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Both of them affect me inasmuch as their being likely to put me in contact with the amorphous, with the formless, or with that which imagines a form in place of formlessness, that which produces desire without any possible satisfaction. My only drugs, in all their romantic or anonymous variations, are testosterone and sex, which form, in that way, a circle of mutual production. My metabolism has never accepted any substance meant as a compensatory substitution. These are city drugs, with the appropriate molecular charge for cohabiting and communicating in a specific urban location.

I barely use coke, or Ecstasy or speed or rather, I use them very rarely, only for those times when I go back to Barcelona or Madrid (when you’re passing through metropolitan Spain, a certain toxicological dose is absolutely necessary), and only in those cases. Perhaps my accent wasn’t changed, but my ability to use vocabulary and my relationship with grammar were radically improved it was like attaining a new level of consciousness in a foreign language. I spoke French fluently, in one night, thanks to an overdose of crystal. During one period, I took crystal: megapower for the brain. Few substances have led me beyond this threshold of addiction. I desire to continue desiring, without any possibility of satiation. It transforms itself, changing into an unconscious state during fatigue or sleep. A moment later, desire will be still more intense, and on and on, more and more. The present moment, the instant of assimilation, has no importance compared with the overweening necessity for what must come immediately after.

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When it spills out across my skin, I think I want it to spill out across my skin and when my body absorbs it, I think I want to absorb it, more and more. When I’m kissing her, I think I want to kiss her when I’m talking with her, I think I have an urgent need to talk with her. Right where satisfaction is supposed to take place, frustration emerges. Second of all, because that satisfaction takes the form of withdrawal. Why am I certain that this love, this and not another, corresponds to the addiction model and not to a cybernetic mechanism of satisfaction? First of all, because there is a dissymmetrical relationship between the ingestion of, or the presence of, the object of desire and satisfaction. I know from experience that there are forms of love that function according to the model of a satisfying form of feedback. It wasn’t like that for me the other times. You could say that any kind of love relationship is addictive in a certain way. I’ve found my drug, and it is, like all drugs, available and elusive at the same time. It becomes obvious that my relationship with V belongs to the type of codependency categorized under the sign of addiction. My relationship with T could be defined in this way: T-dependent. My relationship with V could be defined in this way: Dependent on Despentes. The consequences - in legal and medical terms - of my rejection of the protocol must therefore be admitted: I’m addicted to testosterone. The problem is as follows: outside the institutional context defined by the state, testosterone is no longer part of a therapy of hormonal substitution and becomes an illegal drug, just like cocaine or heroin. I lay claim to the irreducible plurality of my living body, not to my body as “bare life,” but to the very materiality of my body as political site for agency and resistance.

Simply because femaleness is a biopolitical fiction, a variable within a power regime that cannot be derived from anatomical form or reproductive function, I don’t need permission from the Spanish monarchy or the French Republic to do up some testosterone. What I do know is that, before testosterone, my voice was not a woman’s voice, my beardless face not a woman’s face, my clitoris, measuring less than two centimeters, not a female organ. There is no predefined direction for the changes in me that are triggered by testosterone. Even if I do not want to procreate, I don’t want my reproductive cells to be hijacked by the state I don’t want my uterus to be confiscated by the medical-industrial complex. I don’t want to change my sex, and I don’t want to declare myself dysphoric about whatever it may be I don’t want a doctor to decide how much testosterone a month is suitable for changing my voice and making me grow a beard I don’t want to have my ovaries and breasts removed. In the medical protocol, changing sex implies making a unique decision, a choice made once and once only. One’s relationship to testosterone changes as soon as one leaves the framework of a medical and legal protocol for changing sex. preciado is one of the most important voices for queer theory and identity politics. Spanish writer, philosopher, and curator paul b.