Roughly 45 minutes after drinking the ayahuasca, I felt it. I entered into a synaesthetic spiral of colour and energy, a new universe of otherworldly beings powered by hues and feelings and thoughts that previously seemed beyond my imagination. I sat for a while and tried to slow myself in this world, flitting out of it and into the ceremonial circle, then back into ayahuasca again. I heard my friends start to purge and a deep sickness overcame me. Balls of energy that felt like wool tangled in the back of my throat made their way to the surface and my skin tingled. I vomited for hours, but it felt relieving and almost fulfilling. I’d look down at the hands of my childhood self and resume a memory from my past, consumed with emotional abuse and the disappointment of my father. I’d heave and quiver until I’d vomit again, dispelling the pain, then I’d collapse lifeless onto the mattress until the next wave came. This experience was relentless, it rolled over me again and again, another memory to acquiesce to, another purge. The next thing I remember is looking up at the shaman kneeling in front of me, singing a haunting melody which unearthed pain that I cannot explain in words as I cried uncontrollably and unashamedly. There it was: release.