I’m Addicted to Taking MDMA 3-4 Times a Year
Hey, everyone. I’m really nervous to do this today. I haven’t spoken up before. My name is Sunshine, and I’m addicted to taking MDMA 3 to 4 times a year. This works out to almost once a quarter, although sometimes, work and other obligations get in the way.
What that means is three, sometimes four, times a year I am guaranteed to have a really fun night out. I find myself in the throngs of the ground level crowd at Brooklyn Mirage, sweating profusely, pupils dilated in a way that could completely destroy my career (if I had one), grabbing a stranger by the arms and saying “oh my god, you are so beautiful!”
Embarrassing, right? Especially when the stranger says it back. I can tell you are all extremely shocked and dismayed. It only gets worse.
People “rolling hard” are instantly identifiable by their upbeat mood, exuberant contentment and likelihood of saying “yo, anyone got this new Chris Lake ID?”
The last time my addiction overcame me, I was dancing (erratically). A man (friend of friend) looked me dead in the eyes and said: “you smell so good. I want to smell your whole body. I want to smell YOUR ARMPITS.”
A more sober woman (different friend of a different friend) turned back from her advanced position in the crowd and asked: “did he just say he wants to smell your armpits?”
“That’s kind of our business,” I told her.
These are the kind of absolute, rock bottom moments that can happen when you use hard drugs like MDMA recreationally, about 3-4 times a year.
The consequences can be devastating. My addiction has cost me money, like on concert tickets and Ubers to the outskirts of Williamsburg—that’s before you even count the money spent directly on my completely devastating addiction to a Schedule I drug (about $120 per year). I have also wasted time on the DICE app, freaking out about a presale, muttering to myself: “oh shoot, what was the code?”
Some people take MDMA for spiritual reasons, but I’m not acclaimed New Yorker writer Jia Tolentino. I take MDMA for one of the basest motivations known to humankind: I like having fun.
Basically, I blame my parents. If they had done a better job instilling in me values of being boring and following the rules, I might’ve had a shot at making it as an accountant in a mid-sized city. Instead, I partake in a shockingly horrific crime: doing drugs on the weekend when my schedule permits. Actually, now that I think about it, they did try.
I can only hope a DEA agent hears about this and decides to spend billions of dollars destroying the economy of a Latin American country in a fruitless effort to stop other people from following in my footsteps. Maybe if we print more t-shirts that say D.A.R.E. on them, the next generation will have a fighting chance.
I often ask myself, what would Nancy Reagan do? And then do the opposite. If we photoshop cooler clothes onto all photos of her and scrub all evidence of her ignoring actual public health crises from the internet maybe more people would follow her sage advice and just say no to having a good time.
The worst part is, after a night of complete recklessness and debauchery, I wake up at about 11:00 am with no hangover. I get a bagel and fresh O.J. delivered to my apartment and vow to repeat my depraved behavior in a couple months.
The biggest danger with this drug is that it could contain a different drug, one I didn’t plan to take. One that’s made the Sackler family and McKinsey & Co. oodles and oodles of money and torn through vast swaths of American society leaving a trail of much worse destruction and horror in its wake.
But no, let us keep our focus on what really matters: creating barriers to prevent consenting adults from indulging in light and occasional psychedelic use on the weekends.
So yeah, I’m three months sober today, but I’ve got tickets to H0l0 tonight and I feel Satan once again luring me down that dark path of love and happiness. At least weed is kind of legal. I’ll see you on the devil’s dance floor tonight…and probably another 2-3 more times this year.
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