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Tweak. Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Divison, 2007

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Nic was sober for 18 months, up until April 1st. The morning of April 2nd was when he "first" relapsed. This is also when he ran into Lauren. Any other time before wasn't mentioned.

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In researching the Beautiful Boy true story, we learned that Nic's life of addiction began with vodka when he was 11. A year later, he was smoking marijuana, which turned into a daily habit by middle school. He was soon experimenting with drugs like acid, ecstasy, mushrooms and cocaine. At the age of 18, he tried crystal meth. It made him feel like he could achieve anything. "I felt like a rock star," Nic says of the first time he used it. However, his feeling of euphoria didn't last long. As the fix wore off, the good feelings evaporated and his body writhed in agony. To keep the good feelings alive, he became an habitual user. He did everything he could to avoid crashing. As a result, the addiction consumed his life and directly affected the lives of his family members. The movie does a good job depicting this. -Oprah.com

The real David Sheff with his son Nic Sheff in the late 1980s.

What led Nic Sheff to become a drug addict?

Nic's parents, both journalists, divorced when he was 4 years old. He ended up splitting his time between his mother, Vicki, in Los Angeles and his dad in San Francisco. On the surface, he seemed to handle it fine. He got good grades and was captain of the water polo team. However, the emotions he was bottling up couldn't stay suppressed forever. "The world was really abrasive and overwhelming, and I felt really hopeless. When I started drinking [alcohol], I couldn't stop," Nic says of his first foray into addiction at age 11. -Oprah.com

"I mean, I'd always felt so, you know, ugly and weak and pathetic," says Nic. "I felt sick and defective. I felt like there was something deeply wrong with me. I hated myself. I hated having to live with myself. At first getting high seemed like the only thing that could ever make me feel any different."

"Every time I did a shot, I truly felt like it was gonna be the shot that finally fixed everything for me. I thought if I could only do enough of whatever drug it was, I would eventually feel whole-no longer like the alien. ...the more drugs I shot in me, and the more sex for money I had, the more f**king depressed and suicidal and crazy I became. Because it wasn't working. I knew it wasn't working. But I kept trying and trying. I didn't know what else to do." -The Fix

Did Nic really keep journals throughout his life?

Yes. Like in the Beautiful Boy movie, the real Nic Sheff kept journals. He used them as a resource when writing his bestselling memoir Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamines, which chronicles his experiences as a teenager addicted to drugs. Both Tweak and Nic's father's book Beautiful Boy provided the basis for the movie. -Oprah.com

Were Nic's parents really at first in denial about his addiction?

Yes. "I kind of think we parents are wired for denial because to see the trouble that our child is in is so painful. It's so terrifying," said Nic's father David Sheff. "I would hear the good things; I'd see the good things. I'd block out the terrifying course that we were on until it was impossible to deny anymore."

Despite a significant number of absences from school, teachers and counselors weren't overly concerned, with one saying that college would straighten Nic out. They noted his good grades and large number of friends. At first, David kept his son's addiction hidden from family and friends, not wanting them to think badly of his son and how it reflected on him as a parent. -Oprah.com

Did Nic really get into the colleges he applied to?

Yes. Even by his senior year, drugs hadn't had a severe effect on Nic's academics. Like in the Beautiful Boy movie, the true story confirms that he got into the colleges he applied to but first ended up in rehab instead. When he made it to the University of California, Berkeley, he dropped out during his freshman year. -Oprah.com

Did Nic Sheff's dad, David Sheff, ever use drugs?

Yes. "When this hit our family, we were like so many families in this country," David Sheff says. "I was not naive about drugs. I used drugs when I was a kid. ... But I still thought, like most of us, 'This could never happen to our family.' When it did, we were so blindsided. We were so devastated that I realized that this is something we have to talk about." That realization led David to write his book Beautiful Boy: A Father's Journey Through His Son's Addiction, which was published in 2008 and became a #1 New York Times Best Seller.

David says that he had shared and discussed his own history of drug use with his son, a decision that he questions today. -Oprah.com

The real David Sheff (left) admits to using drugs when he was younger, a fact that he shared with his son. Steve Carell as Sheff in the Beautiful Boy movie.

Was Nic's dad, David Sheff, really a well-known journalist?

Yes. David Sheff's lengthy experience as a journalist includes writing for Rolling Stone, The New York Times, Fortune, Wired and NPR. He has interviewed numerous famous subjects, including Steve Jobs, Carl Sagan, Frank Zappa, Jack Nicholson and John Lennon. In addition to penning the book Beautiful Boy on which the movie is based, he wrote the books All We Are Saying: The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, China Dawn, and Game Over.

As we researched the question, "How accurate is Beautiful Boy?" we discovered that Nic's mother, Vicki, is also a respected journalist with her own impressive list of celebrity interviews that includes Billy Joel, Dennis Hopper and Eddie Van Halen.

Did David Sheff smoke a joint with his son Nic?

Yes. This comes straight from David's memoir Beautiful Boy. He said that making the decision to share a joint with his son is one that he still regrets. "It was not something I'm proud of," says David, going on to explain that he was just trying to find a way to connect with his son. -Oprah.com

Did Nic's father, David Sheff, remarry and have two small children?

Yes. In the movie, Nic's second wife, Karen (portrayed by Maura Tierney), and their two small children, Jasper and Daisy, are all based on real people. Like in the film, they too suffered as David became obsessed with saving Nic. Jasper and Daisy idolized their older brother, who was their friend and playmate. They couldn't comprehend what he was doing to himself and how it was affecting the family. Nic knew that his drug use was destroying his family. He kept using in part to stop the guilt from sinking in. -Oprah.com

Did Nic Sheff really run away from home and live on the street?

Yes. As years of drug abuse mounted, Nic eventually ran away from home. He lived on the street for some time, sold his body for cash, dealt drugs, and stole money from his family. -Oprah.com

Did the real Nic Sheff sell his body to other men for drug money?

Yes. Sheff, who is a straight man, says that he also did it to feel wanted and to find value in himself. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I needed the money. But, more than anything else, I wanted to feel beautiful," says Sheff. "I could've made money in other ways. Prostitution was something I wanted to do. That sounds crazy f**ked up, but it's true. And when I was out there, you know, hustling, I'm telling you, a lot of the kids I met were just like me. They wanted to feel like I wanted to feel. They wanted to feel wanted."

"Of course, I'm straight, so I would've preferred to be wanted by women for sure. But, hell, I'd take what I could get. And men did seem to like me." Friends and family felt that he should leave the short period of time he spent prostituting himself in San Francisco and New York out of his 2007 book, Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamines. It is not depicted in the movie. -The Fix

The real Nic Sheff (left) goes into more detail in his book Tweak with regard to the things he did for drug money, including selling his body.

Did Nic Sheff steal money from his seven-year-old brother?

Yes. He says that stealing money from his little brother's piggy bank in order to buy drugs is one of the lowest things he's ever done. "I would have practically done anything to anybody in order to keep getting it," says Nic. He also tried to steal a computer from his mother, Vicki. She found him in a paranoid state hiding in the ceiling rafters in the garage. -The Fix

Did Nic Sheff overdose and end up in the ER?

Yes. With his body frail and ravaged by meth use, Nic overdosed and ended up in the ER. He says that he was too ashamed to call his father. "There was just this idea that I was just going to shoot drugs until I killed myself," says Nic. -Oprah.com

Did David Sheff really check morgues and hospitals to make sure his son hadn't overdosed?

David Sheff says that this indeed happened. For a period of time when his son was at his worst, David would check morgues and hospitals every couple days to see if Nic had died or overdosed. In the movie, Steve Carell's character calls hospitals in search of his son.

Did Nic Sheff almost lose an arm from an infected needle hole?

Yes. Though it's not shown in the film, the Beautiful Boy true story reveals that Nic almost lost his arm when an infected needle puncture grew to the size of a baseball. -The New York Times

The real Nic Sheff (left) as a young man and actor Timothée Chalamet (right) as Sheff in the movie.

Did Nic Sheff go to rehab?

Yes. Fact-checking the Beautiful Boy movie reveals that Nic eventually agreed to seek help. At first, rehab helped him to recognize that he had a disease, despite still believing that he could control his drug and alcohol use. As in most cases, staying clean was hard to maintain. He relapsed multiple times, and as of 2009, had been through five rehabilitation programs. -Oprah.com

Did David Sheff suffer a brain hemorrhage?

Yes. As both David and Nic were working on their books, David suffered a brain hemorrhage, and his son, who had been off drugs for 18 months, relapsed. The hemorrhage affected David's brain in such a way that he had to relearn how to write. It is left out of the film. -The New York Times

How did Nic Sheff finally turn his life around?

"How is it that, today, I actually don't totally hate myself?" Nic said in an article he penned for The Fix. "The only thing I can say is that I actually started listening and started doing what those counselors and psychiatrists and people in meetings were telling me to do. Hell, it was no big secret. They'd been prescribing me medication, telling me what outpatient groups to go to, what doctors to see, what steps to take. I just didn't listen. I didn't listen and I didn't believe."

Does Nic's father David blame himself for Nic becoming involved with drugs?

David says he struggled with blame and has often thought about what he could have done differently to help his son. "I think I could have intervened sooner," he told The New York Times in 2008. "Before Nic turned 18, I could have forced him into a program. I could have dragged him in, and at least it would have gotten him off the streets."

"I feel like...my dad did really the best he could, you know, and my mom did the best she could," said Nic, "and they really, really tried really hard, you know, and at a certain point, there was nothing that they could do. There was not one thing that they could do that was going to make me not go down the path that I went down." -Oprah

Where does the title "Beautiful Boy" come from?

The movie is based in part on David Sheff's book Beautiful Boy. The book title comes from the 1980 John Lennon song "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)." Sheff interviewed John Lennon and Yoko Ono in September 1980, roughly three months before Lennon's murder.

What happened to Nic Sheff after the publication of his book?

In addition to working on his second book, Nic was living in Savannah, Georgia with his girlfriend and working as a nude model at a local art school. In 2011, he married Jette Newell, a model, actress and television writer. "That's what I care about now," he said in an article he wrote for The Fix, "I want to provide for the people I love. I want to take care of my dogs and to have kids one day and all that." Nic's second book, titled We All Fall Down, was published in 2011 and focuses on his ongoing efforts to stay clean as he suffers relapses and is in and out of rehab centers. He has since gone on to write for the Netflix TV show 13 Reasons Why.

David and Nic Sheff Interviews & Related Videos

Explore the Beautiful Boy true story further by watching an interview with the real David Sheff and son Nic Sheff.

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The Beautiful Boy Movie vs. The True Story of David and Nic Sheff

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In researching the Beautiful Boy true story, we learned that Nic's life of addiction began with vodka when he was 11. A year later, he was smoking marijuana, which turned into a daily habit by middle school. He was soon experimenting with drugs like acid, ecstasy, mushrooms and cocaine.

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"Lauren was not someone I thought about a whole lot...I don't even recognize her at first...Honestly, I was as surprised by my own actions as anyone else. The morning of my relapse, I had no idea I was actually going to do it" (3).

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After Nic gets a deal with a kid named Destiny, he and Lauren meet Gack, who sells them both crystal methamphetamine.

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Nic recalls when he was 18 he got thrown into a treatment center. He had been doing meth for half a year and had dropped out of college. He ended up almost getting arrested by an officer after having a breakdown.

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"My dad helped me get into rehab...I love drugs...I could not, NOT give that up...They released me thirty days later and I moved into a halfway house in the city. I stayed sober three days...my behavior grew more erratic" (18).

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The ups and downs of Nic Sheff's life timeline.

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On July 20th, 1982, a beautiful boy was born. Vicki's contractions started after midnight, and as Vicki and David were taught, they timed the intervals. Vicki then was brought to the hospital when they concluded that it was the right time.

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Nic, while driving, "runs into" his step-mom, and she ends up chasing each other, until Nic gets away, or at least that's what he thought happened.

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Nic and Lauren "shoot" themselves, and proceed to involve themselves with some sexual activities. Nic ends up "shooting" the rest of the drugs in the bathroom, knocking himself out.

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"I shoot myself up and we go over to the bed...Someone's knocking at Lauren's bedroom door and I feel a rush of panic...I decide to suck up the rest of it and shoot it" (40).

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Nic meets someone named Joe, with Gack, who "steals" Nic's money, by tricking Nic. Gack and Nic proceed to try and sell some of what they had gotten to someone else. The person pay less than needed, so after getting a friend, they threaten the money out.

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" 'That guy Joe... He just ripped me off.' I don't think all the heroin in the world could make my stomach stop cramping...He reaches his hand into the front pocket, pulling out a crumpled twenty...I hear the man cursing behind us and I fee like I need to wash my hands" (54).

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As Nic and his two friends walk around, he recalls meeting someone named JT. He had helped Nic get into the center to get help, and Nic actually was good for a couple months. Though he had relapsed again, and was worse.

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Nic "shoots up" Lauren, but only a few minutes later she passes out, seeming almost to be on the verge of death. This forces Nic to call 911 to tell them what happens. Lauren does live, but now she has to go to a psychiatrist for a bit.

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" Seeing Lauren on the floor, turning blue...grab the phone, dialing 911...She's sitting on a white cot...Doctors and nurses pass bits of paper...enter information into computers...She has to be evaluated by the psychiatrist..She keeps pleading to get her psychiatrist on the phone (71)

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ic was a lovely child, though of course I'm prejudiced. I'm his father. According to the external barometers we often use to measure how our kids are doing, as Nic grew up - in California where we live - he was doing great. He was a good student, had good friends and his teachers described him as a leader. Nic did have to endure the trauma of his mother and my divorce (he was four), but he seemed to weather it well. Most important in my mind, he was kind, loving and moral.

I found a bag of marijuana in Nic's backpack when he was 11. It's not that I was naive about drugs - I knew about the ubiquity and temptation (when I was a teenager I used many) - but Nic was so young. It broke my heart.

What was going on? What I now know is that though on the outside it appeared that Nic was doing well, he suffered inside, plagued by self-doubt, anxiety and depression.

Nic's drug use escalated and, by the time he was 17, he'd tried pretty much every one you can name. He now says that everything changed for him when a friend gave him crystal methamphetamine. He didn't know it was possible to feel so alive. No wonder he went back for more. And more. Nic became addicted, and his life - and mine - went into freefall.

He became unrecognisable. He broke into our home, stole from us and even from his beloved little brother, Jasper. Every time I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. Nic was arrested. Once, an ER doctor called to say he might have to amputate Nic's arm, which had become infected because of IV drug use. He overdosed more than once. Another ER doctor called one predawn and said: "Mr Sheff, you'd better get down here. We don't know if your son's going to make it."

Nic's drug use would be interrupted by catastrophes - overdoses and arrests - and I was able to get him into rehab programmes. Each time I felt hopeful, but he quickly relapsed after being discharged. This cycle continued for an interminable decade until, after half a dozen treatment programmes, Nic stayed sober for a year and a half.

I'd been caught off guard when he became addicted. Like most people I knew, I thought drug addicts were the kinds of people we see in doorways in neighbourhoods most of us try to avoid - people obviously strung out, often homeless and possibly psychotic. I didn't think my son could become addicted, but he had.

Addiction comes with shame and guilt... I suffered in silence

I wanted to forewarn other parents, so they'd know, yes, it can happen to you. No family is immune. I wanted to plead with them not to deny what's in front of their eyes and waste no time in intervening.

To spread the word, I wrote about our family's experience in an article in the New York Times Magazine. When it hit the newsstands, I received an outpouring of letters from people who'd been or were then facing their own or a loved one's addiction. Like I'd done, they'd kept it a secret, often from their closest family and friends, bcause they didn't want to be judged.

If a child had another disease, we'd be open about what we were going through, but addiction is stigmatised and comes with shame and guilt. I suffered in silence like so many of those who wrote and shared their stories. Until then I didn't know how ubiquitous addiction is and I decided to expand the Times article into a book, which I called Beautiful Boy. The title came from a song I sang to Nic when he was little.

In the article, I wrote that Nic had always been a good writer. At 16, he won an award for high-school journalists for his school newspaper column. An editor of young adult books who read my article contacted Nic to ask if he might be interested in writing about his addiction. Nic was thrilled. His book, , was published the same month as mine.

That was 10 years ago. Since then Nic relapsed twice, but he's been sober for eight years. He is now 36.

Soon after the books were published, Nic and I were contacted by a movie producer asking if the film rights were available. We were apprehensive to turn over our life stories to others who would have carte blanche to portray our family in whatever ways they chose - we'd have no approval. In addition, a film would open old wounds.

We agreed to go forward for two reasons. First, we were impressed by the producer's commitment to tell a story that avoided Hollywood clichés and stereotypes about addiction. Second, we saw a movie as a way to reach more people who are suffering - to affirm their experience, offer comfort and show they aren't alone.

The filmmakers cast a then-unknown actor named Timothée Chalamet as Nic and - beyond surreally - Steve Carell as me.

The movie was nearly completed by last September and we were invited to a private screening of a rough cut. I attended with my wife, Karen, and son Jasper, who happened to be visiting. I knew the story, of course, but reliving it was devastating.

Since his breakout role in Call Me By Your Name, Chalamet has been described as a young Leonardo DeCaprio and James Dean. Not only does Chalamet resemble my son when he was younger, but he embodies his spirit. I felt as if I was watching a home movie.

I'd read Nic's brutally honest accounts of his drug use, but watching it sickened me. The hardest scene to sit through recreated a time Nic was living on the streets, when he ran into a girl he knew. She'd been addicted, but had never injected drugs. I knew what happened next and I braced myself. Nic scored meth, shot her up and she overdosed. When Nic realised that she was unconscious, he performed CPR and called 911.

In the vacant theatre I trembled. It was the first time I'd faced the reality that it wasn't only a miracle that Nic survived his addiction. We could have had to live with the knowledge that he'd killed someone, too.

Watching Chalamet broke my heart. It was shattering to watch Carell. I was looking into a mirror. In Carell's eyes I saw my eyes -my pain, desperation, anger and terror. I saw my heart break. Karen, Jasper and I left the screening, got in the car, and no one spoke. Finally Jasper said all there was to say: "We are so lucky."

I've watched the movie one more time since, at its premiere at the Toronto film festival. In the darkened theatre, this time with an audience of 3,000, the story unfolded. Tears came again, but at least I wasn't caught off guard. I sat a few rows behind Carell and we found each other afterwards and embraced. He'd been crying, too.

People say the movie validates their experience and they feel less alone

Outside I was met by a line of people who wanted to talk. Their emotions were palpable. Some could barely speak because they were sobbing. They said versions of the same thing: "You told my story."

In person and in messages on social media, people have said similar things again and again and again. Many said they were grateful for the portrayal of addiction as a disease, not a choice made by selfish people. More people than you can imagine told me that their stories were similar, but had a different ending. Their beautiful boy or girl didn't make it.

People tell of their heartbreak, but also of hope and healing. They say the movie validates their experience and they feel less alone. Some have written to say that it caused them to face their own or a loved one's problem for the first time. A teenager wrote that she was addicted to pain pills and was suicidal, but no one - not even her family and friends - knew. After the movie, she went home and told her parents. She was afraid they'd yell and punish her, but instead they cried with her, embraced her and asked how they could help. She was beginning treatment.

People wrote that the movie led to reconciliations in families shattered by addiction. A boy wrote: "I just got out of detox and went to the movie with my dad. In the dark theatre I suddenly realised he was holding my hand. I have never been so grateful to cry so much."

My fear of agreeing to allow others to make a movie that would expose our family has turned to gratitude. The notes that flood in remind me that almost everyone is suffering, whether with addiction or other challenges. There are no easy answers, but isolation and silence make problems worse. Though sharing our stories isn't a panacea, we are reminded we aren't alone. And we aren't. We can be supported. Healing can begin.
Beautiful Boy is released in cinemas on 18 January

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The real life people behind Timothée Chalamet and Steve Carrell's film Beautiful Boy

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ic was a lovely child, though of course I'm prejudiced. I'm his father. According to the external barometers we often use to measure how our kids are doing, as Nic grew up - in California where we live - he was doing great.

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Lauren and Nic are informed that Lauren's parents are coming home, so Nic leaves early in the morning. Nic tries to get some repairs on his car, he also meets up with Gack to just wait in Lauren's car since it is cold.

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Gack and Nic go pick up a friend, Ben, to head to the Glide Memorial Church for some food. After they get their food, Lauren calls Nic explaining that she has a week to decide if she will go to rehab or not. After this, Nic drove to an abandoned house to gather some things into his bag.

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Nic starts feeling like he is burning up inside, a fire that won't go out. This is when he decides that he needs to stop, that he can't keep going. He does try convincing Gack to go along with him. It doesn't work out.

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"Seven candles burning and smoking-lit-seven flames of doubt, fear, sorrow, pain, waste, hopelessness, despair...I sit rocking on the street corner. No, I can't keep doing this...'This is all so pathetic,' I say. 'We can't go on like this.'...'You ever think of getting out?' 'No.'" (111-112).

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Lauren and Nic decide to both do any and all the drugs that they have. After that, they both start heading to Lauren's parent's house. After this, Lauren's parents talk about having the two of them living on their own, just being slightly monitored. They agree to do it, though Nic goes to "hit" one last time.

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" 'Lauren...I need help. I think I'm ready to get help.' ...'Then we'll come back here and my parents'll help us.' ...We shoot most of the crystal in a couple days, so she gets real high. I drive..." (117-118).

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Unbeknownst to Lauren's parents, Lauren and Nic are living in their house while they are away. Lauren and Nic are using heavily. Lauren pushes Nic to define their relationship, but Nic remains evasive. He thinks about Zelda, the woman whom he sees as his only true love; he sees Lauren, by contrast, as a temporary solution. He can live at her luxurious house, sampling her father's wine collection and cooking extravagantly. On the side, he can deal on the street with Gack. He deludes himself into thinking that he will be able to make a profit despite his admission that they are using more drugs than they sell. Nic's ideal situation collapses when Lauren overdoses and he must revive her. After their trip to the hospital, both continue to shoot up.

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Tweak Part 1, Chapters 5-11 Summary & Analysis | SuperSummary

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Unbeknownst to Lauren's parents, Lauren and Nic are living in their house while they are away. Lauren and Nic are using heavily. Lauren pushes Nic to define their relationship, but Nic remains evasive. He thinks about Zelda, the woman whom he sees as his only true love; he sees Lauren, by contrast, as a temporary solution.

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Instead of taking the oppurtunity given, Nic calls for other help, first his dad then Spencer, his past sponsor. It's then, when everything changes. Nic heads to LA, where he stays at his own place, but now is going to a treatment center. He slowly gets better, taking care of Spencer's daughter when he gets sick. That is until Nic meets Zelda.

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Even after all the warnings from Spencer, Nic still stays with Zelda, and ends up relapsing again. Things go ok, Nic and Zelda go to meetings still, but Nic is doing just the same as he did before. Nic keeps getting told by everyone that what he is doing is a mistake. He doesn't believe any of them.

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Nic and Zelda are running out of money, but they still do drugs. Both are still unemployed, even though Zelda is getting little money from it. Nic does end up getting an infection and ends up getting it removed, though he almost passes out and has a huge hole in his arm now.

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"I've been out of work since last Friday...I'm not sure what the hell I'm gonna do for money now. Zelda is getting unemployment every two weeks now that the commercial finished shooting...a swollen, painful lump growing on my arm...Zelda tells me it must have been from a dirty needle...It hurts so bad...'I guess we'll try to just it locally at first'...After they drain the whole thing there's this giant, gaping hole in my arm" (148-250).

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Nic heads with Zelda to Las Vegas, though when heading there they sneak crack onto the plane. When they arrive, all three smoke in the car, but they do head to the store. It's there when Alexi, the guy inviting Zelda over, starts asking questions, which starts scaring Nic. When they get to the house, Zelda and Nic smoke, though Nic is sort of losing his mind.

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"Alexi...offered to fly Zelda up to Las Vegas...he agrees to pay for my ticket as well...Zelda has the crack hidden...Alexia meets us out front and we immediately start smoking crack...While Zelda's in the drugstore, Alexi begins asking me all these questions...I feel really almost scared of him...Zelda and I disappear into the studio...smoke a little bit of the crack Alexi gave us in the closet...My mind can't seem to focus on anything but finding more crack" (251-255).

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Nic and Zelda decide to go back home and start a life together, talking about getting a house and everything. They stay relatively "clean" until 3 days later when they start again. They do get called, their parents finding out that they relapsed, causing Zelda to lash out at Nic. They do try to hold a grage sale to try and make some money.

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One of Nic's friends dies in an accident, so he ends up calling his mom, while high, and they get into an argument. A day or so passes, but another event comes up, but this time, everyone wants Nic to go to rehab, even Zelda. This is when everything takes a turn, where Nic goes to detox first.

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"Jordan is dead. He crashed his motorcycle into a tree...Then I call my mom and she answers. I try to explain what happened, but before I can she is yelling at me-saying she knows I'm high...Then suddenly Zelda flips out and starts screaming at my mom...Finally, I just hand up the phone...It's midday now...It's been over five hours when the knock comes at the door. Somehow I come out of my psychosis long enough to open it...Zelda told everyone she wants me to go into rehab-no more fcking around. Spencer wants me to go to rehab. My mom wants me to go into rehab. Even Ron says I need help...my dad calls again. He says there's this detox in the Valley...He says I better go or I'm gonna get arrested...So I go" (269-275).

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After detoxing, Nic is in a lot of pain, wanting to hit again. He also wanted Zelda to go with him, but she refuses, which makes him feel even worse. He does make it, smoking from time to time. Once he gets out, he does get sent to another rehab camp, in Arizona.

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"The guy takes me down for a cigarette outside in the warm Valley aair. After that they give me a bunch of meds to knock me out...I basically just sleep for three days straight...The hospital is designed only for short stay, just to get you through the physical detox...I don't leave with Zelda. I ask her, again, to go into detox. She promises she will...My dad and mom are forcing me to check into a treatment center in Arizona...into a program they've named Serenity" (277-285).

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Nic meets his group and for the first few weeks, things are tough for Nic. He learns to accept what he struggles with though, and bonds with the group, and slowly gets better. He slowly but surely gains motivation to get through this, with support for everyone else. After a few months, he sees his parents, together, for the first time in a while.

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The following is an extract taken from the Epilogue of David Sheff's best-selling book about his son's addiction and his own recovery as a family member: Beautiful Boy. Beautiful Boy has been out for a while now, but as you will see, this Epilogue stands the test of time. We'd like to express a big Thank You to David Sheff for giving us permission to reprint these words. "Oh what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh what'll you do now, my darling one?"
- Bob Dylan, "A Hard Rain's A-gonna Fall"

[Epilogue, from Beautiful Boy, by David Sheff]

HA JIN WRITES: "some great men and women are fortified and redeemed through their suffering, and they even seek sadness instead of happiness, just as van Gogh asserted, 'Sorrow is better than joy,' and Balzac declared, 'Suffering is one's teacher.' But these dicta are suitable only for extraordinary souls, for the select few. For ordinary people like us, too much suffering can only make us meaner, crazier, pettier and more wretched."

I am no great man, but I do not feel meaner, crazier, pettier or more wretched. There were periods when I did, but now I feel fine, at least much of the time.

Nic completed 3 months at Santa Fe, and his counselors recommended that he next go to a program in Northern Arizona where he would continue his work in recovery, plus get a job and volunteer. He said no. He told me, "I know this will worry you, but I have to get on with my life." He tried to reassure me. "It will be all right."

At first I said, "No, you can't." But then I remembered: It's your life.

Nic caught a bus east. He went to see a friend he met at the program. We didn't speak for a while, but then we began talking again. Now we check in with each other fairly regularly. He met someone new. She's an art student. They got a place together. Nic is working at a café, serving decaf (he says) when a customer asks for it. And he's writing again. He's back writing his book. Now he has more to say about how hard it is to say sober.

We talk about our writing. We talk about our lives and news and the books we read, music and movies ( Little Miss Sunshine!).

I calculate that it has been - what, a year since he left L.A. As far as I know, he's a year sober again. After everything, do I trust that he has remained sober? Do I deny what we have been through? Do I ignore how difficult it is and will continue to be? Never. But I hope. I continue to believe in him.

≈ ≈ ≈

In the immediate aftermath of my brain hemorrhage, I complained that I had missed out on what I imagined might be a benefit of surviving a near-death experience-that is, beyond the ultimate perk: still being alive. As I said, I have often heard survivors describe the epiphanies that come from tragedy. Their lives transformed, became simpler, with clearer priorities. They had a new appreciation for life. But as I also said, I always appreciated life. Instead, for me, the brain hemorrhage made life seem scarier. I learned that tragedy could hit any of us-or our children-at any moment and without warning.

I was judging too early. Things have shifted since then. Just as there are stages of grieving or dying, there must be stages after a trauma, because the lessons of the neuro-ICU sank in after time.

I turned 50 in December. At the time, I was speaking to a therapist about the past few years. When I told him that the neurologists had all dismissed the idea that my brain hemorrhage was related to the stress in my life, he looked at me indulgently and said, "Well, it sure didn't help." He pointed out that before my head literally exploded, it often felt as if it could explode. For years, I had lived with intense and relentless worry about Nic. I had rationalized it: no conscientious parent of a drug addict could expect to be happy for long. I was grateful for the moments of relief-when Nic seemed better, at least when he was OK. In the meantime, I did my best to enjoy my life-Karen, Jasper, Daisy, and the rest of my family and friends, the respite, however exiguous and short-lived.

The doctor pointed out that I could make a different choice. Without invoking AA or Al-Anon, he basically restated the serenity prayer. I could decide once and for all to accept the things I cannot change, have the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. The key was the second of those. Did I have the courage to change the things I could?

"I've tried," I said. "I have tried for years."

"Apparently you haven't tried hard enough."

The doctor asked why I was in therapy only once a week. I said that I didn't have the time or money for more.

Of the financial excuse, he responded, "If, during these past few years, someone told you that Nic needed more therapy in order to get well, would you have found a way to pay for it?"

I answered honestly: "Yes."

"Is his mental health more important than yours?"

I got the point.

As to the question of time for therapy, he asked, "How much time is it worth to end a person's suffering? How much time do you waste suffering now?" Then: "You almost died. You are 50 years old. How do you want to spend the rest of your life? It's up to you."

My brain hemorrhage ultimately has made me appreciate, rather than fear, the profound truth of this cliché: our time here is finite. This realization impelled me to listen to the doctor and do whatever I could to get past my obsessive worry about Nic. I could not change Nic, only me. And so instead of focusing on Nic's recovery, since then I have focused on mine.

I attended Al-Anon meetings. I also had twice-weekly therapy sessions and, for the first time ever, I lay down on the doctor's couch. The difference has been profound - like disassembling a multi-level lego building with hidden rooms and attics, dismantling it brick by brick, examining each one - a meticulous, often frightening process. I learned that at some point, focusing on Nic's perpetual crises became safer territory than focusing on myself. It was even safer to have a near-fatal brain hemorrhage.

As anyone in intensive therapy knows, though it's not easy, there can be a deep transformative benefit to the work. I have been uncovering layers of guilt and shame that help explain why I was so willing to take on the responsibility for Nic's addiction-for his life, in fact. As a result, those other clichés of Al-Anon and recovery no longer feel like clichés. I still don't fully accept the C. Instead, I recognize that I will never know how much I caused or contributed to it. Recently in the New York Times Magazine, William C Moyers, the son of the journalist Bill Moyers and a recovering addict, said "recovery is ... about dealing with that hole in the soul." What made that hole? No one knows. How innocent we are of our mistakes, but how responsible we are for them. I accept that I made terrible mistakes raising Nic. I don't absolve myself-even now. As you know, Nic, I am so sorry.

I have accepted the other C's. I cannot control it, and I cannot cure it. "For all their tears and heartache, and desperately good intentions, most families of addicts are defeated in the end," writes Beverly Conyers. "Addicts persist in their self-destructive, addictive behavior until something within themselves -something quite apart from anyone else's efforts-changes so radically that the desire for the high is dulled and ultimately deadened for the desire for a better life." It's one thing to read this, it's another to evolve toward a true acceptance of it. I am confident that I have done everything I could do to help Nic. Now it's up to him. I accept that I have to let him go and he will or will not figure things out. I imagine that Nic, too, may be relieved that I have stopped trying to take on his recovery. It sets the stage for a different kind of relationship for us-like the one he envisioned in Santa Fe. Rather than co-dependent and enabling, with me trying to control him-even if to save him-our relationship can evolve into one of independence, acceptance and compassion, with healthy boundaries. The love is a given.

The brain hemorrhage helped me understand the distinction. It was something that I knew intellectually, but it has sunk in and I now know it emotionally. My children will live with or without me. It is a staggering realization for a parent, but one that ultimately frees us to let our children grow up.

I wish I had gotten here quicker, but I couldn't. If only parenting were easier. It never will be. If only life were easier. It isn't-nor is that my goal any longer. Once I desperately wanted things to be simpler, but my worldview was broken over the course of Nic's addiction and my stay in the ICU. From them, I learned another lesson: that I can accept-in fact am relieved to accept-a world of contradictions, wherein everything is gray and almost nothing is black and white. There is much good, but to enjoy the beauty, the love, one must bear the painful.-

There have been practical lessons, too. Since it has gotten around that our family has gone through this, friends, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends, as well as strangers, come to us. Apparently people still read my article, because I get more letters. Every other person seems to be in the middle of some version of the hell of addiction, their own or their child's, spouse's, sibling's, parent's, or friend's. Often they ask for advice. Even now, my advice is tentative.

I agree wholeheartedly with the foremost recommendation of every rational anti-drug campaign: talk to your kids early and often about drugs. Otherwise, you're leaving it to someone else to instruct them. Should you be open and honest about your experience with drugs? It's an individual decision, because every parent and child is unique. I would be careful never to glorify drug or alcohol use and I would consider children's ages, never giving more information than they can comprehend at the time. But in the end, I don't know if it matters if or how much you tell them about your experience. Other things matter much more. Where do I come down on this for my family? I believe that kids don't need to (and shouldn't) know every personal detail of our lives, but I will never lie to my children, and I will answer their questions honestly. Sooner or later, Jasper and Daisy will read this account. It won't surprise them-they have lived through it. We have an ongoing conversation not only about Nic, but about drugs, peer pressure, and the other issues in their lives. They will know about their father's drug history, the toll it took. They already know about their brother's.

More than anything else, parents want to know at what point a child is no longer experimenting, no longer a typical teenager, no longer going through a phase or a rite of passage. Since it's unanswerable, I have concluded that I would err on the side of caution and intervene earlier rather than later-not waiting until a child is wantonly endangering himself or others. Looking back, I wish I had forced Nic-while he was young enough so that legally I could have forced him-into a long-term program of rehabilitation. Sending a child-or adult for that matter-to rehab before he is ready and able to understand the principles of recovery may not prevent relapse, but from what I've seen it cannot hurt and may help. In addition, a period of forced abstinence during the formative teenage years is better than that same time spent on drugs. Forced treatment in a good program accomplishes at least one immediate goal: it keeps a child off drugs for the time he is in treatment. Since the less someone uses, the easier it is to stop, the longer he is in treatment the better.

Where should one send a child? What type of program? Though they may help some children, I would be wary of programs that employ harsh discipline. It's not that I don't understand the impulse to send a child to a boot camp. Parents give up and say "You fix my kid." However, there is no convincing evidence that boot camps or similar programs help children, and they may hurt them. The National Institute of Justice once funded an evaluation of boot camp in 8 states that concluded, "Common components of boot camp such as military-style discipline, physical training, and hard labor, do not reduce recidivism."

A report by the Koch Crime Institute in Kansas found that "fear of being incarcerated at a boot camp has not deterred crime," and three out of four children are back in some form of detention within a year after camp. On its website, the National Mental Health Association reports that "employing tactics of intimidation and humiliation is counter-productive for most use," "boot camp graduates are more likely to be re-arrested or are re-arrested more quickly than other offenders," and, detailing the more serious problem with boot camps, there are many "disturbing incidents" of abuse.

In 1998 in Georgia, a US Justice Department investigation concluded, "the paramilitary boot camp model is not only ineffective, but harmful." Beyond some cases of death and abuse, "a dangerous situation is created, one that is often psychologically damaging," said Mike Riera, an author and psychologist renowned for his work with teenagers, whom Karen and I met with about Nic. "If the anger and confusion underlying the child's problems are forced underground, there is a strong chance that they will become pathological, showing up in an inability to maintain relationships or in violence, depression, or suicide. Also, abuse breeds more abuse."

Then what? I have heard success stories from people who sent their children away to various types of programs-inpatient, outpatient, month-long programs like Ohlhoff Recovery, St. Helena Sierra Tucson, Hazelden, and hundreds of others; 3-month wilderness programs; 6-month programs like the ones offered by Ohlhoff, Hazelden, and other treatment centers around the country; and year-long high school or post-high school programs. For many addicts, long-term stays in sober-living communities such as Herbert House changed-that is, saved-their lives.

There is no single or easy answer, because no one knows what will help a particular individual. It is difficult to get reliable professional advice, but I would seek it out. I would insist on second and third opinions. I would confer with doctors, therapists, counselors in and out of school-making sure they have experience with drug and alcohol addiction. I would weigh their advice while remembering that this is not an exact science, and each child and each family is unique.

In almost every case, sending a child into rehab against his or her will was the hardest decision parents ever made. The mother of one of Nic's grade-school friends told me that she hired a man to abduct her 17-year-old son who was using and dealing meth. Trained specialists grabbed him and escorted him, handcuffed, to a 3-month-long wilderness program. She wept for three days. Since he graduated from the program, he relapsed once, but now says that her intervention saved his life.

I heard similar stories at AA meetings I attended with Nic. Addicts in recovery remembered the time their parents orchestrated interventions or forced them into treatment. "I hated them at the time. They saved my life." I heard about failures, too. "I tried, but my son died." With addiction, no outcome is guaranteed. Statistics are almost meaningless. You never know whether your child will be one of those in the 9 or 17 or 40 or 50, or whatever percent that is the true number who make it. At the same time, the statistics are useful in a sobering way. They inform us that our adversary is formidable and they guard us against irrational optimism.

Sometimes, when Nic relapsed, I faulted his counselors, therapists, the rehabs, and, of course, myself. In retrospect, I have come to understand that recovery is an ongoing process. He may have relapsed, but rehabs interrupted the cycles of using. Without them, Nic could easily have died. He has a chance now.

This informs another question. Yes, I would help a child of mine return to rehab after a relapse. I'm not sure how many times. Once? Twice? Ten times? I don't know. Some experts will disagree with me. They will advise you to not help them at all. They feel that an addict must come to recovery on his own. They may be right when it comes to some children. Unfortunately, no one knows for certain.

I have learned a few other things. Rehab isn't perfect, but it's the best we have. Medications may help some addicts, but they cannot be expected to replace rehab and ongoing recovery work. I would not in any way help someone using drugs to do anything other than return to rehab. I would not pay their rent, would not bail them out of jail unless they went directly into rehab, even then would not repeatedly bail them out, would not pay their debts, and would never give them money.

In 1986, Nancy Reagan, who started the "Just Say No" anti-drug campaign, famously said, "There is no moral middle ground. Indifference is not an option...For the sake of our children, I implore each of you to be unyielding and inflexible in your opposition to drugs."

I don't know any mature person in favor of drugs like meth. We must instead understand the complex world in which our children are growing up and help them as best we can.

People said to Nic, "Well, just stop."

I have learned that it's not that easy.

People told me to let go of my worry because there was nothing I could do. "Put it out of your mind." I never could. I finally learned to do the hard work it took to put it in perspective, because it does not help anyone-the addict, the rest of the family, you-when it becomes the only thing in one's life. And so my advice: do whatever it takes-therapy, Alanon, lots of Alanon-for you to contain it.

And be patient with yourself. Allow yourself to make mistakes. Be easy on yourself and extra loving toward your spouse or partner. Do not keep secrets. As they often repeat in AA, you're as sick as your secrets. Though it is not a solution, openness is a relief. Our shared stories help us remember what we're dealing with. Addicts needed ongoing reminders and support, and so do their families. It helps to read others' stories.

And it helps to write, at least it did for me. As I said, I wrote frantically. I wrote in the middle of the night and made it to morning. If I were a painter like Karen, I would have painted what I was going through. She often did. I wrote.

≈ ≈ ≈

I am no longer preoccupied with Nic. This could change, but at the moment I accept and even appreciate that he is living his life his way. Of course I will always hope that he stays sober. I hope that our relationship continues to heal, knowing that this can happen only if and while he's sober.

Where has my worry gone? I have a mental image of it. The artist Chuck Close once said "I get overwhelmed by the whole." He learned to break down images into a grid of small, manageable squares. Painting one square at a time, he creates mesmerizing wall-sized portraits. I was often overwhelmed by the whole, too, but I learned to contain my worry about Nic in a square or two of the grid that would be there if Close were to paint my life. I check into them once in a while. When I do, I feel an entire range of emotions, but they don't overwhelm me.

Sometimes I still freak myself out about the future, but far less than I used to. I'm better about taking it one day at a time. It may sound simplistic, but it's as profound as any concept I know. I can still worry about what will happen to Nic in five years, in ten-to Jasper and Daisy for that matter-but then I return to today.

Today.

- Beautiful Boy, David Sheff
One thing that emerges from David Sheff's writing is that the family DOES have a role to play. Your stance, behavior, and choices DO make a difference. At Allies in Recovery we are absolutely convinced of this. Our learning platform is set up to help family members learn the techniques that will reduce conflict, build that bridge of communication, and be effective in guiding your loved one into treatment. Together we will move your loved one towards recovery. Learn more here.

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An Extract from David Sheff's 'Beautiful Boy' - Allies in Recovery

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The following is an extract taken from the Epilogue of David Sheff's best-selling book about his son's addiction and his own recovery as a family member: Beautiful Boy. Beautiful Boy has been out for a while now, but as you will see, this Epilogue stands the test of time.