Longing, Intensity, and the Spaces In Between
A bit of Fun?
People talk about chemsex, party-and-play, “gear nights,” G and chill, festival highs, weekend benders, or just “a bit of fun.” The language changes depending on the scene, the city, the people, and the moment. But underneath all of those words sits something very human: the need to feel connected, to feel wanted, to feel in our bodies instead of trapped in our thoughts, to quiet the loneliness or anxiety for a few hours, to feel alive in ways everyday life doesn’t always allow.
This isn’t a story about “good choices” or “bad decisions.” It’s about the nervous system searching for relief, belonging, and closeness. The substance isn’t the core of the story. The feeling that becomes possible because of it is.
At a glance
- Chemistry and connection can blur when intensity becomes the main route to closeness.
- Substances often enter as relief, not chaos — a way to soften loneliness, anxiety, or shame.
- When the body learns to associate intimacy with intensity, slower connection can feel unsafe.
- Therapy isn’t about stopping, judging, or shaming — it’s about understanding what the intensity is doing for you.
- Harm reduction is an act of self-respect, not failure.
- Healing is not about purity — it’s about having choice again, not just one doorway to connectio
Where It Begins
For many people, the starting point is gentle — not dramatic, destructive, or chaotic. Just a sense of, “I can breathe here. I can be myself here. I don’t have to try so hard here.”
Maybe the body feels looser. The mind quieter. Touch becomes easier. Self-consciousness takes a step back.
It might be the first moment in a long time where connection feels reachable instead of awkward or overwhelming. That doesn’t make someone weak. It makes them human.
When Relief Becomes the Route
The shift from choice to pattern rarely announces itself. It doesn’t look like a crisis. It looks like familiarity.
What starts as, “This helps me relax with others,” can slowly become, “This is how I connect.”
The brain begins to learn:
- Intensity = intimacy.
- Numbness = relief.
- Shared risk = closeness.
There’s no villain in that story. It’s a nervous system trying to solve loneliness, shame, or overwhelm in the fastest way it knows how. When something provides emotional relief, even temporarily, the body will remember that pathway.
Most of the time, the draw isn’t the drug. It’s what becomes possible because of it.
The real question is: what does it give? Connection. Permission. Warmth. Escape. Quiet. Whatever that is — that’s the place we start the work.
The Loneliness Beneath It
Apps have reshaped intimacy. They allow you to bypass the slow parts: awkward introductions, uncertainty, the gradual reveal of who someone is. You can skip straight to touch, attention, desire, validation — before any emotional safety has formed.
For queer people, neurodivergent people, and anyone who has struggled to feel “normal” in social spaces, this speed can feel like belonging. But fast intimacy is not the same as feeling known. And when the body has only ever experienced closeness through intensity, slowness can feel unsafe.
Nothing about this is as simple as “just stop.” It’s about attachment, identity, history, and need.
Chemistry vs Connection
Chemistry offers immediacy — sensation, relief, confidence, the feeling of belonging in that moment. Connection asks for pace, presence, reciprocity, and uncertainty.
If someone has learned to survive through intensity, the slower rhythms of connection can feel unfamiliar or even frightening. That’s not a moral failing. It’s the imprint of experience.
Harm Reduction, Without Panic or Permission
Harm reduction is care, not defeat. It’s choosing to stay alive while you’re still figuring things out.
It’s saying: “I matter enough to protect myself, even if I’m not ready to stop.”
- Text someone.
- Don’t use alone.
- Keep some water nearby.
- Rest when your body is done, not when the scene is done.
- Know where your boundaries start to soften.
And if the part of you that wants to protect yourself is quiet some days — I won’t shame that either. We’re not building discipline here. We’re building relationship with yourself.
Over time, something gentle happens:
- You start to notice that the behaviour was never the problem.
- The pain underneath it was.
- And pain can be met.
- Not all at once.
- Not dramatically.
- Just steadily, alongside someone who knows how to listen.
Therapy isn’t here to take anything away. It’s not about shame, or lecturing, or pushing someone into abstinence. It’s about understanding what the behaviour is doing — what it protects, softens, provides, or makes possible.
The most useful questions sound like:
- What becomes easier for you in those spaces?
- What does the intensity help you escape from?
- What feels possible there that doesn’t feel possible sober?
When we explore those questions without judgement, something important opens: choice. And choice is where agency returns.
Where Therapy Comes In
I’m never here to take something away from you. If a behaviour is there, it’s there for a reason. It does something. Maybe it makes things quieter. Maybe it brings connection, intensity, escape, or a break from a feeling you don’t yet have words for.
So rather than asking “Why do you do that?” I tend to ask “What does this help you cope with?”
Because there’s always something before the behaviour — a moment, a feeling, a drop, a jolt. The behaviour isn’t the start of the story. It’s the response.
Once we look at what’s being triggered — the loneliness, the pressure, the numbness, the ache for closeness, whatever it is — we suddenly have room to understand the need underneath.
And when the need is understood, choice comes back. Not force. Not shame. Just… room to breathe.
This Isn’t Just a “Gay Scene” Story
Yes — chemsex is connected to queer culture, especially where shame and belonging intersect. But the emotional structure is everywhere:
- Cocaine for confidence in corporate bathrooms.
- MDMA intimacy at festivals.
- Ketamine to numb feelings.
- Alcohol to tolerate touch.
The substances change. The longing underneath does not.
Healing isn’t purity. It’s having more than one doorway to feel alive.
We all have wants and needs. Healing is choosing the ways of meeting them that expand your life, not the ones that drain it.
What Healing Actually Looks Like
Healing isn’t purity or perfection. It isn’t about never touching anything again.
Healing is:
- being able to name what you are truly needing,
- and having more than one way to meet that need.
Sometimes the need is closeness. Sometimes it’s escape. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s touch without fear. You are not wrong for wanting those things. They just deserve more than one doorway.
If You Recognise Yourself in This
- You are not broken.
- You are not weak.
- You are not behind everyone else.
- You found a way to feel, in a life that did not always give you safe ways to feel.
- You don’t have to walk away from what has helped you cope.
- You just don’t have to navigate the cost of it alone.
If you want to talk about this — without flinching, without judgement, without performance — I can sit with you in it. We’ll work with what’s real. Together.
