You were my first love. We’ve been together for a whole decade- and what a decade we've had. We hopelessly fell for each other in 2005 and immediately began touring the country, bonded by our discovery of spine-tingling, jaw-oscillating beats. Then we got a job working shoulder-to-shoulder reviewing festivals. We made so many lifelong friends and our future seemed lustrous and thrilling to say the very least.
When did I realise that our love was true and pure? One evening, a few years after me met; that fateful night when we wandered together through Manchester City Centre on the way to Sankeys. Ballooned out men were spilling out of drinking dens whilst furiously attempting to shred each other’s faces with glasses; the law arrived en masse to attempt to quell the ugly scene. I rapidly increased my pace, now steaming towards the club; I never wanted you to leave my side.
I’ve looked after you over the years in the only ways I can. I’ve disseminated practical advice to others (this being an open relationship with not even a hint of jealousy) who also wish to be with you. I tried to shield your reputation by using and promoting testing kits to mitigate any dangers that you could cause. In fact, I try to totally eradicate any harm you cause society by campaigning for your liberation with all the zeal of a middle-aged virgin in a brothel. I know you’re not inherently perilous, some people just get the wrong idea. But you can be when you’re placed into a dangerous, unscientific, and outdated context of prohibition.
Having said all that, and it’s been a slow process but, more and more these days I find the risk-benefit ratio of being with you tipping in the wrong direction. The titillating and lustful embraces, the electric atmospheres, the deep meaningful conversations with total strangers, and the shattering of all socially constructed inhibitions are all still there. But they now come accompanied with a psychological addiction, a temporary depletion of precious serotonin neurotransmitters, and mid-week life assessments that - at times - have left me feeling vulnerable, raw, and fearful.
Sure, when the weekend rolls round, and I’m spying the line-up on the next alluring flyer whilst imagining the hedonistic antics that will certainly go with it, all may be forgotten. But questions are spiralling around my mind like a Beyblade with a jet engine: Are these emotions real? Have they ever been? When did we start hanging around every weekend - and occasionally during the week - anyway?
This is not the end - I don’t want to close the book on us completely because I still want you in my life. We’ll never get back to the honeymoon period, but I can envision us going on more adventures in the future. But let’s take it down a gear or two and have a little bit of space for now, yeah?
Yours forever but not right now,
If you want some practical advice about drugs rather than scouring the web for misinformation, go to The Loop.
Don't Panic attempt to credit photographers and content owners wherever possible, however due to the sheer size and nature of the internet this is sometimes impractical or impossible. If you see any images on our site which you believe belong to yourself or another and we have incorrectly used it please let us know at firstname.lastname@example.org and we will respond asap.