Matt K. opens at his bottom: living behind the Vail library, then in a loft bed surrounded by a bookshelf full of bottles and cigarette-butt-stuffed cans. He describes waking every morning with a full-body dread, praying without knowing it that he wouldn't wake up again. He weighed 120 pounds, was stealing to eat, and hitchhiking between four-day construction jobs in Beaver Creek, taking advances and disappearing.
A phone call to his dad — who told him they'd feed him in jail or in a treatment center — moved him toward Elizabethtown, Kentucky. He packed a backpack that had a busted jar of stolen garlic in it and hitchhiked to Denver. In treatment he sat through LSD flashbacks on Xerox worksheets, but the AA van took him to a birthday meeting where he saw a Native American old-timer in a cowboy hat on oxygen smoking Pall Malls, sat with the AA motorcycle group, and watched a man in a puke-stained light blue polyester suit get welcomed back after a relapse. That image kept him from ever drinking again.
For 15 years he stayed sober on meetings and fellowship alone, drifting in and out, until his 10th anniversary hockey barbecue — bathtub of beer, no AA people present — showed him he was getting the promises in reverse. He came back as a newcomer, kept his mouth shut, found Joe and Charlie tapes and speakers like Chris R., and finally got properly taken through the Big Book. He calls that his real recovery date: a 15-year chip in his book.
Today he manages billions of dollars of property for people who trust him, got the job through an AA friend who walked into a bike shop. He closes on the 10th Step as 'how is it for other people to experience me,' the discipline of not sending the text or making the call in a fever, and a dictionary definition of recovery: extracting something precious from that which appears to have no value.
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