In a Sea of Dicks

I just deleted Grindr. It consumed me. Every day, for hours, I’d be on it—hunting for men. Most days it ended in a random hookup, even when I wasn’t horny. It became less about desire and more about habit, like reaching for your phone when you’re bored, except the stakes were higher.

Grindr works like a slot machine—variable ratio reinforcement. You keep swiping, not knowing if you’ll get nothing or a big win (a super hot guy). That unpredictability is pure dopamine. Sometimes you pull the trigger 100 times, and nothing happens. Other times, you strike gold. So you keep checking. But most of the time, it’s like opening the fridge over and over, hoping something new appears. And late at night, you shove in whatever you find, desperately looking for satisfaction.

Some nights, I’d wake up at 4 a.m. to pee, and like muscle memory, I’d open Grindr. One swipe turned into hours, and I’d trade sleep for some soulless hookup with zombie men who’d already been on it for countless hours. I’d kiss them and taste the mephedrone on their lips. The third time they offered it, I’d cave, take a line, and watch my day spiral. My goals? Gone. My plans? On hold.

It wasn’t just at home. I’d travel to a new city, excited to explore, but the first thing I’d do was open Grindr. If you’ve been there, you know the rush—hundreds of messages, invitations, offers. All that attention. Hours vanish. And instead of seeing a new place, you end up in another stranger’s bedroom, another bed you’ll forget by tomorrow.

Casual sex became so routine that I had to remind myself: I can just jerk off. Not every urge needs an app. Not every quiet moment needs distraction. Honestly, I can barely remember most of the guys because I wasn’t using Grindr to connect. I was using it to escape—loneliness, boredom, or simply to disassociate.

And then there are the drugs. Grindr is my biggest trigger for those situations. I’d show up for sex, but temptation would always be there. When someone offers persistently, when you want it, when they want you to be “on the same level,” it’s hard to say no.

Deleting Grindr isn’t just about reclaiming time. It’s about reclaiming myself. My challenge for 2025 is this: six months off Grindr and drugs. Six months to recondition my brain, rebuild my habits, and have a healthier relationship with sex and my needs. I’ll allow myself to use Hinge—because hookups aren’t the problem. The problem is the toxic cycle I let myself fall into.

So what will I do with all this time? I’ll get serious about the gym again—train hard, eat right, and push myself. I’ll read books I’ve neglected. Meditate. Meet friends I’ve drifted from. See places with clear eyes, not through the haze of late-night swipes. I’ll journal more.

If you know who I am, reach out. This shit is lonely sometimes, and I could use some support. But I’m done chasing dopamine in dark rooms with strangers. I want more, and I’m ready to work for it.