“My spirit was trying to be free, and this was how I would release it to exist without boundaries,” he says of the sport. “While flying through the air, I found peace within me. I was satisfied. I was complete. I was finished. I was…beautiful.” This theme of completeness runs throughout Acrobaddict, manifesting itself via relationships, be it Joe’s relationship with gymnastics, his family, lovers or drugs. But it would be his relationship with his first coach, Dan, a fatherlike figure that Joe describes in the book with immense admiration, that would prove to be pivotal. “The shift of focus away from gymnastics definitely happened around the time my coach left,” Joe says of Dan’s moving away. “Not that his leaving was the final thing, but after I went into the new training center and seeing the young guys catching up, I felt like I was trying to trap a tornado. And I didn’t really have a lot of support, which I think is really important for anyone who is out on some sort of quest. I do think my main source of support was my coach, so when he left it all crumbled for me.” Without gymnastics to “obsess” over and without his coach for support, Joe looked elsewhere for acceptance. He writes that gymnastics made him feel fearless and that he now craved that feeling in everyday life. High school drinking progressed to smoking pot, which led to trying Ecstasy and acid. All the while, Joe went through the motions of gymnastics training with a new team and coach—but with noticeably less passion and determination. In the past, the confidence that gymnastics gave him helped mask Joe’s insecurities. If he was a warrior in the gym, strong beyond belief despite his smaller stature, then the taunts and teasing from kids at school didn’t ring as true. The name-calling had less impact. But once that safety net of athletic self-esteem was gone, it became harder for Joe to suppress those thoughts and questions. “All the prayers in the world couldn’t change this. All the sits-ups in the world couldn’t change this. Nothing I could do would change the fact that I was gay, and that ate at me more than anything else,” Joe says. “And I wasn’t even entirely sure. I knew I was different, but even straight addicts say they felt ‘different’ when they were young. But eventually being me became me getting made fun of, and I would literally stay up all night thinking how I could fix this. “When I wondered if I was gay, this feeling of trauma would come over me,” he says. “The fact is, it was harder to admit I was gay than admit I was a drug addict.” This topic of sexuality is also woven into the book, often in terms of that continual struggle to be whole and find acceptance within. Strangely enough, it was a night of drug use that ultimately led to Joe accepting the fact that he was gay. He laughs it off now, but he’s frank in saying that, much like some in the medical field have said Ecstasy can help people come to terms with disease, the drug helped him finally find peace with his sexuality—not that he necessarily advocates that method for others. “This is weird to say, but I feel like drugs saved my life in the beginning. I was in so much pain, the drugs were medicating me. They opened me up,” Joe says. “I feel like they were a boat that I built and got on top of and it got me to the other side, but when it did, the boat fell apart.” Running with the boat metaphor, you could say the vessel began taking on some serious water about the time Joe hit college. By his sophomore, year, his gymnastics career was over and he’d developed a severe cocaine and prescription pill habit. He began unhealthy relationships with “straight” or closeted men, got kicked out of school and started spiraling down a deep, dark hole. *** To read more about Joe, be sure and pick up the new issue of Instinct, out now! And to read an excerpt of Joe’s book, Acrobaddict, before it’s released on Sept. 10, check out