So, the first time I took MDMA coincided with the only night that I’ve ever seen Pink Floyd in concert, which didn’t make for a bad night at all. In fact, it was a night that has made my whole life better since.
You may find that hard to believe, but I know that there was a fundamental change for the good in me that night, and, no offense to Misters Gilmour, Mason, and Wright, I think it was the drug.
That was May 10, 1994, and three friends and I traveled from Charlotte to Raleigh’s Carter Finley Stadium for that performance on The Division Bell tour. Clutching our seventh row center tickets, we took the pills about a half an hour before the show was set to begin, which was about perfect, as I didn’t have too many heebie jeebies about being sandwiched in with 72,000 people before we were at our seats and I had a bit of me space.
And then the show started, and while I was in my own space at my seat, it didn’t matter, because I was with everyone and everything. The music was alive and it connected everything. I could not have been at a more rapturous place, or on a more rapturous plane.
One of us had an empty Pepsi can, and we took turns passing it back and forth, holding it up to let it best grab the reverb from one of the main bass amps, which was located directly in front of us, and letting all of that energy flow out of it and into us.
In all, the whole night was just one of the best experiences I’ve ever had, and it didn’t end when the show did.
We spent the night in Raleigh and then, after partying and playing poker at the hotel all night, we headed back to Charlotte. I had to work that afternoon, and I made it to the restaurant having only slept one hour.
Now, Lord knows that my temper could be legendary back in those days. If my hangover was too bad or my sleep schedule was off. I wanted everything to be perfect, and I was about as far as one can get from tolerant if it wasn’t. That being the case, on that first night back to work I just knew that, despite the fantastic mood I was in when I got to work, that at about 9:00 I was just going to straight light up some sweet little 19 year-old.
It didn’t happen, however. I was braced for it, in the hopes that I could keep my shit together, but it just didn’t happen. Nor did it happen the next night, nor the next, nor the next. I know this, these 23 years later, because I was waiting for it, and it just didn’t happen.
On the 13th day after the show, I stopped waiting, as I accepted that I just seemed to be a happier and more tolerant person than I had been before. And I was. This also, these 23 years later; that night was a turning point for me when it came to anger management. I wasn’t perfect in that regard, but I was, and would continue to be, more tolerant and easy going than I had been. What’s more, when I would begin to feel myself getting froggy in that matter, I could remind sometimes remind myself where I had been and that I had overcome such urges many times in the past, and that would help.
So, again, and after much adieu, I think it can’t hurt to use MDMA to combat MDMA. Too many former and present combat veterans have battled those demons for too long, and if there’s something that might help, I think we need to see if it can.
Much love, you beautiful people.