphia. The second day of being there, he called me back into Manhattan. Telling me I could stay there for the summer and that he?d gotten me a job. I moved in with him and got addicted to smoking the amphetamine. This sexually devious subculture welcomed my youth and addiction with a raging excitement. ?Pump the twink with drugs and he?ll let you pump him with dick.? A statement that held true. I became one of New York?s Citi Bikes, easy for anyone to ride. I cared so little for my reputation, my health, any of it. I only cared for the drug. I became a monster.
The summer ended. I returned to school. Brand new. I was brand new about everything. I quickly found Tina communities around my school. I quickly found older men that would get me high in exchange for my body. I had no idea how to see the beauty in sex. It became a perverted sweaty act. I went to New York for Thanksgiving break, and one of the men I?d met over summer - that sold the drug in Hell?s Kitchen - told me he?d gotten me a hotel room at the London. I accepted and headed there from Penn Station. I was introduced to GHB, and on the fifth day of being sexually promiscuous, I overdosed on GHB. I hadn?t eaten for days and I was out cold. I woke up while I was being raped, tied up and surrounded by naked men. I slowly escaped and walked across New York during what was reported as the coldest Thanksgiving in 30 years. Terrified, alone and freezing.
I was a shell of everything I once loved.
I fled to Brooklyn to see my friend. Later that week, I came back to Pennsylvania and trapped myself in my room for days.
Many situations like these took place. My life was a series of me getting super high and running away from the people that got me high. I changed as a person, and will probably never possess the power to return to who I once was. I would change everything. I would go back and yell at my nineteen year old self that thought he?d found an elite niche to live in. Pompous and skinny, I thought I owned the world. Frail and insecure, I see that everyone owned me. I sit here writing this, hoping in my heart that I will never feel as alone as I did sitting on the sidewalk in a snowstorm, or that I?d be found passed out beyond waking on the floor of a stranger?s house. I hope that I will never demean myself like that again. I hope I can see the beauty in sex again. I hope I can love something more than the drugs one day soon. I hope that you find ways to destroy yourself that don?t involve glassware. Our minds on their own are enough: enough to take us to the depths of hell and back. And men, men will use you regardless. Don?t let them have something as powerful as addiction to hold over you. Speak for yourself, respect yourself and love yourself enough to stay away.
