Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

---

My mind is out to kill me, and I know it. I am constantly filled with a lurking loneliness, a yearning, clinging to the notion that something outside of me will fix me. But I had had all that the outside had to offer!

What’s Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing About?

This isn’t full of—but does contain—some good, behind-the-scenes stuff about Friends, Fools Rush In, The Whole Nine Yards, Mr. Sunshine, The Odd Couple, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and other projects. But those don’t make up the bulk of the material. And those are interesting, amusing, and support the overall thesis of the book—he’s an addict who has been blessed with more good things than he knows how to handle.

There’s some juicy (largely nameless, but you can read between the lines) bits about his love life—as the title suggests. But again, there’s not much of that overall—and those, too, serve to support the overall thesis—even more than the professional matters do.

Then there’s the Big Terrible Thing—his addictions themselves, how he got started, how he maintained them, and his several attempts to get sober (of varying successes and lengths of success). He also goes into graphic (perhaps too graphic) detail about the physical toll they’ve taken on him—and the financial, emotional, and mental toll they’ve taken on those close to him.

How Perry Comes Across

When this book first came out (or just before it) there were more than a few headlines about some (I’m going to be charitable and call them) questionable jokes he made about Keanu Reeves and some people casting doubt about some of the particulars of some of his stories. Given how impaired he was during most of those disputed events (and just about every other event he recounts), I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember them correctly, and I don’t think it should be held against him. The Reeves jokes, on the other hand, might have seemed like a good idea at the time—but his editors really should’ve stopped them. I jotted down a note after the second one that “someone at Macmillan must have it out for him to let this make it to print.”

But both of those things pale in comparison to everything that Perry admits to in this book. He doesn’t come across as a good guy at all—and I don’t think he’s trying to. Sure, the fact that he’s (seemingly) coming clean about everything and (seemingly) taking responsibility for the lies, destructive behaviors, and despicable actions might make some people want to think better of him—but I don’t think he really wants that.

He comes across—and I realize this could be entirely calculated—as someone who is being honest about his shortcomings, seeking to explain the devastation his addictions have wrought on himself and many, many of those around him—how he’s somehow managed to have some success in the midst of that. He gives credit to some of those who’ve helped him get to this point in recovery—or kept him alive long enough to get there. In the end, however, Perry’s not a good guy and doesn’t pretend to be one. He’s a mess who will very likely kill himself if he relapses a time or two more.

So, what did I think about Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing?

I’ve been a big fan of Perry’s since Friends (I can point to the joke that made me one)—I’ve seen almost everything he’s done (sometimes not because of him, but I appreciated his involvement). But I put this book under the category of “will get around to eventually, maybe.” Until I saw people reacting to how much of the focus of the book is on the Big Terrible Thing. And that piqued my interest.

That sounds ghoulish, I realize, but hearing a well-documented addict talking about their struggles is something that I appreciate. It helps me empathize with those I know fighting that fight, and I hope, helps me understand and appreciate their struggles.

Perry’s clear that he’s been given every opportunity, tool, and help to get sober and to maintain that sobriety. And he’s squandered almost every one of them. And it has yet to work. The amounts he takes on a regular basis when he uses is…it’s a shocking amount—and only someone as wealthy as he is could pull it off.

At the same time, there’s a glimmer of hope. A faint glimmer, sure. But there is one—and if someone whose rock bottom is as low as Perry’s was can maybe make it—there’s hope for others, too. And that’s the big thing I took away—there’s hope. Hope for other addicts, hope for Perry.

I thought this was a riveting and disturbing read—made tolerable by Perry’s off-kilter and somewhat humorous telling of the stories. It’s not like most celebrity memoirs I’ve read (but I don’t think it’s that ground-breaking)—but definitely worth the time.

As an ardent Friends fan, my anticipation was palpable when I decided to give this a try. However, as I reached the end, all I wished for was to reclaim the six hours I had spent listening to it. In the grand scheme of things, the disjointed timeline in this book didn't particularly bother me, although I can imagine that a chronological order would have made it a more enjoyable read. However, given the content and tone, “enjoyable” isn't the first word that comes to mind when describing this book.

The book appears to suffer from poor editing and doesn't portray Matthew Perry in a very positive light. His journey through addiction is depicted with honesty, rawness, and a painful intensity that makes it difficult to listen to or read. I do give him credit for putting it all out there, and I sincerely hope it serves as a form of healing for him. Nonetheless, it's clear that he is battling dopamine addiction, and there's a suspicion that the primary purpose of this book might be to feed off the attention he's currently receiving. Once the initial surge of attention from the book release subsides, there's a concern that he might seek another form of high and potentially relapse.

Throughout the book, there are noticeable inconsistencies in his story and journey. For instance, he initially states that he has all his necessary supplies, including cigarettes, but later devotes an entire chapter to quitting smoking. Furthermore, he has publicly claimed to be “pretty much sober since 2001,” except for the 64 relapses, which feels like an unnecessary and potentially misleading assertion.

One of the most challenging aspects of the book is the impression that he hasn't truly grasped the lessons life has to offer. Reading this book made me reflect on the developmental damage caused by adolescent alcoholism to the brain. It appears that Matthew Perry may not have developed the critical thinking, coping skills, and empathy necessary to navigate adulthood effectively.

Considering his 30 years in therapy and attendance at 6000 AA meetings, his lack of insight and self-awareness is surprising. Overall, he comes across as a self-absorbed individual with limited empathy for those around him. While he claims to want his story to help and inspire others, the book doesn't convey a strong sense of altruism or philanthropy.

Another aspect that left a sour taste was his portrayal of his father's journey to sobriety. He suggests that his dad simply stopped drinking one day and didn't require $7 million worth of treatment, highlighting that his father doesn't have that kind of money. Given Matthew Perry's substantial wealth, one would hope he'd support a family member in need, but this unnecessary dig at his father suggests otherwise.

Finally, his description of his treatment of women in his life was off-putting. While not abusive, it paints a picture of him using and easily discarding them. It raises questions about what he brings to a relationship beyond being Matthew Perry, hinting at struggles in forming meaningful connections, which is truly disheartening.

In conclusion, this book left me with the impression that Matthew Perry might be an enjoyable person to hang out with but lacks depth and substance. It's also worth noting that even during his battle with deep addiction, he remained on the shortlist for guest spots on high-profile shows and was able to initiate projects, suggesting he's likely easy to work with. However, it's unfortunate that this book significantly diminished my opinion of this performer