I’ll never understand the appeal of the years waking up on the floor, surrounded by violent people. Drugged people, severely drunk people. Sick people. Continue reading This morning I woke up sober.
This is the person the Trump administration and Sessions DOJ has decided should head the White House efforts to stem the opioid crisis.
The crisis that will kill at least 60,000, closer to 70,000 in 2018. Continue reading White House’s Effort to battle Opiate addiction
In 1978 while tripping on acid and jacked way up on white crosses and tequila, singing Lynyrd Skynard’s “Freebird”, in possession, at the time, a respectably sized cache of unmarked firearms and various and assorted controlled substances – I found myself pissing in the parking lot of Turf’s Tavern, Middletown, trying to write my name in the snow.
In retrospect, I should have gone with “Bill”, “William” is way hard to write and I always forget to dot the “I”.
To any passersby who saw me expose my junk I sincerely apologize.
My point is to absolutely not make light or give a pass to anyone whose past behavior has caused anyone, male or female, to feel threatened or compromised.
These individuals should be held accountable for their actions, from trump to Weinstein to Spacey to Franken to whoever comes out today.
My point is you had better make damn sure your own backstory is spotless before you climb that soapbox and claim the moral authority.
I know myself and from where I come. I want no part of that soapbox. For all the harm i’ve caused, I am truly sorry.
This reviewer ArdentWays hates me, I think, I mean on a mechanical level; like an oil and water level.
I’m good with that. In a strange way this person made my day. I’ve dreaded for over a year, actually two, a really bad review. A bad, mean, hate review. Continue reading Everyone needs a mortal enemy
Funny, he still sits there, just outside the door, crouched down patiently waiting.
His patience is exhausting; some days, most days, all days. You can never let your guard down, I can never let my guard down.
He loves the anger, and rage. He loves the fight, the feeling and the snap of the broken bone. He loves defeat more than victory. He has a place in both, but in defeat he seems more of a friend.
Peace is a dangerous illusion, a shell game.
Watch for him on the high days, beware of him on the low days. It’s ok, I know you by name, you and I have been in this dance a long, long time.
The only truth in this alliance is the second I think you are not real, the second I think I’ve won, you’ll be there welcoming me back home.
Twenty-four years don’t count. Knowing that there is a handful or reds and quart of cheap vodka, plastic bottle, with my name on it is all that matters
Not today, bitch.
Some days I forget that I’m a raging addict. This many years into this project it’s easy to forget how close that line between sanity and insanity really is. It’s easy to forget the line moves, every second of everyday.
Using is not simply about stumbling and falling and slurring words, that’s fun fucked-up. That’s what bridesmaids do at weddings after too much white wine and champagne.
Using is crossing the line. Continue reading triple witching day
I found out this morning the little girl – the who we can’t name or share her picture, the one born addicted to heroin, the one born blind, the one born deaf in one ear, is now “profoundly brain-damaged.”
I am so fucking done loving the addict and hating the addiction. This little girl and her story have tested my belief system about as far as it can be tested.
I was up last night thinking about a rant on child protective services and how they are doing everything in their power to keep us from raising money for this little girl, but you know what, fuck that.
I am an addict, but one day in 1993 I was able to dig down underneath the layers and layers of self-pity in denial and bullshit and touch, for one brief moment, what was left of my humanity. You cannot be a bigger addict or a bigger asshole than I was or am, for that matter. If I can anyone can.
If you are using and pregnant you need to do one of three things: you either need to pull your head out of your ass, walk away from your denial and get into a program and work the fuck out of it, or you need to abort that baby, or you need to load up that spike with enough dope to kill five motherfuckers and take care of the problem now.
Saturday I did something completely out of character… I went fishing. I don’t fish. I’d not gone fishing since I stopped drinking and taking any chemical I found laying around (many years ago).
I’m way to busy for fishing and such things. I spend most of my life wondering where all my time goes. You find out on a boat, on a lake, completely disconnected.
My friend and fellow author, Mike Hoard, took me. The dude can fish. I swear to God he’s the fish whisperer. I mean it was spooky. On a nine mile long lake he knows where the fish are. He knows. I never have ever seen anything like it. He doesn’t know the general area, he knows on what side of the log and how deep. Seriously spooky stuff.
The fish must be terrified when they hear Mike Hoard’s pickup driving up to the lake…
I spent a few hours with my phone in his truck glovebox. That was the closest to withdrawal I’ve felt in almost twenty-four years.
It was nice, it was freeing, once I stopped sweating. Other than pondering how the hell Mike could possibly know the location of every fricken fish on a thousand acre lake…
“Bill, we are going to find some crappies here…let’s fish for some Walleye here… some rock bass over there.”
I pondered what life was like before I was married to this device in my hand right now.
I remembered acid and amphetamine laced trips into the backwoods upstate where I’d disappear for a week or more with no outside contact, just a verbal agreement for someone to pick me up at an appointed place, at an appointed time.
Somewhere between those days and now is a better place to live. Thanks Mike, it was an eye opening Saturday. And damn, Sam, them Louisiana boys can fish!
Some days I watch the news and I have to get up and walk away.
Montgomery County in Ohio is on track to have 800 fentanyl deaths this year, 10,000 deaths in that state this year – more that the entire US in 1990…
Drug overdose is the #1 cause of death in Americans under 50.
Attorney General Sessions wants to ramp up the “war on drugs,” while it is generally understood it has been a dismal failure. Meanwhile, Congress has their hands out for more money from the pharmaceutical cartel… Let’s not even go into the CIA’s role in importing drugs into this country.
I love it when they talk about El Chapo or Escobar or Blanco. They never mention George Bush Sr. but, hey, whatever…
We need answers and education, not stupidity, Sessions, and rhetoric.
I talk to people every day who can tell you all about ISIS and terror… I’m terrified of opiates. To hell with ISIS.
Want to read more from author William Lobb? Start reading THE THIRD STEP now… And don’t forget to leave your honest review!
The war on drugs has hidden victims, babies and kids pushed under the rug, in hopes they will just go away. Tiny babies born addicted to heroin and Percocet, Oxy and Fentanyl.
I know one. She came into this world sick. Dog sick. Dope sick. You’ve never seen sick until you’ve seen dope sick. I can hardly imagine being born that sick. I’ve seen grown men in tears and puking and shaking, near death, from being dope sick. It’s hard for me to fathom this happening to a baby. Continue reading War On Drugs Hidden Victims