As a gay man, my journey with drugs didn’t begin with a single taste of meth or GHB. It started much earlier, as a gradual progression that took root when I first began frequenting Canal Street in Manchester. What seemed like innocent nights out soon evolved into something far more consuming.
A friend I met in the scene introduced me to cocaine and MDMA, marking my first real experiences with drugs and hardcore drinking. At first, it was just weekend partying, but before long, weekdays blurred into endless nights of excess. Late finishes bled into early mornings, and my sense of responsibility—especially when it came to work—began to slip. Sleep became an afterthought, and my performance at work suffered. I was too stubborn to admit it at the time, but looking back, I can’t deny that my lax attitude and poor decisions had serious consequences for my career, all fueled by my relentless partying in Manchester.
There was always room for more—more nights out, more drugs, more drinks, more time spent in gay clubs and bars. I was constantly off my face. And as my addiction deepened, so did the financial strain. The cost of keeping up with my habits became overwhelming, yet I found ways to justify it.
Ironically, while indulging in this destructive lifestyle, I was also investing in my physical health. I had a personal trainer who, rather than discouraging my drug use, actually encouraged it. He believed that drugs were a better alternative to alcohol because alcohol contains sugar when it breaks down in the body. His logic? Why drink and take in all those unnecessary calories when you could just take drugs instead? It seemed like the perfect solution—less food, more drugs, and somehow, I thought I was still being “healthy.”
Of course, looking back, that mindset was completely absurd. But at the time, I convinced myself that I was making smart choices, all while spiralling deeper into a dangerous and costly addiction.
