A safe kind of high: My unexpected relapse

You would think after fifteen years, my memories of "rolling" and free-falling inside myself would be strung together on a distant, blurry line, for which I am older and wiser living clear on the other side. For the most part, this is true. I can't remember my last night taking Molly (we called it ecstasy, or … Continue reading A safe kind of high: My unexpected relapse