The Sober Raver: Dance music saved my life

At the end of my run, there was nothing left. Standing at a gaunt 80 pounds with sullen eyes, I was consuming 40 times the recommended dosage of prescription medication everyday. I would eat handfuls just to vomit them up within a few hours, then impatiently pop more and repeat. Instead of living a regular teenage life, I spent hours alone, clawing at the imaginary insects running under my skin and frantically whispering at voices I heard after my week-long benders. I refused to leave my room unless I had a steady supply of drugs to face reality with.

What finally pushed me to consider cutting down was a serious run-in with the law that was set up by one of my best friends on the way home from a party. Three police vehicles and one undercover pulled me over, shining flashlights into my car before I even had a chance to speak. I remember my fear quickly transformed into disgust as three male police officers searched my body, sat me in a cell and joked how I would be raped in jail.

I checked into an eight-month rehabilitation program at just 19 years old, leaving behind my school, changing my phone number and cutting off contact with the outside world, isolating myself for a whole year. I relearned how to experience emotions, have active conversations and make decisions based on logic, rather than hunger and obsession.

With drugs being the core of my existence for so long, I feared that I wouldn't be myself anymore. I didn't understand how to interact with the real world without using. I still thought day in and day out about my love of the drugs: their smell, how they looked, the way they would slowly climb into my brain and behind my mind. The tension built within me, consuming my thoughts and dreams.

I had begun reintegrating into normal life for a few weeks – going outside, running a few daytime errands and the occasional lunch – when I decided to take a life-changing plunge.

Always a passionate dance music lover, I organized a plan to attend a two-day music festival with some friends, hoping that it would help push me out of my depressive state and welcome back some needed positivity to my new lifestyle. But, as you might guess, the plan backfired. Within minutes of being in the crowd, my eyes were darting towards the lines, pills and pipes being passed around the crowd. I was salivating. So I ran to a space, alone, pulling at my hair and shaking with frustration.