The many column inches and sound bites recently
devoted to the life and death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, and the memories of
him expressed by his friends, have reminded me of my own dear friend, Lamar,
who was also an addict, in his case, to alcohol. I knew him for only a short
time while he was still drinking but I saw the effects of it when, at a party I
attended, he mounted the host’s wooden cocktail table and jumped up and down on
it until his rage at whatever set him off had reduced the table to just a pile
of splinters scattered across the floor. Fortunately for us both, shortly after
that he became a “recover-ing”
alcoholic – I suspect alcoholics are never “recover-ed” – and remained so for most of the 25 years I knew him. During
that time, we were very close friends. He was very bright and funny, a tad
iconoclastic, and an unusually elegant dresser when the (not usual) occasion
suggested. I admired him tremendously and he became a kind of mentor for me. Eventually,
he substituted marijuana for alcohol, but he was able to handle that – I never
saw him on a cocktail table again – and I learned from those who knew him in
Alcoholics Anonymous, that he had become an icon in the local chapters and
sponsored many. I remember a time when I served some dessert that had been
flavored with rum and so vehement was he about not consuming even the smallest amount
of alcohol, no matter how innocently, when he learned what he had in his mouth,
he spit it out, dramatically, into his napkin. Unfortunately, late in our
friendship, he suffered many reverses in his affections, including the death of
his long-time lover from AIDS, and one night at my dinner table, to my dismay
and horror, he insisted, over my objections, on drinking a small glass of wine,
saying he only wanted to sample it, he could manage it, not to worry. Lamar
moved away shortly after that, to a small house in Florida where he immediately
went on a binge so severe that his brother came from Mobile, their family home,
to rescue him from the local hospital’s psyche ward and drag him back to
Alabama so he could be closely watched by his family. I called him there
several times but he became increasingly distant and I learned, sadly, died
only a few years later from alcohol- induced Alzheimer’s disease.
On a
recent program on the Diane Rehm show, where after Hoffman’s death, she was
exploring heroin addiction, I wanted to call in to ask a question about an
aspect of heroin her guests were seeming to skirt. Why become addicted to
heroin in the first place? What was its appeal? How, or what, did it make users
feel? In truth, I guess I can answer my own questions. While it would be a
disservice to every addict to compare Lamar’s situation or Philip Seymour
Hoffman’s to my own, I have recognized and do acknowledge my own addiction, in
my case to some food, particularly sugar. I use it for solace – when I’ve had a
bad day – and for celebration – when I’ve had a good one – all of which makes
me feel satisfied, that fills, literally, the holes in my psyche. I guess any
addiction is like that, like (to mix my metaphors) an itch that cannot be
ignored, and once scratched, only itches more urgently. (I know a lot about
that, from my extreme allergy to mosquito bites.)
There
was a period, a year or more ago, when my own life suffered some reverses, of
both health and affection, and I stopped thinking about what I was eating,
until I had gained so much weight that my clothes no longer fit and I was
forced to buy new ones. And then I decided, in my head, as I have advocated on
my blog as being essential, that I was going to lose weight, or, to be more
active about it, that I was losing
weight. That’s when I started the Medi-fast
program, which was, for me, incredibly successful. As those of you who’ve
followed my progress know, I lost almost 40 pounds in just two months. That dramatically
changed my eating habits and by remaining conscious of what I put in my mouth,
I’ve been able to hold my weight loss at what is called “goal weight” since
early September, even through the incredibly tempting holiday season. But
lately, I’ve begun to eat again, unconsciously, to have some snacks and a
cocktail before dinner, to revert to my old habits of eating what I want
(except for bacon and ice cream, which I haven’t had since July), and for
indulging in my nemesis, sugar. I would buy a bag of cookies in the morning and
they’d be gone by the time I went to bed. During this time, my weight has
varied some, up and down a pound or maybe two, but in the last month, I’ve
gained a solid five pounds. This will never do. And so, I’ve rededicated myself
to going back on the Medi-fast program
completely. This requires once again becoming conscious of what I’m eating, of
rehydrating Medi-fast’s 110 calorie
meals and consuming only those every day, five times a day, drinking ten
glasses of water every day, and consuming “real” food only once each day, and
that made up of – as Medi-fast calls
it, “lean and green,” a lean meat and two green vegetables. This works. I’ve
done it before. And I know I can do it again.
In
preparation for my new regimen (now called “regime”), I’ve not only psyched
myself up by making the absolute decision to lose weight, summoning my
dedication to success, and setting a specific day to begin my program
(yesterday), but also by purging my refrigerator of temptation. Out went the
leftover soup made from the sweet brisket vegetables. Out went the little bit
of whole milk, the half and half and the cream that were ingredients in my
recent kugel. Out went the cottage cheese, the mayonnaise, the sauce for baked
potatoes, as well as the potatoes themselves. From out of my cupboard, I tossed
the chocolate chips, the peanut butter morsels, the caramel syrup. The last of
the Sofia, a blanc de blanc from the Francis Ford Coppola Monterey County
vineyard, went down the drain. I ate the last of the pasta with meat sauce for
dinner Sunday night and slapped the rest of the sauce into the freezer. Now my
refrigerator is again pristine, with only a little leftover chicken (white meat)
and a few pea pods for dinner tomorrow. So far today, I’ve had a Medi-fast strawberry shake, a Medi-fast chocolate crunch bar, some Medi-fast Mac and Cheese and five glasses of
water. In mid-afternoon, I’ll have some Medi-fast pretzels before dinner, out, where I’ll east some salmon and
broccoli (or maybe the baked oysters), and I’ll have another Medi-fast shake, this time banana, before I
go to bed. This should rev up my metabolism and reduce my calories.
I
suppose we’re all addicted to something: alcohol, drugs, nicotine, sex; our
appearance, our reputation, our degree of acceptance or the acquisition of more
and more things; our grandchildren, our health, the garden, food. Mine is
sugar. So can I overcome my addiction? At least for now, I’m sure I can. As Philip
Seymour Hoffman and my friend Lamar would say (but perhaps not in that one last
moment when they gave up), “One day at a time.”
Stay tuned
Phil Cooper, February 2014
