“There’s a lot we don’t know about alcoholism and drug addiction,” Mr. Mnookin wrote, “but one thing is clear: Regardless of how much time clean you have, relapsing is always as easy as moving your hand to your mouth.”http://www.nytimes.com/2014/02/09/fashion/Philip-Seymour-Hoffman-AA-addiction-recovery.htmlHis Death, Their LivesFor Some in A.A. and Other
Addiction Recovery Groups, the Death of Philip Seymour Hoffman Hits HomeBy JACOB BERNSTEIN
FEB. 7, 2014A makeshift memorial to Philip Seymour Hoffman, found dead a week ago. Seth Wenig/Associated PressIn the first hours and days that followed
Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death from an apparent overdose of heroin, there was an outpouring of grief on Facebook, on Twitter and in columns by recovering addicts and alcoholics like the journalist
Seth Mnookin and the screenwriter
Aaron Sorkin about their own struggles with sobriety and the rarely distant fear of relapsing back into the throes of active addiction.
There was also a palpably visceral reaction in the meeting rooms of
Alcoholics Anonymous and
Narcotics Anonymous, where, according to some in attendance, many discussions since last Sunday quickly turned from the death of a great actor to the precariousness of sobriety, and the fears of many sober people that they could easily slip back into their old ways, no matter how many years they have been clean.
Mr. Hoffman’s overdose after what had been widely reported as 23 years without either drugs or alcohol, years in which Mr. Hoffman talked openly of his addictions, was discussed in meetings in church basements downtown and in the attics of synagogues uptown. Around
Times Square, and the nearby
Theater District, creative types in recovery debated what his death meant to everyone else.
A candlelight vigil for actor Philip Seymour Hoffman in the courtyard of the Bank Street Theater. Kathy Willens/Associated Press“I’ve been to three meetings since it happened,” said
Rita, who was sitting in a restaurant on
West 10th Street on Monday following a recovery meeting, and who, like others interviewed for this article, requested that her last name be left out in accordance with
A.A.’s tradition of anonymity. “There hasn’t been one meeting where I haven’t heard about it. People in the public eye see it as ‘We lost a great talent.’ People in recovery see it as ‘We lost a brother in arms.’ ”
A woman who attended an A.A. meeting in
Los Angeles on Sunday said that Mr. Hoffman was “all anyone could talk about,” though she added that none of the participants, mindful of the second “A” in A.A., actually spoke Mr. Hoffman’s name aloud.
The 24-hour cable news coverage of a celebrity’s death is not new, of course, nor are the impromptu memorials created outside the dead person’s home, or the editorials about the apparently self-destructive natures of those who seem to have everything going for them. It happened with
Michael Jackson. It happened with
Heath Ledger. It happened with
Whitney Houston. It happened not too long ago with
Cory Monteith.
But there was something different in the circumstances of Mr. Hoffman’s death that seemed to make it resonate more deeply with people who are sober and struggle every day to keep their own addictions at bay.
Their talk quickly turned from sorrow and shock over Mr. Hoffman’s death to one of a more personal nature: What does this mean for me, the recovering alcoholic or drug addict? Can all my years of sobriety, years I have fought hard to maintain, slip away more easily than I acknowledge? If it happened to someone universally respected by his peers, and one who had been open about his own years of sobriety, could it also happen to me?
“I cried when I heard about Philip Seymour Hoffman,” Mr. Mnookin wrote in an essay in
Slate last week. “The news scared me: He got sober when he was 22 and didn’t drink or use drugs for the next 23 years. During that time, he won an Academy Award, was nominated for three more, and was widely cited as the most talented actor of his generation. He also became a father to three children. Then, one day in 2012, he began popping prescription pain pills. And now he’s dead.”
Mr. Mnookin then wrote about how his own years of addiction — first alcohol and then heroin — began when he was still a teenager, and how, no matter that he was now clean, and a husband and the father of a young daughter, he worried almost every day about the kind of temptation that seems to have snared Mr. Hoffman.
“There’s a lot we don’t know about alcoholism and drug addiction,” Mr. Mnookin wrote, “but one thing is clear: Regardless of how much time clean you have, relapsing is always as easy as moving your hand to your mouth.”
Mr. Hoffman seemed to be an ideal role model. “He was a tremendously talented actor and everybody knew he was sober,” said
Gregory, who said he worked on a play with Mr. Hoffman and cites the actor as a person who helped him get clean. “But he wasn’t saying, ‘Hey, I’m in A.A., man.’ ”
By being so casual and understated about it, Gregory added, Mr. Hoffman was a “power of example” to him rather than some sort of “program-pushing spokesperson” or someone who “seemed to get off on the idea of being publicly sober in the vein of a celebrity rehab cast member.”
“I remember hearing him speak at a meeting,” said
Chris, another person in recovery. “My understanding is that he sponsored a ton of actors, and I thought then: I’m so glad he is getting famous instead of yet another pretty face. He got sober young. He really got his life together and was able to cultivate this nascent talent even though he was not your leading man. It was over 20 years he was sober, and in that time, he was super present and accounted for. There are other people who are in and out [of recovery] with the seasons. But he was there.”
For people who have relapsed after achieving long-term sobriety and struggled to come back, Mr. Hoffman’s death hit especially hard.
“He is me,” said
Jim, an addict who said that he relapsed after more than two decades in recovery, and who has been sober again since 2006. “His story is so similar to mine. I had 21 years [clean], I had terrible back pain, I was on
Martha’s Vineyard and somebody said, ‘Would you like a
Fioricet?’ It’s mostly a migraine medication, and I took that little blue pill and I became perfect in a way I hadn’t been in 21 years. I had that wonderful feeling you don’t get sober. Suddenly, I’m at a party and someone says, ‘You want a hit of rock?’ I didn’t even know what crack was. The next day I was calling that guy’s dealer.”
As Jim tells it, his relapse lasted four years, and required four months of rehab, including an extended stay at the
Betty Ford Center. He remains mystified by the fact that he didn’t die; that he was able to make it back to Alcoholics Anonymous when so many others do not, among them Mr. Hoffman.
“Why did I have a moment where I could get back and he couldn’t? That’s just mysterious,” Jim said. “I’m sure we were doing comparable amounts of drugs. I was trying to die as fast as I could, and I’m here and that guy is gone.”
Henry, another person who has been sober for a long time, said, “We all know of close friends who after many years have for one reason or another been unable to hold onto this lifeline.
“I knew a great actor,” he continued, “who had 20-something years sober and went out and basically disappeared off the face of the earth. When he came back, his brain was shriveled. And he died sober, but the damage done was debilitating. And he was somebody who had never stopped going to meetings. He sponsored people in A.A.
“All of us know people that this happened to. It’s exceptional, it’s unusual, but there’s also a rattling frequency to it.”