I used to suffer a lot from high levels of anxiety. Social gatherings, celebrations, parties—anything of that sort—would often trigger panic attacks in me. There were likely many reasons why I felt such intense anxiety. Maybe it was because I was insecure about myself. Maybe I didn’t feel good enough or confident enough to be around other people.
In my early 20s, I was working part-time jobs as a barista and as a seafood and deli clerk. I didn’t feel like my life was headed in the direction I wanted it to go. I would get high on crystal meth and go to bathhouses or, sometimes, go dancing at 5ive, a popular queer club in Toronto in the early 2000s.
There was something about being in social situations while high that appealed to me. I thought, Well, since partying seems to be unavoidable—almost essential—to living as a queer person in Toronto, I’ll need something to help me get through it. Whenever I talked to someone at these social gatherings, there was always a voice in my head saying, You may be talking to me now, but you don’t know my secret.
The secret was that I was high. It felt like having one foot in the party and the other foot outside it. Weekends were especially hard in my sobriety journey because I felt pressured to party, constantly anticipating everything I could get into. I would go to the clubs with my pipe and lighter safely hidden in one of my shoes, smoking in the bathroom while my friends danced. Then I’d return to them feeling excited, thinking I was fooling everyone.
It’s often said that celebrations can be triggers because people think the only way to fully participate is by using substances. After all, we all know that drunk uncle or aunt at the party who only comes out of their shell after a few drinks.
I’ve been reflecting on this part of my history over the past couple of days after listening to a Sober Co. podcast episode. At one point, the hosts talked about why we use substances. They said people sometimes use substances to numb uncomfortable feelings—a concept I’m familiar with. However, what struck me was when they said celebrations and parties can also bring up uncomfortable emotions that we may want to numb ourselves from.
I had to pause when I heard that. I asked myself, Why would celebrations make me feel discomfort?
To answer that, I had to explore and define what celebrations are, at their core.
Celebrations are supposed to be fun and joyful. Social gatherings, parties, and get-togethers are meant to be enjoyable and pleasurable events—a chance to connect and engage with one’s community.
I started asking, If I’m using and getting high on crystal meth just to attend celebrations, what does that say about my (un)willingness to be present? If social events are sources and spaces for joy, then why do I have one foot in and the other foot out? Why do I think that only a part of me is allowed to be at the party, while other parts are hidden? Am I, deep down, saying there’s a part of me I feel ashamed or embarrassed about—so much so that I want to hide it from my loved ones?
To be clear, I’m not saying that everyone who uses party favors to enhance their experience is an addict or has a problem. I’m not saying that family members who drink beer while belting out karaoke staples are alcoholics. Not necessarily. These days, I’ll smoke a joint or use poppers when I go to the bathhouse. At a New Year’s Eve party hosted by my brother and sister-in-law last month, I brought two bottles of green sour apple liqueur, which we all finished. My relationships with these substances are completely different from my relationship with crystal meth. The former are gentler to me, and I can take them or leave them. Meth, however, is an abusive entity in my life.
Ultimately, I’m asking myself: Is there a better way to show up at a party? Do I want to be in the middle of a celebration, secretly hiding parts of myself from joy? Or will my spirit soar higher if I wholeheartedly show up, fully experiencing the joy and everything else that celebrations are meant to create? So, was it ever really about anxiety? Or, has it always been about my belief that I was unworthy of joy?
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