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Please call for more info. Pacifica Treatment Centre East 11th Ave. Clients must be 72 hours sober. Clients must be referred. Clients on methadone therapy considered on a case-by-case basis. Turning Point Recovery West 13th Ave. Clients may work during last two or three weeks of program Does not accepts clients on methadone. Also has a male-only and women only support recovery program in Richmond. Clients can self-refer or be referred.

Clients can be referred or self-refer. Program is 21 days in length, also has co-ed 14 day residential program for problem gamblers. Stabilized methadone clients are accepted. Program length is 28 days. Clients need to be 72 hours sober.

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The program is 60 days in length. Clients need to be 10days sober prior to admission.

2. Inpatient services

CSC clients are accepted. For clients who need more than 60 days there is a residential after-care program. Fees apply, please call for more information.

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Phone: 1. There are offices in downtown Toronto and Richmond Hill by appointment only. Toronto, ON Phone: 1. Sherbourne Health Centre Sherbourne St. It not addiction or mental health specific, but has resources and services for people struggling with mental health and or addictions. Search the directory for help with addiction problems.

Get Help Today! Help Form: Fill out the form if you can't find what you are looking for. George Cape St. James Fort St. It is easy to forget that we are born naked, void of the societal expectations we assume to be natural. Throughout our lives, social scripts are imprinted onto our bodies with the subtlety of the greatest of con-artists.


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The scripts become a part of our being, directing our behavior, mentalities, and actions. Gendered behavior is perhaps the most obvious manifestation of these codes. Indeed, this is what gender theorist Judith Butler calls, Gender Performativity. Gender is entirely socially constructed. To break free of our prescribed gender role is to disturb the social system; it shatters the performance. Just look at the rise of Second Wave Feminism in the s.

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However, for the most part, we remain oblivious, believing that the behaviors in which we engage are self-determined; that they are naturally rooted in our core being. He buzzes the doorbell mere moments after I solicit his services. The blue light from the intercom shatters the stillness of my apartment. I wait, closely assessing his frail body through the screen. His body is scrawny. His nose protrudes through tightly worn skin. Why do we do this? How can we do this?

Inviting a stranger into our home in the middle of the night defies logic. It goes against what we have been taught, for it brings forth dangers, both perceived and real. Will a man come alone or will hidden monsters follow in his pursuit? We are immediately vulnerable, exposed, and naked with an individual with no name. Certainly, heterosexuals engage in clandestine behaviors.

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They too seek hedonistic pleasures aroused by the promise of instant gratification. However, for a gay man, his decision to engage in such behavior runs deeper than mere bodily satisfaction. It is a part of his history and identity. It is his performance. It is a behavior that society has imprinted onto his essence.

The media he consumes, the venues he visits, the queer family he has built, all enforcing this behavior. I put on a shirt, buttoning it to the top and pull on a pair of dirty shorts. Standing naked at his arrival is perhaps too obvious. There is a series of knocks, faint at first, then increasingly obtrusive.

I open the door only to be greeted by the nauseating concoction of alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana. His bulging eyes are eternal oceans of electric red, searing me from the dimly-lit hallway. He walks in and removes his boots and jacket. Buck-teeth pierce through thin purple lips. We are actors, subconsciously re-enacting a sexually-charged queer script that has occurred for centuries. Sex was anonymous by necessity. Times may have changed, yet the behavior remains.

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Go anywhere, pull out a cellphone, and dozens of men can be found waiting. Waiting in a marketplace facilitated by a thirst for physical connection. The historical parallels are uncanny. It used to happen in bathhouses and theaters, in parks and in subways. Now, it happens from within the confines of our home. The venues have changed yet the performance remains.

This is our fairytale, for none other has been written. This is all we know. There is no Prince Charming, no Cinderella to pursue. There are no formalities of courtship, just glory-holes and physical statistics. Sure, in America we can get married and have children; we can get jobs and walk with swagger.

However, we continue to strengthen a sexual culture that is unique to our identity because to operate against this is to divorce ourselves from a gay past. Lips smack, our bodies fighting, biting, clawing. We search for air, our hands dancing around each other. Over the shirt, under shirt; in his pants, up his ass. It is as if he is my lover, my Savior, and I am his. I bite down on his lip, pulling his mouth deeper into mine, tasting the sweetness of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. He pushes me down, my body collapsing onto the IKEA couch my mother helped construct. I pull him on top of me, remove his shirt, and suck on his microscopic nipples.

Ingrown hairs fight through his skin, tickling my tongue as it dances over his gaunt torso. Soon I am back at his head, invading his ears and nape with ferocity. I know the joy he is feeling; the tingle electrifying his extremities. I suck hard on his neck, inhaling the scent of pathetic cologne that had once intended to impress.

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