Refusing to panic, I told myself I would be able to find them outside after the concert. So, I let the crowd take me as it moved towards the stage.

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As Bring Me the Horizon strode onto the stage, the crowd surged forward, fans screaming. The dark-haired frontman, Oli Sykes, was bleeding charisma, his heavily tattooed, slender body convulsing to the heavy bass. I was so starstruck, I didn’t realise the crowd was shifting behind me.

My very first mosh pit was unexpected. I didn’t realise people were circling behind me until a rapid, high-pressure ring of people formed. Someone yanked on my ponytail, pulling me into the sea of bodies. Before I knew it, I was on the floor, covering my head as people jumped all over me.

Near tears, I began to think this was how I’d go – on the sticky floor of a derelict warehouse. But then I felt a tug at my backpack and I was dragged out of the mass. I turned to thank my saviour, but they had already turned away to help other concert rookies.

Slightly traumatised, I regained composure and continued screaming along to the music. Only about 10 minutes passed before what I later learned was called a “wall of death” commenced. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. When one side began to surge towards the other, I closed my eyes and waited for bones to crunch.

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Somehow the death wall left me unscathed, save for a few bruises. I barely remember the rest of the set, I was so frazzled and overwhelmed. But I do remember thinking Oli Sykes looked at me, which made any near-death experience feel worthwhile.

After the gig, I found my friends outside the venue. We all gushed over how amazing the set was, ignoring how terrified I’m sure we had all felt.

Climbing into the safety of Pia’s car, I believed the trauma had passed. But 20 minutes down the highway, we were signalled by the car behind us to pull over. The car had no signage, so my friends and I all begged Pia to continue driving. Pia, while nervous, was more afraid of potentially disobeying a police officer than being flayed by a killer, so she followed the car to a dark side road.

Having survived the mosh pit, I was now convinced we were pulling over to our demise, preparing to die beside cows in a Swiss pasture in the middle of nowhere.

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But this was Switzerland, one of the safest places in the world. The car turned out to be undercover police officers, informing us that Pia’s tail lights weren’t working.

I thought I would die three times that night. But I didn’t. Thinking death is knocking on your door can teach a teenager a lot about life outside the safe bubble of home. I went to that concert feeling like a mature, independent grown-up. I left wanting nothing more than a hug from my parents.

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