A black BMW screaming 100 miles an hour the wrong way down a Houston tollway. Tom W. describes the head-on collision that felt like hitting a brick wall at 120 mph—a moment of bitter, incomprehensible demoralization. Wealthy upbringing and a desperate need to "plug in" led him through a carousel of identities: punk skater, cowboy, hippie, all fueled by the same obsession. Even after the wreck, he tried to find a formula to control the chaos, eventually landing in a girls' bathroom in a blackout and facing prison.
The shift came not through a sudden epiphany, but by listening to a man with a mullet and missing teeth talk about the simple victory of a head hitting a pillow sober. After white-knuckling his way to a meeting, Tom surrendered to the steps. He recalls the specific weight of the Fifth Step, followed by an hour of meditation in his backyard where he finally found the connection he had chased his whole life. Now, he sees his Higher Power in the tangible: a driver's license ...
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