Philip Seymour Hoffman

Last summer I found a small box stashed away in my apartment,
a box filled with enough Vicodin to kill me. I would have sworn
that I’d thrown it away years earlier, but apparently not. I stared
at the white pills blankly for a long while, I even took a picture of
them, before (finally, definitely) throwing them away. I’d been
sober (again) for some years when I found that box, but every
addict has one— a little box, metaphorical or actual— hidden
away. Before I flushed them I held them in my palm, marvelling
that at some point in the not-so-distant past it seemed a good
idea to keep a stash of pills on hand. For an emergency, I told
myself. What kind of emergency? What if I needed a root canal
on a Sunday night? This little box would see me through until
the dentist showed up for work the next morning. Half my
brain told me that, while the other half knew that looking into
that box was akin to seeing a photograph of myself standing on
the edge of a bridge, a bridge in the familiar dark neighborhood
of my mind, that comfortable place where I could somehow
believe that fuck it was an adequate response to life.



The Box dares to fly open this morning. Now the Grieving escapes the Stable and gallops off in all directions. Now I cry when my daughter rings. Now I panic once more. Now I vomit. Now Desire to continue has left me once more.

We went to Toormina and bought $100 of food for Remi to cook for tomorrow night. I am OK with my little girls and on my own and on computer but that’s about it. The rest of the Time, the small box is visible. Wee beasties chewing their way out of it. These are the hard core ones that must have been there for a VERY long time and through many explorations and cleanouts.

Will I make it through this Time ? I don’t know. JB, my friend in Coolangatta always called it SHIMMERING. That’s what I am doing. SHIMMERING.  His heart failed him.

The Psych who is coming here to visit with me spoke of SELF COMPASSION. I am in need of that. I am SO weary and still sliding downhill now and then.

The Little Box is there. I have it “in case I need it ” as I slide. 

What would happen if I were able to toss it far off as I slide ?

What would come flying out ?

What would finally leave me alone ?


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