I was raised in a strict, conservative Mormon household. Every Sunday I went to church. Mondays through Fridays I would wake up at 5:30 am before high school to study the Bible with my friends. The church was my begin all and end all.
When I turned 14, I started wrestling with feelings of homosexuality. I met men online who were several times my age to explore my sexuality. Guilty with shame, I confessed to my church’s bishop. I was placed on probation in the church and entered a gay conversion program.
For the next two years, I fought an internal battle. Many nights were spent crying myself to sleep. It was a terrible pain that I would not have wished upon anyone. At the same time California was debating a same-sex marriage ban, I was asked to leave the Mormon church.
I grew up in a household where we did not show emotions when we hurt. I never acknowledged the pain of being kicked out of the church and rejected by my family. They didn’t know what to do with me and kept me at bay, and at the age of 16, I was left to my own devices.
One day, while my parents were at church, I went to have sex with a group of men. One of them said he would pay me $300. I was ecstatic. It would have taken me weeks to make that much at my retail job. The man also offered me drugs. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was crystal meth. I politely declined but I think I got high from the second-hand smoke. The next weekend he offered me another $300, and that time when he offered drugs, I said yes. I was 16, hooked on meth, and I hadn’t even tried coffee or alcohol yet.
I remember sitting in class the next few days, not having slept or eaten. I recall my English teacher observing me intently. He seemed to know something was wrong but didn’t say anything. He was one of many—my parents included—who saw my life begin to spiral down. No one stopped me or extended a hand to help. I would come to hold onto this as a resentment. Later I would learn during my Fourth Step that they were probably scared, and at the end of the day, my actions were my own choice.
I became a “high-functioning” addict and spent the next few years at a well-known university. To accompany my meth use, I picked up a drinking problem. I used to lie to myself:
Everyone in their early 20s parties like this.
When I was 23, I grew tired of the routine of addiction. My entire life was spent looking for drugs, using drugs, and being hungover from drugs. I did not want to get high, but it felt like every bone in my body was pulling me in that direction. I was powerless. I would scroll through sex apps looking for someone to use with. Who I found did not matter, as long as they had drugs. Going through these rituals, it felt like I was watching someone else.
Eventually, hungover, I broke down crying in my room after another binge. There had to be more to life than this. I turned to the internet to find a rehab. I was evaluated and admitted to a local outpatient program. I did not know it at the time, but I was starting to work Step One.
The rehab program was difficult. Most of the patients were there to “look good” for court and were not serious about getting sober. When counselors were not around, my peers would talk about plans to get loaded after their court dates. They just wanted weaker sentences…I wanted the real deal. I eventually found it in the 12 Steps.
The meetings I initially attended were mostly straight. This was my first time really interacting with straight men. I was scared and didn’t know how to act when I showed up to the meeting 15 minutes early. Terror washed over me because I didn’t know how they would respond when they learned that I had spent years as a prostitute for drugs. But I got a sponsor, a straight man my father’s age. He told me to go to meetings and call him. I got close to my sponsorship family and for the first time at 23 years old, I felt accepted for who I was.
I was able to maintain sobriety by merely talking to other men and going to meetings. But at 17 months, I relapsed on marijuana, and within a week I was back to using crystal meth. I believe I relapsed because I did not want to start Step Two. My experience as a teenager made me wonder how a higher power would fit into my recovery.
It took me a year to come back to CMA. As they say, your addiction will pick up where it left off. During that year things got much worse. I lost the only true friends I had—the men in the rooms. They had to protect themselves from my haphazard lifestyle. I engaged in dangerous behaviors, and frequently found myself in sketchy parts of Washington D.C. at all hours of the night. When I was high, I did not care about using protection during sex, nor did I stop the sex marathon to take PrEP responsibly.
My boss at work started making comments about my frequent absences, and later the police raided my house because of a tip from a neighbor. They didn’t find anything, despite there being plenty to find, but I knew my game was over. It was time for me to get serious about recovery.
This time I started recovery with a new sponsor and a plan to work the Steps. Despite my new plan, I kept relapsing. I knew that given the chance to use sex apps, I would find drugs. So I got an old-school flip phone that did not have internet. I left my laptop, iPad, and iPhone at work so that I would not be tempted to download apps on the weekends. I did that for three months.
During those three months, I sat down to work Steps One, Two, and Three as an agnostic with an open mind. I listened to others’ experiences of higher powers for suggestions. I found in Step Two that I had to find a higher power of my own understanding, not of my parents. Through this process I found love, compassion, and peace. I learned to pray every night and every morning, even if I felt silly. It was a process that did not happen overnight. But gradually I came to believe.
In Step Four I found that I lacked self-compassion. I never allowed myself to feel the pain of being rejected by my church and my family at a young age. Instead, I shoved my feelings down and covered them up with drugs and sex. I was using sex for acceptance from other men.
In Steps Five, Six, and Seven, I learned from others how to be kind to myself, that I am human, and I make mistakes. But I also learned that the people who raised me are human too, and they made mistakes. Through the Steps and my recovery network, I learned how to let go of resentments.
When I got to Steps Eight and Nine, I had some serious work to do. Until I had some time under my belt and saw others leave the program, I honestly did not think my addiction affected anyone but me. I was so wrong. Humbly, I went to make amends in Step Nine. The responses were better than I ever could have imagined.
The most difficult thing about being in the rooms is seeing people come and go. In the three years I have been in CMA, I have seen six people overdose and die. In the last three months my best friend in the program got kicked out of rehab and is now living with a pimp, trading sex for drugs. I have been taught to be mad at the disease, not the addict, but it is very difficult. It hurts!
Today I have good days and bad days, but that is much better than how things were when I was using. I consider myself a happy person. I even have a hobby, something I never had during active addiction. Good relationships are a part of my life. I enjoy going to CMA meetings and helping other addicts.