Taking drugs during sex helped me feel alive then ruined my life. Now I use Grindr to help other queer men get clean.

• Ignacio battled shame and loneliness, and turned to substance abuse and risky sex to find validation
• Chemsex was his escape, he found confidence and community – but at the cost of overdosing and rape.

This as-told-to essay is based on a transcribed conversation with Ignacio Labayen de Inza, chemsex specialist advisor and founder of Controlling Chemsex. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

I used to say that I would never buy meth, I would never have a dealer, I would never inject drugs. Then at some point I found myself with five different dealers, taking GHB — a drug that induces euphoria and heightened sensation — every day, and smoking crystal meth in a room full of naked men.

I was doing it to meet people, to get validation. Leaving my conservative family to live openly as a gay man had me desperately seeking community and belonging.

Chemsex — using drugs as a part of sex life — gave me the confidence to feel sexy, to feel loved, and to embrace my sexuality without guilt. But I was crossing boundaries I never thought I would cross.

Internalized shame and guilt eroded my self-esteem

It didn't happen overnight.

I was born into a Catholic, conservative family in Madrid and went to an all-boys school. I was bullied every day. I was always fighting with this idea of being gay, and at the age of 16, I joined a church youth group.

I never did anything with another guy, but when I was around 21, I tried to tell someone that I was gay. They told me: "You have to give God a chance."

I tried. I dated a girl for three years. We didn't even kiss. I remember thinking, "This is wrong. It's not just me suffering. Now, I'm dragging someone else down with me."

At 26, I knew I had to say goodbye to my past. I left.

From praying on my knees, to the last man standing

The first time I went to a gay bar I was shaking. I didn't know any other gay men. Then, this guy came up to me and asked me to join him and his friends.

I started dating one of them, but it could have been anyone. I was so alone. I was fixed on this idea that I wanted to love — to have the same experiences that my straight friends had.

I didn't know anything about gay life. I assumed that relationships were only monogamous. One day, I found condoms in his bag, but we didn't use condoms. He said they were giving them out at Pride, but I knew he was cheating on me. We finished the relationship.

My self-esteem was so damaged. I tried dating other people, but I didn't really like them. I was only doing it because they showed interest in me. It felt empty without love. I became obsessed with falling in love.

I started partying every Friday and Saturday, always the last one to go home because I was convinced that I would meet the love of my life. Eventually that wasn't enough. I started going out on Sundays too.

That's when I ended up at a house party where someone offered me ecstasy.

Liberation and imprisonment in just a few drops

I had always been very against drugs, but I was so drunk, and somebody I thought was really attractive was nice to me. He offered me something – and fuck, it changed everything.

All of a sudden I was taking my T-shirt off in the club. If I liked someone, I would just go up to them and talk to them – something I had never done before. It made me so confident. It gave me a sense of belonging.

Little by little, I was taking "G" [GHB, sometimes called "liquid ecstasy"] every day. While watching TV or going to the cinema, I couldn't control it. I was missing days at work, I lost my job, and I started overdosing all the time. (You have to be careful with G; it's very easy to overdose.)

I overdosed in front of my parents, and they sent me to hospital. I knew that I had to stop. I moved to London for a fresh start, but I couldn't forget how liberated I felt when I was high. As someone with low self-esteem, who was isolated, it was very enticing. It was a perfect escape from my reality.

I found myself going to chillouts — house parties where people would go, take drugs, and eventually have sex. I got high with this Brazilian guy, and he offered me something new. That was the first time I tried crystal meth.

I felt confident again. I would go to the bathroom, maybe hadn't slept in three days, look in the mirror and think "I look so sexy". But if someone took a picture and showed me when I was sober, I would beg them to delete it.

When you're having sex sober, and you fart, or the guy touches your love handles, you worry about what they'll think. When you're high, you just don't care about that stuff.

I didn't experience rejection in the same way. Sometimes, I would make very deep connections with people I met and feel like I was in love, but it wasn't true. It's not real.

In the light of day

Those who engage in chemsex often glamorize its effects in their heads, like "I'm going to meet lots of people; I'm going to have really amazing sex for six hours; I'm going to forget about my problems."

In reality, I would have sex for maybe one hour and spend the rest of the time sitting on Grindr, not having sex because the drugs stopped me from getting an erection.

I had so many traumatic experiences. I don't know how many times I passed out, hundreds. And you don't know what happens to you when you're out. I was robbed, raped, and assaulted.

I realized I had hit rock bottom after hooking up with this guy at his house. He asked me if I wanted to try bondage, and I agreed. He tied me to a chair.

Then he picked up a baseball bat. He said "I'm so disgusted with you faggots. I'm going to smash your head in like it was a watermelon!" He lifted up the bat to hit me and swung it down towards my head, but at the last second, he swerved and hit my arm.

I was terrified. A voice in my head told me to gather my senses. I had to leave this house alive. How did I go from being that little Catholic boy to this place where I'm normalizing overdosing, rape, and assault? I couldn't continue with this lifestyle. I had to get clean.

I had to relearn how to have sex sober. I needed to find a way to experience joy without drugs. I started keeping myself busy, going to lots of places and engaging with social activities to make friends who weren't using.

I started exercising again and improving my sleeping and hygiene. Ultimately, if I wanted things to change, I would have to change things.

The road is long, but there is life after chemsex

After getting clean, I collaborated with a sexual health clinic called Dean Street to develop a guide for gay men in chemsex emergencies. This included what to do if someone overdoses, when to call an ambulance, and first aid basics.

I created a profile on Grindr to share the guide with people. The response was overwhelming. (Though Grindr kept blocking my accounts, as BuzzFeed reported, so now I run my own support group called Controlling Chemsex.)

My story is not unique. Chemsex is an all-consuming world that provides an escape to people — especially young LGBTQ+ people, who are seeking community and a space to express their sexuality without shame.

Once you're in that world, the stigma makes it feel impossible to seek support. All you need is compassion and help.

So much of what I read is about the disasters and consequences of chemsex. What people are desperate to hear is that there is life after chemsex, and I am much happier now.

If I could say anything to that little Catholic boy in Madrid now, I would say "Get ready."