A Queer in Recovery: The Trip of a Lifetime

Hi, my name is _______, and I am an alcoholic.

When I have thought back over all the years I used mind-altering substances, and the varying reasons why I used them, I always arrive at the same conclusion: it’s all for escape. I think in some instances, escape is a completely healthy and natural desire, and it often is a gift that there are substances that can distort reality, mangle perception, and deliver feelings of relief and ecstasy. However, it’s when the altered reality becomes the preferred version of existence that we then cross the threshold from recreation to addiction.

Alcohol is not the only substance I have been abused, though it still remains my drug of choice. From my first consumption at age 13 to my final drink more than 20 years later, it’s the one I always come back to and can never control my usage with.

In 12-step programs, we define craving as being a broken “off” switch and very different from the urge to drink. The way to understand craving is to put it in this context: once I have a drink, the craving kicks in, and I want more and more until I physically cannot tolerate any more. From making myself physically sick to blacking out, no amount of alcohol was ever enough. If I have a bad day, I may have the urge to drink, but it’s the fact that I can’t stop once I’ve started that led me to the decision to abstain from alcohol altogether.

Any other mind-altering substance I have used, including cannabis, have been unfavorable, if not downright distasteful to me. I was introduced to cannabis in high school, and its primary purpose at that time was to escape the grip that depression had on me. In a way, it did become very medicinal, even if my initial desire to use was also coupled with rebellion against my parents and the religious construct I was raised in. At that age, I was also introduced to cocaine, and that led me down a dark path and closer to addiction than any drug encounter had before.

I was using cocaine as often as I could, and I was definitely developing an unhealthy reliance on it. Secrecy and lying were my life, and prolonged cocaine usage was becoming a very expensive hobby, so that eventually led me to snorting crystal meth. In a lot of ways, I was fortunate that I overdosed that first time because that was enough to scare me away from further usage of both meth and coke.

Throughout this time, I was still smoking pot, but developed paranoia when I used, so the frequency became less and less. That is still my reaction to this day when it comes to consuming any form or strain of cannabis; I become fixated on things like time and feel out of control of my body in a way that I don’t like. I had hoped, during one of my bouts of sobriety last summer, that I could switch from alcohol to cannabis, but that proved failure because I can’t shake the anxiety-inducing effect that cannabis has on me.

An area that I have found interestingly beneficial, and went from escapism to healing, was the use of LSD. As the result of childhood trauma, I developed an eating disorder by age 12, and that helped me bring some sense of control back to my life in adolescence. Through the body abuse of this eating disorder, I also began to hate my body and even look at it as though it were the enemy. I found the only thing that would turn off the negative thoughts in my head about my body was to use alcohol. By age 34, I was actively using my eating disorder, in full-blown alcoholism, and felt trapped.

That is, until I tried LSD for the first time in my 30s, and it was a hard trip down a healing road I didn’t know I needed.

While camping with friends in the summer of 2020, I dropped acid for the first time. The initial distortion of reality was intense, but fun. I discovered I am a wanderer, walking around by myself and exploring the world through new, hallucinogenic eyes. After some wandering that day, I found myself climbing up a hill, becoming acutely aware of my body, how it moved, and how it served me. For the first time, I was immensely thankful for it and the way that it worked for me, and not against me like I had thought all those years. I appreciated how strong it was; I loved how capable it was, and I felt so regretful for they ways I had abused it with my eating disorder and substance abuse all those years.

I was filled with such gratitude as I felt every muscle flex, working to move me up that trail. I took notice of the motion in my joints and how they pulled me up as I pushed down into them. I applauded that it was imperfect, yet perfect, giving me exactly what I needed.

I arrived at the top of the hill and sat down on a large boulder, overlooking a lake that spanned further than the eye could see, and began to weep. Tears streamed down my face, one after the other, as I allowed myself to feel all the pain from my self-hatred. The present moment intersected with my past in the form of blissful serenity and true acceptance. I had never known rest, never understood peace, and never felt completely acceptable in myself until that moment.

I turned around to look behind me, taking in the large mountain pass we had driven through to arrive at this campsite. In it, I saw my own body. The curves of the peaks were the curves of my own chest, hips, and thighs. The inlets of the valleys were the indents of my neck, waist, and ankles. I balled as I came to the realization that I had celebrated this abundance of Earth for its ridges and furrows in a way I had never celebrated myself. I had given permission for them to exist, without change or expectation, because they were beautiful just as they were.

My body housed its own beauty in the way my heart beat in both times of pure joy as well as utter sorrow, in the way my liver and kidneys worked together to sustain my health amid all the alcohol I was pouring into them, and the way that my lungs took in oxygen and transformed that breath into life. The mountain pass was in fact my body. How could I not be anything other than grateful?

Then, I looked forward, at the lake and the next pass of mountains on the horizon. I continued to cry as I thought about my future. If I could finally arrive at a place of not only acceptance but of appreciation for my body, then what kind of happiness would I reside in? If I no longer feared the memories from my childhood, if I no longer looked at food as the enemy, and I no longer was a slave to my addiction to alcohol, then what kind of beauty would I have the gift of bearing witness to? I sobbed for my former self, fully realizing the sadness that I truly never felt good enough. I sobbed for my future self and the hope that one day I could take care of myself the way I would care for someone I loved unconditionally. I sobbed for the gift of that very moment and the ability to exist in time and space that was not logical, but existential.

Since that time, I have taken LSD once more and had a completely different trip that involved a lot of Earth breathing and critter crawling. I’m not sure if I will ever drop again, seeing as I’m currently in a place of total abstinence from all mind-altering substances. At this stage of recovery, I must draw a very clear line for myself so I will never find myself drinking alcohol again, but I can say that I’m so thankful for that day because it truly did change my relationship with my body.

Right now, my number-one priority is staying sober from alcohol, and I will not subject myself to anything that may stray me from that. What works for me is just focusing on today and doing what feeds my recovery and brings healing to my heart and mind. One day at a time, I get the chance to evaluate the best plan and set of choices that will bring me closer to my goals and further from harmful behaviors. I am willing to do whatever it takes to save myself, and I finally have the courage to life a life free from any and all escape.

-An anonymous queer in recovery

Follow @queer.in.recovery on Instagram, or email a.queer.in.recovery@gmail.com for additional support and resources.

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