Peter maps out a trajectory from the gutters of lower Manhattan—where he was a 130-pound panhandler urinating blood—to a life of spiritual devotion. He dismantles the illusion that alcoholism is found in a bottle, arguing instead that it lives in the head, a voice that flips bliss to bleak in two minutes. Peter recounts the grueling process of cleaning up his wreckage, specifically a deep-seated contempt for the Catholic C. that required a direct amend to his priest
. He describes his recovery not as a sudden fix, but as a shift from discipline to devotion, moving from the 'mechanics' of the steps to a 'soulful walk' that allows him to navigate the wreckage of divorce, job loss, and family illness without returning to the bottle.
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