Chemsex: What’s the problem? An investigation into sexual and mental health issues, with associated sexualised drug use, addictions and depression amongst men who participate in Chemsex parties.
MSc Research Summary
My MSc Psychology thesis, Chemsex: What’s the Problem?, set out to critically explore one of the most pressing and often misunderstood issues in queer health: the role of sexualised drug use (SDU) in shaping the sexual, physical, and mental wellbeing of men who have sex with men (MSM).
At its simplest definition, chemsex refers to the intentional use of drugs - most commonly GHB/GBL, mephedrone, and crystal methamphetamine - in a sexual context. But the reality is far more complex. Chemsex is not just about sex and substances; it is about belonging, desire, liberation, risk, and survival. It is about the ways queer men negotiate identity, intimacy, and community in a world that still carries the shadows of stigma and shame.
Over the past decade, chemsex has emerged as both a public health concern and a cultural flashpoint. Health agencies warn of its links to HIV, hepatitis C, and other sexually transmitted infections. Emergency services report rising overdoses, GHB poisonings, and psychiatric crises. Meanwhile, within queer communities, chemsex is spoken about with equal parts openness and secrecy — celebrated for its freedom and intensity, feared for its destructive potential.
The aim of my dissertation was to look beyond the headlines and the statistics, to ask: What does chemsex mean to the people who take part in it? What psychological, emotional, and social dynamics are at play? And how do men themselves make sense of the pleasures and the harms bound up in these experiences?
To answer these questions, I used discourse analysis of secondary interview data, focusing on how participants narrated their experiences. This approach foregrounded language, contradictions, and lived realities rather than abstract theory. What emerged was not a single story but a tapestry of voices - candid, conflicted, and deeply human.
From these narratives, I identified ten central themes: freedom, identity, relief, acceptance, realisation, community, feelings of self, needs and desires, connection, and lack of care.
These themes point to the duality of chemsex. On one hand, participants described drugs as enablers of liberation: easing social anxiety, enhancing sexual confidence, unlocking new forms of intimacy, and providing a sense of belonging that many had long sought. In these accounts, chemsex was framed as a form of empowerment - a way to push back against stigma, silence, and the restrictive boundaries of queer life.
Yet, alongside this liberation, another story ran in parallel: one of dependency, harm, and disillusionment. Participants also spoke of the loneliness after the party, the struggles with body image, the descent into cycles of addiction, and the mental health toll of sustained engagement. Here, drugs became less about freedom and more about coping — with trauma, with shame, with the emptiness left when intimacy faded.
This paradox - that the same substances can be experienced as both liberating and destructive - lies at the heart of chemsex. For many men, the pursuit of belonging and intimacy outweighed concerns for health or safety. In a context where sober sex often carried associations of anxiety, self-consciousness, or rejection, chemsex was chosen not in ignorance of its risks, but in spite of them.
The findings of this study carry important implications for both health practice and policy. Current UK health strategies acknowledge chemsex as a risk behaviour, but they often treat it as a purely clinical problem - one to be solved through STI testing, overdose prevention, or basic harm reduction advice. While these are essential, they do not go far enough. They overlook the psychological drivers that sustain chemsex: the search for connection, the burden of internalised homophobia, the scars of stigma, the pressures of queer body culture, and the pervasive loneliness many men described.
To meaningfully address chemsex, interventions must be holistic and culturally sensitive. Harm reduction remains vital - ensuring people have access to safer-use information, clean equipment, and overdose prevention resources. But equally important is the need for psychosexual support: therapy and counselling that address body image, intimacy, shame, and trauma. Creating brave spaces where sober sex can be reclaimed as a site of pleasure, rather than anxiety, is also critical. Without tackling the social and emotional dimensions, clinical interventions risk missing the point.
This research also highlighted a profound sense of neglect - the “lack of care” that many participants articulated. Too often, men felt invisible within mainstream health services, judged or stereotyped when they did seek help, or entirely overlooked by policy frameworks. This disconnect reinforces the stigma already surrounding chemsex, making it harder for individuals to reach out before harm escalates.
Ultimately, my dissertation argues that chemsex cannot be reduced to a public health problem alone. It must be understood as a cultural and psychological phenomenon embedded in the lived realities of queer life. It is simultaneously about pleasure and pain, freedom and loss, connection and isolation.
What struck me most throughout this research was the humanity of the participants’ voices. They were not simply statistics in a health report, nor cautionary tales in a media narrative. They were individuals negotiating the complexities of queer identity, intimacy, and resilience in a digital age. Their stories remind us that behind every headline about HIV risk or overdose is a person seeking belonging, intimacy, and affirmation — sometimes at any cost.
In short, chemsex is not just about drugs. It is about what it means to be queer in the twenty-first century: how communities build connection, how stigma continues to shape desire, and how resilience and vulnerability coexist in the same breath.
This research calls on health professionals, policymakers, and community leaders to listen more carefully - to the silences as much as to the words. If we are to design interventions that work, they must be built not only on data but on the lived truths of those most affected. Only then can we move toward approaches that honour pleasure as much as they prevent harm, that challenge stigma as much as they promote safety, and that truly centre the voices of queer men navigating chemsex today.