The Solo Addiction

Since winning Mr. CMEN Leather in August, most of my reflections have lived behind a paywall. I’ve treated my title year like a private diary, but this particular realization feels too universal to keep under the sash. It isn’t just about the leather community; it’s about the fragile infrastructure of adult friendships.

I remember lying in bed after a long shift watching the kids, the silence of the apartment magnified by a single, looping thought: I miss my friends. It was a heavy, physical weight, but one I felt too depleted to lift. There’s a quote circulating lately about how being alone can become “addicting.” You get so used to your own company, your own mission, and your own silence that the effort required to bridge the gap to another person starts to feel like a monumental task. You begin to crave isolation because it’s the only place where you don’t have to “perform” the role of titleholder, manny, or producer.

I promised myself I’d “get my shit together” the next day. But the next day was consumed by the kids, and the moments in between were swallowed by a to-do list that seems to never end. The latest task was figuring out my schedule of panels to attend during the upcoming Leather Leadership Conference (LLC), trying to justify the ticket price and make the investment worth it.

Thankfully, the weekend was a success. For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged, that I was allowed to take up space. I was welcomed with open arms, and it was the professional and communal “recharge” I needed. But when I returned home and hit the pillow, that same ache was waiting for me.

The truth is, I’ve been subconsciously triaging my time at the expense of my friends who don’t wear leather and aren’t part of this particular community. I know they’re proud of me. I know the foundation is there. But adult friendships are already a battle against the “devil of distance,” whether that’s the miles between NYC and LA, or just the five miles across traffic-choked surface streets. When you add a title to that distance, the gap starts to feel like a canyon.

There is a jarring mental shift required to live this life. By day, I am “Manny Paul,” focused entirely on the needs, schedules, and emotional whims of children. By night, I have to pivot into being a Misguided’s producer, editing the final season and attempting to memorize these final three monologues, or a titleholder figuring out events and scheduling. Moving between being the person who serves and the person who is seen is exhausting. When you spend your whole day holding space for everyone else, that addiction of being alone at the end of the night isn’t just a habit, it becomes a survival mechanism. But that survival mechanism is also a wall. Which I see and understand.

Now, two weeks out from LLC (and when I originally started this essay), I’ve begun the slow process of sending the texts and leaving the voice memos. It’s an attempt to break that cycle, reminding myself that while the title often feels like a solo journey, the purpose behind it isn’t.

But the “work” doesn’t stop. There is a mad dash toward Memorial Day and International Mister Leather. My brain is a tabs-open mess of applications, speeches, sponsor logos, and photoshoots. These are the things that pull me away from my creative work and my social life, especially as the upcoming Spring Break work schedule disrupts the predictable flow of my days.

As they say… “The only way out is through,” which means I keep showing up. But I’m learning that this ride has a side effect: invisibility. Last week, I saw photos of a meetup of Los Angeles titleholders and realized I wasn’t even invited. It’s a strange paradox to be more “visible” than ever as a representative of this community, yet feel overlooked by the very peers who understand the weight of the sash.

Some days are easier than others. I keep going even when I feel like I shouldn’t, balancing the chaos of the “Manny” life with the ambition of the “Producer” life. I am proud of the opportunities I’m creating. I am ready. I am excited. But I am also making sure that when I cross that final bold-faced item off my to-do list in May, I’m not standing there alone.

The final months of the title year following IML are, thankfully, reserved for pure joy. Heading into June and the constant wave of Pride celebrations feels like the perfect time to reconnect and rejuvenate. Surrounding myself with rainbows, glitter, and the friends I’ve missed is the absolute best way to wrap up this journey, and to begin writing the next chapter, whatever that may be.