RESTRICTED: Matthew Perry How I Turned My Life Around

At 24, Matthew Perry landed a role that would utterly change his life—and help define a generation: Chandler Bing on Friends. Along with his five castmates, his face was suddenly on everything from calendars to coffee mugs, and his salary ballooned to $1 million an episode. As his sardonic alter ego might have put it, “Could he be any more famous?” But behind the scenes, Perry struggled with a serious alcohol problem. Then, after a 1997 Jet Ski accident, a doctor prescribed him Vicodin and said, ” ‘Here, take this.’ I did, and I felt better than I ever felt in my entire life,” Perry says. “I had a big problem with pills and alcohol, and I couldn’t stop.” For years tabloids chronicled his every misstep, including two failed stints in rehab.

It’s no wonder that back then Perry invariably seemed deeply uncomfortable when dealing with the media. Today it’s an entirely different man—relaxed, smiling, even laid-back—who strolls into L.A.’s Sunset Tower Hotel and orders a Diet Coke with lemon. “I’m in a really good place. I’m really comfortable,” says the actor, 43. Thanks to the help of renowned addiction specialist Earl Hightower, he’s now sober and committed to helping others. He turned his former Malibu home into Perry House, a men’s sober-living facility (see sidebar). And he’s a passionate advocate for drug courts, where nonviolent substance abusers receive treatment instead of jail time for their offenses. Last October he testified before Congress about the courts’ effectiveness and helped secure $45 million in funding. “Matthew is an ambassador of possibility for a vast group of people,” says Hightower. “People he’ll never meet will get services because he championed their cause.”

Wry as ever and bracingly blunt about his past, Perry talked to senior writer Monica Rizzo about his journey to recovery—and to a mission that brings him the joy that eluded him for so long. Perry says, “The interesting reason that I can be so helpful now is that I screwed up so often. It’s nice for people to see that somebody who once struggled in their life is not struggling anymore.”

In May something quite surreal happened. I was invited to the White House to receive an award for helping raise awareness about a cause very close to my heart, drug courts.

So there I was in the Roosevelt Room, which I immediately recognized because I had been in the fake Roosevelt Room when I was on The West Wing. Senators and dignitaries watched as I gave my acceptance speech. I said, “Fifteen years ago I’d race through my house to the toilet when I first got home. I’d have two towels in my hand: one to wipe away the vomit, and one to wipe away my tears. I thought at the time, “Someday I’m going to get an award for this.” Half the room laughed. Half the room was very confused. But I knew that day meant the world to me.

I was on Friends from age 24 to 34. I was in the white-hot flame of fame. The six of us were just everywhere all the time. From an outsider’s perspective, it would seem like I had it all. It was actually a very lonely time for me because I was suffering from alcoholism. It was going on before Friends, but it’s a progressive disease. I wasn’t a massive party guy. I wasn’t a bull-in-a-china-shop kind of drinker. No, for me it was come home, light some candles, have a drink, watch a movie that was slightly over my head and label myself something ridiculous like a misunderstood artist. I of course realize how insane and ridiculous that was now.

I was never high at work. I was painfully, painfully hung over. Then eventually things got so bad I couldn’t hide it, and then everybody knew. My problems were well documented and—believe me—at some point soon, I’m going to officially shut up about them. But I feel like my message now should at least be out there a little bit, which is, There is hope and people can change. I see evidence of that every day of my life in myself and in others.

Years ago I met Earl Hightower, a leading interventionist and an addiction specialist, who has been an invaluable help in aiding my recovery. He’s become my best friend. After years of working with Earl—I was stubborn and I wanted to do things my way—I finally got it. Something clicked. You have to want the help. You have to be willing to change. I finally realized what had been told to me 500 times. From that point on, I decided whatever Earl asked me to do, I’d do for the rest of my life.

Trying to overcome addiction is one of the hardest things for a person to do. And the fact that I had to do it under the scrutiny of tabloid press at first made it seem even more difficult. But in fact it oddly ended up being a plus. Because of the tabloid stuff, it wasn’t like I could walk into a bar and order a drink. If I did, strangers would come up to me and say, “Hey, I just read that you’re not allowed to do that.”

I had been helping people on a one-on-one level, but Earl felt I could be of greater service in a much bigger way. When he asked me to speak at a 4,000-person drug-court convention a few years ago, I did it. At the convention a young boy took the stage. He had written a statement, but he was crying so hard he couldn’t get it out. The one thing he managed to say was, “Thank you, everybody, for giving my mom back to me.” I was so moved. From that point on, I became a loyal foot soldier for drug courts. In the years since, I’ve traveled around the country, and I’ve lobbied Congress for funding.

Earlier this year I turned my former Malibu beach home into a sober-living house. In 2005 I bought this house because I subscribed to the theory of “If I just lived over there, I’d be fine.” I’d buy houses and I’d move. It was a classic case of trying to fix inside stuff with outside stuff. Last year I still had this really nice house. That’s when I had this lightbulb moment and called Earl. We put our heads together, and Perry House opened about six months ago. So now that ego-driven mistake is being used to help people. How cool is that?

People are always asking me, “what’s next?” There are a few entertainment things I’m discussing, but honestly it’s gone down in import for me. I love acting. The secret is not to identify with it. If you had asked me when I was 25 “Who are you?” I’d say, “What do you mean? I’m on a hit television show. That’s who I am.” I was a hopelessly narcissistic guy, and I only thought about myself, and then that just shifted, and when that happened, I got some true happiness and comfort in my life.

A year and a half ago, I went to the doctor and was told, “The new prescription for you? Go have fun.” Wow, that’s really freeing. I think I’m going to start playing hockey again. I got the bug back after we did a hockey-themed episode on Go On. As for my personal life, I would love to start a family of my own. I think I’d make a great dad, and I think shortly I would make a great husband.

But first things first: I’ll be back in Washington later this month for the National Association of Drug Court Professionals Conference. At 43, there are two things I’m an expert on: 1980s tennis and addiction. I’ve had a life of extreme highs and extreme lows. I’ve had a big life. But the most proud I am of all of it, the thing I like the most about me, the thing that I worked hardest for, is that if somebody is struggling with alcoholism and addiction and they come up to me and say, “I can’t stop drinking; can you help me?” I can say, “Yes” and then follow up and do it. I’d rather do that than just about anything. It’s just the right thing to do.