This week, I'm reminded of how important it is not to try to overcome addiction all alone and how, even decades into recovery, a veteran still gains invaluable insight from newcomers not far away from their last drink or drug.

On Monday, I stopped by a hospital detox to meet a man just off the street from another failed attempt to use heroin without consequences. An old high-school buddy of mine is a friend of his father's, so I felt obligated to offer him my two bits of encouragement. Though we hadn't met before, we were intimate strangers because both of us are addicts. "Hang in there. You can make it, but you can't make it alone," I implored. Then I shared five minutes of my own story of chronic relapses a long time ago, when I was his age. No doubt he'd heard others tell him the same, because he didn't seem inspired, until — after he had blurted out, "So what was different for you that last time?" and without pause I had answered, "I decided I didn't want to die and got one more chance" — his drug-dulled eyes awoke and he grabbed my arm and replied, "Me, too."

I can only hope I helped him as much as he helped me.

Later that day, I met back to back with two patients. One comes from a prominent family whose powerbroker connections are powerless to alter her spiral into the bottle. She is barely out of her teens and wants to get well but can't yet fathom sobriety so young, especially on a college campus, where she wants to return to get her teaching degree. The other, about my age, sees himself as the king of the hill, except his vantage point is a solitary plateau of self-absorption that has him blinded by the conviction that he shouldn't be where he is because he's "not a drunk; that's plain and simple." And besides, his girlfriend wanted him home — by tomorrow, he insisted, less than a week after he arrived too drunk to recall how he had gotten here.

To the young woman, I urged that she not look too far down the road, that though it is tough in today's world for young people to avoid the temptations of substances, legal or illegal, in droves they are getting sober and staying that way, even on campus. To the older man, I had no counsel; in our 30 minutes together, he didn't stop talking long enough to ask me any questions.

I can only hope I helped them as much as they helped me.

Then yesterday a psychologist from the East Coast called. Sobbing, she said her husband, well-respected in big circles for helping the poor and disenfranchised, can't help himself because he drinks too much. "It's destroying him, our children, our family, our lives," she shared. Equally worse is his shame and fear of what people will think of him. "He's a proud man. He can do anything — except this." Twenty-four hours later, he was on his way to a treatment program.

Every day, I encounter people who struggle with addiction and ask for help. In my own journey, all these decades later, I'm grateful that they're around to help guide me, too.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs. His book "Now What? An Insider's Guide to Addiction and Recovery" was published last year. Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.