Good Night PSH

Addiction is the monster that hid under the bed, lurked in the closet. Some escaped unscathed while others were fortunate enough merely to be scarred.

I've been surrounded by horrible addiction in my life and can sadly vouch for the fact that money gives no benediction to those who are leveled by their dependence.

Why some of us think we are so far above others is a mystery to me. We are all completely equal in that we are human. We are fragile as a sigh or a tear. To freely judge someone who has an exposed weakness, when we know in our personal depth, the errors of our own ways, the transgressions we have committed, the black thoughts in our hearts?
My mother-in-law could have entered treatment at any time in her life but she wasn't able to admit she was anything but normal, even though after one drink, her lip would begin to curl like a rabid dog and before long, she would ruin whatever was the occasion of the day. I’m convinced that she feared what happened to her husband would also be her likely end. Once her husband admitted he needed help and acquiesced, registering at a high-end rehabilitation facility, a long train ride away, he died the night before his departure. His death certificate reads “accidental death due to alcohol and opiates in the home of a friend.” 1943. Leaving a young widow and a tiny baby behind. His addictions began with pain killers.

I've sat with people I love and watched them bite right through a folded towel, shaking so badly that you might think the rattling of their very bones would kill them. Pouring Gatorade, bottle after bottle after bottle. I listened to sounds that rarely come from a human not giving birth, smelling the sweet stink of their sweat, poison seeping from their pores. And them swearing they would never touch the stuff again. Two years later, making the same vows, suffering the same agony.

Secrets and sorrow accompany overwhelming cravings and twist people beyond friendship and fellowship. They don't just destroy bodies and spirits and families; they also obliterate hope and faith and prospects for immeasurable futures.

I don't judge anyone. I smoked cigarettes for forty years, quitting for long intervals and fooling myself too often, thinking just one, just one and I won't have another. I'll be okay tomorrow. I haven't smoked for 5 years and I am fully aware I've damaged my own precious cardiovascular system but I bet you if I lit up right now, I would be back at it again. I never touched cocaine. I had countless opportunities but I knew that even once, I could have been a dead girl. I went to too many funerals. 

My sadness is that I will never have the chance to look forward to another Philip Seymour Hoffman movie. He was, by far, one of the best. Ever.

I'm sorry, Philip, that for after 23 years of sobriety, something enticed you, drove you and took you from us.

Heaven's gain is surely our loss and losing you and Pete Seeger in the same week gives me profound sadness. He was old but should have lived forever. You were young and should have cheated death. 

Thanks for reading. 

* Recommended:

"Why Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Death Is So Scary - The ever-present danger of relapse” By Seth Mnookin 

Russell Brand on Philip Seymour Hoffman

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