It’s the early hours of a Tuesday morning and I haven’t slept since Thursday night. I’m high out of my mind, floating through the universe in a state of pure bliss, dancing in time with the buzzing of my heart in my chest, my twisting body matching that white-hot feeling rippling through my veins. I laugh under the flashing blue lights and shake my head, music bumping loud in the background. Drugs are brilliant. Mind-expanding. Heart opening.
The first time I did drugs I was fifteen. A group of us were camping by a lake, passing the bong in a circle when one of the boys pulled out a bag of obscure little mushrooms. “They’re magical,” he told us, and so we ignored the bitter taste and swallowed them whole. We laid in the reeds and listened the sound to life vibrating, the trees spinning out like kaleidoscopes above us.
I meddled in hallucinogenics for a while. Acid made the world pixelated one trip and cartoon-ified the next. Every time was exciting and different. But eventually I was ready to try something new. My boyfriend, a meth dealer, racked some stuff into a neat little line and showed me how to snort it up. “So you don’t have to wait for the caps to dissolve in your stomach,” he’d said. So I took the purple fiver from him, rolled it into a straw and breathed in hard. The drugs fizzled along in my bloodstream like ice cream and lemonade, and for the first time in my life, I understood euphoria. Everything vibrated. Everything moved and everything flowed and I could feel God in the back of my knees. I could not conjure up sadness.
Every experience I’ve had with drugs has been a positive one. Every Friday night coke-line, every Sunday morning bump of ket, every acid-fuelled camping trip has been beautiful. Every “I love you,” spurred on by MDMA has connected me to another human being, our lives intertwined even for just a glistening moment. Every tab melted onto my tongue has taught me something new about the earth, or shown me how to appreciate the beauty of nature, the wonder of life in a new light.
Everyone is magical when I’m on drugs. I remember meeting this guy and thinking he was an Angel. He glowed and he laughed and he was so alive and full of spontaneity. We would just hold hands and run down the street, feeling cold air rushing against our face, the sensation of Living filling us. Sometimes on drugs you realise you love a person so much that it hurts. Which I suppose is the best kind of pain, really. Sometimes you just wanna kiss someone and your whole body just aches for it. The guy I’m seeing got high with me the other day and we had what was most definitely the best sex of my life. Everything is so intense and you have no inhibitions and all your love, for everyone and everything, is flowing through you, and the universe intertwines with you and you don’t end and you don’t begin and neither do they and you just become this singular entity, moving together in time with the earth, and the whole world feels interconnected.
There’s no gravity when you’re high. You float out into the cosmic abyss and it’s beautiful but also undoubtedly a little terrifying. I’ll admit that. There are times when the fluorescent glow of the street lamps is too bright and the way the trams sway on the tracks isn’t quite right. The MDMA gives you lock-jaw and the K makes you lose time and everything is heightened. But our bodies move like liquid. You can feel bliss running through your veins. I’m not saying drugs are for everyone, I’m not saying they’re never problematic. But sometimes with drugs, your heart gets so full that it hurts in the most brilliant way possible. I guess I can’t see why anyone would condemn that feeling.