Roskilde buying Ecstasy

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Roskilde buying Ecstasy

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Everything You Need to Know About Drug Safety at Music Festivals

Roskilde buying Ecstasy

Just a few rows back from the front of the stage, I watched as patches of brown, well-trodden grass — once largely visible minutes earlier — became steadily occluded by hundreds of feet. I felt shoulders pressing against mine and a noticeable shift in pressure at my back. My arms were suddenly pinned at my sides. My breathing began to quicken, and I tossed frantic glances to my three siblings, who were standing around me. The August sun, formerly a welcome source of warmth, now beat down mercilessly. The air around me was sour and stale, transmogrified by a mass of sweating bodies. Skinny frames ricocheted off of each other, punch drunk on cheap vodka and the vibrations of the thrumming bass from the interim performer. Last summer, at the Lollapalooza music festival in Chicago, I experienced my first fully realized panic attack. As someone who has dealt with near-lifelong anxiety and bouts of claustrophobia, it may not come as a surprise that a surging and swaying crowd of thousands would be triggering for me. Their lifelong love and appreciation for music, a trait they passed on to their five kids, drove my adult siblings and me to want to experience a version of it for ourselves, at a festival. After reviewing the lineup, which ranged in genres from pop and rap to electronic dance music and folk rock, we decided to buy two-day passes. This was all blissfully compounded by the fact that we had dined at the same pancake joint as Chili Peppers frontman Anthony Kiedis — decked out in a bejeweled, oversized leather Moschino jacket — the day before seeing them at Lollapalooza. Part of this romanticization also came from my conceptions of other popular music festivals, like Woodstock. As a self-admitted melophile in a way that feels closely tethered to my family identity, it was all the more disconcerting that my first festival revealed such a deeply triggering anxiety. In the moment, between darting thoughts of suffocation, I thought of the Astroworld crowd crush in that left 10 people dead and many more injured. I ultimately asked a festival attendant to help pull me out of the crowd once the anxiety became too overwhelming; yet, my nerves lingered from the hilltop where I found myself sitting at a considerable distance, worried that my sisters — pressed against the metal gates below the stage — would end up being pulled beneath the sea of people. More than that, however, my uncontrollable reaction to the impending crowd crush, which thankfully remained in the hypothetical realm, subverted another quintessential feature of festivals: other than the more obvious focus on music, these large-scale gatherings are founded on principles of community. My inability to stay literally grounded in the moment incited a sense of being unmoored from a piece of myself. I knew my siblings wanted to be front row again, as did I. But getting there took a full day of onerous prep work. I questioned my own mental integrity. Could my anxiety really be that acute? How could I not have foreseen this reaction? And in March of , a concert for rapper Glorilla saw two crowd-crush-related deaths. Setting aside the ethical queries, at one point, the physical power of the horde is simply too great to overcome. How could people ignore another human being who was crying and pleading to stop jostling them into a churning crowd? Or were these fans simply too entranced by the beat, unable to break concentration, their senses dulled under the influence of ecstasy or weed or fruit-flavored liquor? I suppose the power of music, ostensibly rife with positive potential, also has its own unique drawbacks. Gabriella Ferrigine is a former staff writer at Salon. Formerly a staff writer at NowThis News, she has an M. By Gabriella Ferrigine. Read more about this topic. Related Articles.

Roskilde buying Ecstasy