Remembering Philip Seymour Hoffman (1967-2014)
(Digging in the archives - July 2014)
I’ve been sitting here playing with mice and thinking about the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman. There are many things about relapses, triggers, recovery, and addiction that I do not understand. His drug remission story still elicits much confusion for me. One thing seems obvious: his relationship with substances may have helped him navigate perilous moments, but he was never really in recovery.
Philip Seymour Hoffman died from a drug overdose at age 46. The toxicology report indicated a cocktail of heroin, cocaine, benzodiazepines, and amphetamines. “Stacking” after a 22-ish year period of assumed abstinence preceded checking into a rehab program for less than two weeks “after a reliance on prescription pills resulted in his briefly turning again to heroin” in 2013. There is no brevity with heroin. Hoffman snorted the drug after admitting his reliance on prescription pills. But drug overdose was just the final indicator of an ongoing struggle with addictions.
How long it takes for one to recognize reliance on a substance exists on a personal threshold. When drugs are taken plus the drug strength and what your body and mind are doing at the time all plays into its effects. So then which prescriptions was Hoffman taking, how long had he been taking them, how often he was taking them, how did he originally begin taking them, and what was he doing sitting on the bathroom floor with the explosion of envelopes strewn about? We may never have concrete answers to these questions.
Illegal substances aside, for now, Hoffman also imbibed benzos, which could have been depressants like Librium (treats anxiety, symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, and tremors), Valium (treats anxiety, muscle spasms, seizures, etc.), or Xanax (treats anxiety and panic disorders). He mixed that/those with amphetamines, or stimulants, like Adderall (treats narcolepsy and ADHD). Basically, he was simultaneously taking uppers AND downers. The effects produced storms of exhilaration, increased energy, and mental alertness with sedation, drowsiness, feelings of well-being, lowered inhibitions, slurred speech, poor concentration, confusion, dizziness, and impaired coordination and memory. What a hazy contradiction for the mind and body. Clearly, Philip Seymour Hoffman was no longer a master to substances. Chemicals controlled his highs and lows.
“When I saw ‘All My Sons,’ I was changed — permanently changed — by that experience. It was like a miracle to me. But that deep kind of love comes at a price: for me, acting is torturous, and it’s torturous because you know it’s a beautiful thing. I was young once, and I said, That’s beautiful and I want that. Wanting it is easy, but trying to be great — well, that’s absolutely torturous.”
Actors of Hoffman’s ilk are professionally versed at regulating emotions. Or at least his career longevity and the types of roles he undertook suggest as much to me. However the final drug cocktail put him in the passenger seat of his life. The interaction of the chemicals in his body, including his cigarette smoking, jumbled his composition. Relying on substances to wake him up, help him sleep, calm him down, pick him up… These were bodily functions that he seemingly could no longer manage naturally. The obvious question is what happened and when did it begin?
Hoffman’s substance use started when he was a teen. Originally focused on wrestling in high school, the course of his future aspirations changed due to a neck injury during practice. For serious injuries, doctors usually prescribe pain relief medications. In a neck brace, Hoffman still considered playing sports. “When the doctor asked me if I still had pain, I lied.” He really wanted to play. However, he was also bitten by the theater bug. Puberty provoked a different physical activity. He joined the drama club after being smitten by eye candy.
Hoffman attended New York University Tisch School of the Arts during the 1980s crack epidemic. It’s generally accepted that kids in college party. Some more than others. Upon graduation, at age 22, he decided to get sober. Hoffman told The Guardian, “I went to rehab … I don’t know, I was young, I drank too much, you know, so I stopped. You know what I mean; it’s not really complicated. I had no interest in drinking in moderation. And I still don’t. Just because all that time’s passed doesn’t mean maybe it was just a phase. That’s you know, that’s who I am.” Hoffman identified as an addict unable to control substance use, disinterested in regulating usage, but with enough awareness during adolescence to make a hard decision: stop everything. Like most cut offs, the emotional relationship remained in tact although there was physical separation.
“It was pretty bad, you know what I mean,” he said of his substance use. “And I know, deep down, I still look at the idea of drinking with the same ferocity that I did back then. It’s still pretty tangible.” The risk of relapse seemed imminent. And so alcohol was avoided, but memories of the relationship remained, easily accessible. Perhaps Hoffman thought that prescription pills wouldn’t have the same effect as the drugs of his past. Some times people with addictions don’t equate one vice with another to identify addictive behaviors. Hoffman, although self-aware, may have thought that prescriptions, limited in quantity by physicians, were therefore controlled for him – if he couldn’t self-moderate, then the doctor would. But for Hoffman, swallowing opioids led to snorting heroin, as is increasingly the case that deserves more than 10 days of rehabilitation! Although his rehab sounds voluntary, the treatment industry failed to engage him and help him regain sobriety. I wonder if he identified his triggers in that short amount of time. What did relapse mean to him?
“With Capote, the part required me to be a little unbalanced, and that wasn’t really good for my mental health. It was also a technically difficult part. Because I was holding my body in a way it doesn’t want to be held and because I was speaking in a voice that my vocal cords did not want to do, I had to stay in character all day. Otherwise, I would give my body the chance to bail on me.”
Method acting sounds terribly oppressive. But I digress.
For some, relapse is triggered by extreme disappointment, an inability to move forward (being stuck in some way or by something unknown), exhaustion, poor diet, chronic unemployment, sudden changes like the unexpected death of a loved one, and a bunch of other things. For others, relapse is a lesson that teaches those addicted to stay away. I don’t know exactly what Philip Seymour Hoffman was facing in 2012 that required a prescription and lead to him contacting someone for heroin. Loving relationships with sober individuals factor positively in quality of life, so the dissolution of the relationship with his longtime girlfriend and mother of his three children may have been another catalyst. I wonder if the people in his life – pill-prescribing doctors and drug-locating friends – knew about his addiction and recovery. Certainly they must have, right? If they did, they might feel pretty shitty and partly responsible for his death right now.
“No, you know what I mean, this isn’t everything, there will be another film, there will be another relationship, or I’ll die and then I’ll be dead. But if I’m alive I know life is going to keep throwing things at me.”
Actors as great as Philip Seymour Hoffman could probably convince anyone of their stability in the face of glaring opposition and yet this quote sounds like someone who is exhausted by the fight. In 2012 the actor blamed erratic behaviors, like falling asleep during a press conference, on jet lag. Heroin users get the nods, but perhaps he was actually tired. He was, of course, doing many things from acting to directing and being a father to running a theater company. His boundaries appeared blurry; his priorities seemed unclear or at least combined.
Workaholism is also an addiction.
“I try to live my life in such a way that I don’t have profound regrets. That’s probably why I work so much. I don’t want to feel I missed something important.” How overwhelming. Hoffman wanted things done right and he knew how to do it himself, but he couldn’t do it all by himself. That must have been frustrating. It’s so hard to be around a strong-willed individual who has his or her own agenda. Sometimes sharing their space is an indirect participation in their self-destruction; some call it enabling. What makes it most frustrating is that their behavior is out of your control and they won’t listen because they just know better and more so thank you, please shut up now. Being the spectator, we start to see our reflections in their behaviors and it scares the hell out of us. Not many people can sit with pain and be okay with that. In some way, I’m not sure that anyone could do anything for him.
Sitting alone on the bathroom floor in his apartment, the portrait of a media-described “junkie,” Philip Seymour Hoffman certainly seemed lonely and in pain. I wonder if he felt beyond the help of others, unsure if he wanted to help himself. At what point could a strong enough force have intervened? What type of intervention would have been most effective? My questions remain unanswered as I reflect on the loss of an incredible artist.
