My Green Friend

A personal story of my absinthe use

Back when I lived in Prague, I was often looking for the next thrill. This habit of mine got worse when I realized that certain substances (like marijuana) didn’t have much of an effect on me.

I was familiar with absinthe before going to Prague. The first time I came across it was while reading an article on the relationship between the poets Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine. I wanted to know more about what absinthe was, so I read all the articles I could find. I was intrigued and I wanted to try it.

Being in Prague was the best possible place to do so, because it was legal to buy high quality absinthe with alcohol content over 85%. The first time I tried it, I followed “the ritual” and tried to feel how the “damned poets” (poètes maudits) felt, according to Verlaine.

The ritual involves using ice cold water that drips slowly on a sugar cube that is placed on a special absinthe spoon. A variation of it is that the absinthe is poured through the sugar cube in the glass, then the sugar cube is lit on fire and when it’s almost completely burnt it lights the rest of the drink on fire for a few seconds. Then you can stir it and add water if you want. It sounds mesmerizing, and it truly is. It’s a very relaxing process, which probably makes it even more addicting.

I didn’t really like it with the burned sugar, so I kept drinking it without any sugar added. Then, I happened to watch the movie “From Hell”, in which Johnny Depp portrays a police detective who has some visions after drinking absinthe. In the movie there is a scene where Depp’s character is in a bathtub and follows the “ritual”. However, he also adds a few drops of Opium tincture (liquid opium).

My curiosity was through the roof. Absinthe on its own was relaxing for me, but I wasn’t getting any psychoactive effects from it. Even though I had promised myself that I would never do any “hard drugs” (like heroin) after my brother’s loss from overdosing, I found a way to twist my reality to make the new narrative fit: “Opium tincture is not like heroin. I’m not injecting anything in me, and I can find some good quality opium. After all, I can stop whenever I want.” That was my stupid thought process.

After I got my hands on some opium tincture, I was ready to try it out. I started with a very small drop the first time. After about half an hour I felt some psychotropic effects, which faded rather fast. The next time I added two drops. That made the effects more intense. But, still, not what I was expecting. Trying to be cautious, I didn’t replicate the scene in the bathtub because I was concerned I might pass out and drown. Perhaps my last sliver of logic was holding on for dear life.

Eventually, I noticed that I had to add more and more drops each time to feel the effects and to increase their intensity. So I went back to drinking plain absinthe with a bit of ice cold water. I drank it mostly during the last half hour of study time, as a reward.

Things got more confusing for my body when I got into a more severe food restriction phase due to my eating disorder. I had some of the opium tincture left so I was using it sparingly, until I noticed the first signs: my stomach was constantly upset, I was feeling drowsy faster, and my hands felt numb.

When the opium tincture was finished, I didn’t buy a new one. I kept drinking absinthe as a reward for studying. I also enjoyed feeling fancy on my small balcony at night, smoking, drinking, and looking at the city lights in the distance.

After some time, another realization hit me. I was feeling nervous while drinking absinthe. While reflecting on it, I figured out that I was missing the opium. I had associated the absinthe with the opium, so drinking absinthe on its own was aggravating me because the other part of the association wasn’t there anymore.

Letting go of the absinthe completely wasn’t an easy task. After all, I loved my very fancy glass and special spoon. But it had to be done. Throwing them away would make me feel bad, so I gifted them to a person I had met at the small bar I frequented in Smíchov.

My green friend was gone. I figured out that I could write poetry without its help. The Green Fairy (la Fée Verte) had visited me plenty of times already, and I had lots of inspiration to go around. One of the most important lessons she taught me is that poetry comes from within. And, as such, no substances are truly needed.

It took me some more years of trying out other substances and alcohol to test out the validity of her lesson, and in the end I was happy to realize that poetry already exists in me. And that the best use for all the painful things I had gone through was to turn them into fuel for my progress and self-expression, instead of trying to drown or sedate them.