I was moved by the news of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death this morning. Later in the day, I was horrified to hear that he died of an overdose of the new Fentanyl laced Heroin. He had 22 years clean and sober then just recently taken it all up again, and again, and again.
Those of us who have this disease, in whatever its addictive form, have to be continually on guard against using again. We can’t let ourselves think that, just for a moment, we can have that glass of wine, that bit of cocaine, that outre sex, or that puff of marijuana. We are told that there’s a higher power in charge now, that it’s a spiritual program. Still, we have to train ourselves to not think, not to accede to the call of old, and pray that the desire to use is removed. Sometimes it is; sometimes not.
I’ve been frightened today. It could have been me. Friends have died who were just as brilliant as Hoffman. Perhaps he felt his brilliance dimmed without his drugs. I just know that if I give in for one second to any of my truly ugly addictions, I will not live through it.
The Monuments Men. It’s very readable and horrifying in its own way.