1964, West Palm Beach. A wedding at a flower shop for twenty-five bucks, wilted roses, and a bride who had been beaten by her previous husband. Jay P. describes the wreckage of a life built on the "gift" of lying—a talent he used to convince himself he could drink without consequence
. He recounts the grit of his early years: reformatories from age eight to seventeen, a brief, failed stint in the Navy, and a career as a marine engineer fueled by Thunderbird wine and blackouts. He speaks of the "fear of impending calamity" that clung to him like a second skin, a terror that only lifted when he finally stopped lying to himself.
After smuggling gemstones in Sri Lanka and destroying his marriage, Jay found a Higher Power through the blunt honesty of a sponsor on a trailer stoop. He moved from the delusion of control to the simple, stark reality of "I can't," trading the blackjack tables of Vegas for a yellow legal pad and a house cleaning.
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