Hit & Run: Pretty Little Rave Girl
June 2011; age 18
My body is captive to the beat of the music. Lights of all colours zigzag through the darkness. Overwhelmed by the sensation, my heart pounds, almost as fast as the electronic bass blasting through the building. Ecstasy elevates the thrill of the atmosphere. Touch & sound resemble paradise as I roll, my pupils so dilated that the blue colour is barely visible.
It’s a game of hit & run as I dart through the masses of half-naked, sweaty bodies, on the prowl for a fresh pair of lips to claim until they bore me. Adding up the numbers becomes a competition as I compare them with my rave buddies. Six is the new bar to beat; six random human beings I locked lips with, & still I was thirsty for more. There’s plenty of night left, so I arrogantly set out with my partner in crime to increase our numbers, giggling as we dash through the sweaty maze.
Tall or short, skinny or buff, rolling or sober, everybody looks appetizing. I suck on my binky, head never ceasing to move around, bobbing to the beats as I scan the crowd. I admire the faces, beautiful & smiling & moving majestically to the music.
Everything holds beauty. Enraptured, any trace of an attention span disintegrates as I move from one area—one hand, one pair of lips, one sound, one feeling, one rhythm—to the next. My mind is a racing roller coaster, rumbling along with the drugs my body absorbs as I absorb the feeling of rolling to the beat of the bass.
My perspective becomes a colourful kaleidoscope, seeing the best in people & feeling the glorious sensation of existence. Drugs, bodies touching, colourful outfits with minimal clothing aglow, bass vibrating through my core: it is all such a sweet escape from the constant misery of my mind.
Over the months, more drugs are required to feel as good as my first few rolls; then, the more drugs I take, the harder it is on my body, & the worse the comedown becomes.
It’s a game of hit & run as the drugs slam my body with the need to gnaw & touch & dance. The temporary pleasure turns into a miserable, three day recovery. One night, I throw up all over my friend on the dance floor; I lose fifteen pounds that night, & I hardly even remember the fun times.
It begins to slip away. I lose control. Nights turn into sunlight that magnifies my head & stomach aches. Days turn into a week of slothful depression. Without drugs, I feel dead; I’ve come to rely on the high of the ecstasy & the rave atmosphere to enjoy existing. Looking forward to the next one keeps me going… but soon it is no longer enough; it is insubstantial. The routine grows old as I grow numb.
It’s a game of hit & run as I reminisce on “the good ol’ days” when I could take a pill & sprout wings, flying through the dance floors, swirling with the music, spinning into someone’s arms. Every night out on the town develops into a new story to entertain for weeks. It all becomes a whirl, the memories of drugged-nights with random faces, their attractiveness overly glorified in my mind. The nights grow longer as drugs do more harm than good.
I didn’t know this journey led to a cliff. Now it’s ending; it’s all over. After all my hit & runs, I ended up being the one to be hit. Drugs hit me, then ran.
They ran, & now I am alone, abandoned by the fun I spent so much time & money chasing. Now I am back to the awful reality of imprisonment in the haunted dungeons of my mind. Pure misery stains all thoughts, so full of evil self-destruction. Aside from the years of mental terror & misery from being misunderstood, I am overwhelmed by the rape & betrayal & abandonment from just a couple months ago; a vengeful, spiteful hatred overwhelms me.
When the anger does not drive me to insanity, I am generally overrun by disabling depression. Life seems to just be one tribulation after another. Maybe it’s all just one big hit & run.