Then, there was a moment of clarity. I told myself that I was present, in the real world and alive. So I was going to make it work. I stood up and ran back to the crowd, this time focusing on the music in the air, feeling the sonic vibrations running through my muscles. Suddenly, I was dancing and laughing, smiling on my own accord. I felt a booming energy in my chest and my arms that made me want to jump and scream. It was so pure, so bright and overwhelming. With tears of joy on my face, I realized that this was all I needed. This was what I could chase endlessly, what I could live for. This was my new high.
Five years later, I'm still addicted to this unworldly sensation. A high that I can only find in the simultaneous gasp of a crowd, in the thick and heated energy bouncing through moving bodies, inside a deep, sharp pull I feel all the way from my spine to my brainstem.
It's not something that can be found in a baggie, a capsule or a pipe. It’s more potent and pure than the rush I used to desperately run after, and it’s what has kept me alive. Every time I think I might get tired of it, a DJ, a soundsystem or song brings me back. There's no place in the world that I am happier and more in tune with myself than in front of a blaring speaker, soaking in and feeling pitches and melodies surging through my veins.
So yes, I’ll defend the cliche. I’ll stand tall with all that I’ve been through, stand up to every one who has called me crazy and proclaim that this is the truth: dance music has saved my life.
Written anonymously by a member of the Mixmag staff