Depraved and Debauched
2009: The Year I Bloomed in Active Addiction
My Year of Getting into the Deep Shit
Some stories, like this one, are painful to write. More so, I am illustrating this article with actual 2009 photos to illustrate this story, bringing back memories of hitting bottom. But if this helps one other person, my courage will be worthwhile.
2008 closed with one of many wasted New Years’ Eve parties or concerts that all run together in the fog of my brain. In 2009, I turned 44 and had quite a small, wild party. I was living near Destin, Florida, on Miramar Beach. I had been enjoying the beaches, beautiful women and an ample supply of drugs and alcohol, and — oh yeah — lots of fresh seafood.
Early in 2009, I met a woman, “Karen,” a BBBG — Big, Beautiful, Black Girl — taller than my six-foot frame and who had breasts like melons. I met her on Craigslist.com, and I paid for our initial hookup. My buddy, “Irish G,” ended up “Spit Roasting” Karen with me, but that was the last time I spent money in order to have a great time with Karen. She was my girlfriend for the next 10 months until I broke up with her at Voodoo Fest that October.
For several months, ours was a distance relationship. So, in the meantime, I was with “Suzie Q,” an opioid addict, 5’2” 85 lb. blonde. I was in the midst of a flowering active addiction to alcohol, crack, powdered cocaine, sex, porn, and regular psychedelic use.
I went alone but hooked up with a couple of very cool bartender friends, one who was coming down with more friends from Lafayette, Louisiana, for Mardi Gras 2009. Here’s how I looked:
Other than that mishap, I have only happy memories of that year at the Gras. I recall the only bad thing was that I left my beautifully stitched Grateful Dead Jacket with an ounce of weed in the inner lining at a bar. My two bartenders and Lafayette Crew took mushrooms, smoked a lot of weed, and set out — that morning — to the French Quarter. I ended up hanging out for a while with Brett Michaels, or at least someone who looked like him and said he was Brett Michaels. I ended up getting totally trashed at parades until I went back to the International House and passed out.
I did not just have one dealer — I saw several “specialists.” I had “Fat Freddy” of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, mostly from which I got weed and powder in Louisiana. I had “GG” who brought the women, especially the “girl,” slang for powder, and “boy,” slang for crack cocaine, but actual women as well. These were not dealers; they were my close friends. When they made their deliveries, they hung out for a while or even a few days. I had sex workers in New Orleans who could score me blow. I had weed dealers in Destin, Florida, and Lafayette, Louisiana, where I had a house and condo I stayed at. I got my psychedelic mushrooms from Lloyd — may God rest his soul — in Destin. I had a friend in Lafayette give me some opium in a big black ball. I ran into mescaline now and then.
Of course, I had four different liquor stores that I frequented so that they would not catch on to my volume. Right. I could hear many bottles in my garbage cans crash as they were emptied into the truck from my house in Destin. I am sure the neighbors could too. I hung out with some very rough-worn addicts, lowering the quality of my friends to fit my addictions. There was “Clara” and her son, “Ricky.” Young Ricky would like to peak out the windows when we were smoking crack. I thought he was paranoid.
On the other hand, I caught what looked like plainclothes DEA types staking out my house. Nobody ever LEFT my house with dope. I’m guessing that’s why I never got busted for drugs. I had my third DUI arrest two years earlier.
By this time, I was barely productive. Amazingly, I still had some case files, but I mainly held onto them and waited for court rulings. No active trials, and that’s a good thing. I was becoming mentally incompetent. But I was having a good time, getting wasted and playing guitar — even passed out on my back. My behavior was off the charts.
One day, a group of us serious druggies were hanging out at “Ruby’s” house — another local exotic dancer friend of mine — and we were smoking crack. Ruby reacted to getting hot by pulling off all her clothes and masturbating in front of us. All was cool. I used to love hanging out naked with several women, smoking crack, watching porn, and masturbating. Sometimes a lot of sex would “break out.”
My memory is a mess. Many days spent smoking crack (and –for me — weed too), drinking hard (mostly me), watching porn with friends, and occasionally having sex. It all blurs together. Little “Ricky” kept looking out the window and the bottom ground on. I do remember once when a heavy crackhead, “Ray-ray,” turned to me. She said, “Lazlo, I am concerned about your drinking,” something I have mentioned often in AA. When a crackhead calls another crackhead a drunk, then the drunk had better listen. He soon did.
My buddy Lloyd would supply me with psychedelic mushrooms, processed and mixed with fresh ginger and honey, to make a delightful trip. I can’t remember how I ate a spoonful of love many times, but it was a lot. I figure in my life I have tripped on mushrooms about 250 times, same with LSD, but I have only done DMT twice — once with a good setting and the first time not. I have done designer psychedelics, such as those made by Dr. Shulgin. I am a strong advocate of using psychedelics for mental health. Still, at the time, I was not taking them clinically. I took them because I loved them. But I loved all my addictions too.
During this year, I celebrated my 44th birthday. Little Suzie Q brought a friend along with her the night of my 44th birthday. The three of us partied hard. We ended up in my bed, as Suzie apparently planned for me. At 3:00 a.m., we all went skinny dipping in the pool run by my homeowner’s association. I must admit it was a memorable birthday. Still, I was debauched and depraved.
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