Jordi Chicletol: "I used to live my drug use with a sense of 'I'm the fucking boss' and that embarrasses me."

Throughout his life, Jordi Chicletol, stage name of Jordi Gómez, has been a cultural activist, event organizer, DJ and presenter (until last season he was at the helm ofRoom 910(Betevé's pop music program). All these experiences are now compiled in the book I almost died (and other hits)Published by Dashbook, in which he discusses his addiction and mental health struggles and his healing process.

Professionally, you've done many things. What word would you use to describe yourself?

— When I worked in the nightlife industry, I defined myself as a cultural agitator, but now I'm more comfortable with the concept of cultural communicator, because I think it also encompasses the work I did back then. My passion is culture, especially music, and I've found a way to channel it in a way that's most aligned with each stage of my life.

You've just written your first book, I almost died(and other hits)An autobiography in which pop culture plays a significant role. Why is pop culture so important to you?

— Because it has always been a kind of refuge, however cliché that may sound. During the first years of my life, it immediately caught my attention. And when the world starts to affect you in a less than pleasant way and everything starts to get messy, it provides refuge. And above all, television was that window where everything was alright. I think that restless and curious Jordi already made himself known at age 8, with my first passions, from the Power Rangers to the Spice Girls. I've always had the need to share it: in the schoolyard, I would pretend to write magazine articles and radio programs with my friends.

Did you share that passion for pop culture with other children, or did that already make you feel different?

— No, I started feeling different for other reasons, like when I began expressing my gender identity or sexual orientation. Projecting a masculinity that wasn't the dominant one did make me feel different. But my cultural quirks made me feel like I belonged, because my classmates went along with it.

That's probably why it was also a refuge.

— Yes, also because I had academic problems from first grade onwards; it was one failing grade after another. And of course, that was a total refuge. I was more stimulated by Mamma Chicho than by sports, where do you think! I didn't feel represented by the force.

Do you think the education system somehow failed students like you?

— I don't know how things are now, but I felt really stuck: that's just how we operate, and you have to accept it. It was black or white, very competitive. Ultimately, the education system is very capitalist: it's all about numbers and grades. It was incredibly frustrating that there wasn't an option for me because I wanted to understand things. It's a wound that didn't heal until I left high school, until I started doing things that were more aligned with my interests. Until then, I thought I wasn't going to be a functional adult.

You turned your steps towards nightlife, which has its risks. What was it like entering that world?

— The nightlife scene welcomed me because it was in a time of great openness and a lot of do it yourselfI already knew I wasn't a creator or an artist, but I felt I could share music by DJing. I tried it out by knocking on doors, offering to play for free at many places. On weekends, I'd go to Razzmatazz and Pop Bar to have a good time, and when I finally got to DJ at Pop Bar, I felt like I'd reached my Mecca. I also organized themed parties and later did gigs. In the early 2000s, my friends and I were experimenting a lot, and drugs were everywhere, and free too. Alcohol was also free, and it's very accepted and normalized, although you can also overdose on alcohol, like Amy Winehouse, who died from a vodka overdose. Becoming an addict was very slow and gradual; I kept saying, "I'm in control." It wasn't until the end of the last decade that my drug use became increasingly prevalent.

But didn't you consider yourself an addict?

— On one hand, there was the recreational aspect, and on the other, the fact that I was a highly sensitive child and that nighttime spaces can be overwhelming. Initially, substances and alcohol were a crutch, a help. I experienced consumption with a certain degree of... sex appealWhat a crackpot, I can do a gram and then have a killer whiskey. This part of using, the part about thinking I'm the fucking boss, I'm really ashamed of; it's the part I'm least forgiven for.

Do you think you'll ever forgive yourself?

— Yes, I think so. I'm very proud of the way I've taken responsibility for all of this. I've realized that I wasn't such an immature kid after all. When all this happened, I got my act together quickly enough, and that allowed me to start rebuilding my self-esteem, which was pretty shattered. The combination of being an immature kid and rock star He was a really cool character, and I was already comfortable with him. He wasn't just accompanied by addictions, but also by always saying yes to everything: a thousand plans, a thousand unclesA thousand jobs. There was never any room for reflection or self-reflection. In the eight years since the overdose, I've done a lot of self-reflection, and that's why I think I can forgive myself for the part that still shames me.

The overdose was the catalyst for change. Was the day of the overdose a different day?

— It was a day like any other. It was a problem with the dosage: I took too much of the drug that caused the overdose, which is GHB (gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, incorrectly called liquid ecstasy). It's very strange, because it was a day when I wasn't feeling bad or facing any major challenges. In fact, I had been in great company that morning, and I had a gig that night at my usual club, but I had it all figured out. Whenever I DJed, I had these rituals before going on: I'd snort a line before leaving home, or the chorri (as GHB is popularly known). I got the dosage wrong and ended up at the Hospital Clínic.

The book is called I almost died Because that's literally what happened to you.

— Three hours of cardiac arrest. And when you wake up and they tell you what happened, you don't understand anything. And the information you receive doesn't yet have the magnitude it will have when you're clear-headed. It was in the days that followed that I began to come to terms with it and realized it was a truly serious matter. Before all this, I had already heard a little voice telling me that something was happening to me; it was a warning that never came from outside. Around me, it was all "oh, ha, another one." Everything was very celebratory, as if there were no danger. I had already had some sparks of warning, but I had silenced them very quickly.

You mentioned that when you woke up you found yourself alone. The people you used to party with weren't there. How did you cope?

— It made me feel abandoned. I'd always been used to seeking approval, and that day, I immediately sent them a photo to get their attention. It was very frustrating. Telling myself that for many of them, I was perhaps a mirror, showing them something they weren't ready for, really helped. I was approaching my mid-thirties, and that's also a good time to let go of expectations.

Is it possible to experience the nightlife without consuming it?

— Yes, yes, you just have to keep your wits about you. I'm not going to demonize an entire industry, although I must say that it's a space where drugs are normalized and present. People say drugs are everywhere. I've been involved in the creative world, on film sets... And there I've seen them, been given them, and taken them myself.

Can you enjoy the night now?

— Yes, I've had to go through a period of rehabilitation, healing, and reconciling myself with those spaces. It's like a breakup; there has to be some distance, and I had to distance myself from certain places. There are some I haven't returned to, but others I have. I went back to Sónar. I went back to the festivals.

And when you go back to a festival and enjoy it without consuming anything, is there a certain sense of pride?

— Yes, but it took time. There was a point of rejection and resentment. But it's empowering, especially when you find yourself in situations so contrary to your past, like being the first to leave places. I used to stretch everything out so there would never be silence, so I'd never be alone. Now I don't have that problem. In fact, now I love being alone and I love being the first to leave because I need to rest. It's very rewarding.

Did you have to go into a center?

— No, not in my case. I had the basic support they provide at the Hospital Clínic, which includes sessions with a psychiatrist and psychologist, as well as support groups. For me, it was enough, and it was very interesting. I also have very fond memories of the groups, even though it was a very tough experience. I would go home very sad, but at the same time, I thought, "What a close call!" I was the youngest and was surrounded by people who were carrying stories that had consumed practically their entire lives. My sensitivity was at its peak there because I like people, I like human beings, and there were people there trying to break free from their circumstances. And I was also caught in a give-and-take. It was overwhelming: you realize that this world is very messed up, that it can ruin your life and prevent you from functioning fully.

Have the stories of some pop singers helped you understand things that have happened to you?

— Yes, very much so. I've even seen myself reflected in Paris Hilton's stories, when she talked about the boarding school where she suffered so much abuse. But more than the stories themselves, I'm really inspired by how people deal with problems: when you see that someone needs twenty years to heal from something. No matter how many privileges you have, there are things that are very difficult to handle. And, sometimes, privileges are counterproductive.