Oscar winning actor Philip Seymour Hoffman died Feb. 2, 2014 in his apartment in Manhattan, New York, of an overdose of heroin.
He apparently had a drug problem in his early twenties that he managed to kick, but recently fell off the wagon. He was 46 years old when he died. The police found 50 baggies of heroin in his apartment, prescription pain killers, syringes and other drug paraphernalia. Clearly the man had a problem.
I was never a huge fan of Hoffman or his movies, but I recognize him as a talented actor, both on the big screen and on stage. When you add up the pluses and minuses of his life the world is probably a better place for him having been around.
I acknowledge addiction as a condition, but not a bona fide disease. Philip Seymour Hoffman chose, of his own free will, to stick that needle in his body and inject himself with poison, and it felt so good that he wanted it again and again and again, and he couldn’t muster up the willpower to resist. He chose the heroin euphoria over the love for his partner and three children.
A lot of people are blaming his dealer for his death, and because Mr Hoffman was a celebrity the cops were quick to launch an investigation and make arrests. As opposed to your average homeless junkie PSH was a man of means, worth $35 million at the time of his death if various Internet celebrity sites are to be believed. He had every opportunity to seek help and reverse his downward spiral. But he chose not to.
I’m sad that he died. My condolences to his family and friends that he left behind. But I don’t feel sorry for him. He died by his own hand and by his own choice.