1 in 200. That is the grim statistic Russell S. throws on the table—the slim chance of staying sober past twenty years. To him, relapse is the easy part; the shock is that anyone stays sober at all. He speaks with a jagged edge, dismissing "sobrietics" and the "horseshit" of those who think they can think their way out of a sickness that makes them monsters.
Russell describes the Seventh Step not as a prayer to be mouthed, but as a brutal collision with reality. He admits he can't "do" humility—he had to be drunk into it, morally and financially bankrupt, staring into the eyes of a stranger at a hospital bed admitting he was powerless. He recounts the "shots" his own sponsors gave him—the blunt, ego-stripping rebukes that took him down a peg. For Russell, the only way to move from the "get out of my face" country to a Higher Power is through the cold, hard truth that hurts enough to actually sink in.
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