Greensboro, North Carolina, 1950. A fifteen-year-old stands before a bathroom mirror and watches himself take a drink of Cream of Kentucky. In that moment, the "big hole" in the middle of him closes. Tom B. describes his life as a series of extremes—fast forward or stop—driven by a "strange insanity" akin to a man who repeatedly puts his hand on a hot wood stove, convinced it won't burn him this time.
A self-styled intellectual and former seminary student, Tom spent years trying to manipulate his way into sobriety, even wearing a dirty blue bathrobe to mimic Eastern meditators in hopes of a lightning-bolt awakening. He speaks of the "drunken mongrels and spiritual misfits" who built a fellowship based on a common peril and a common solution. To Tom, recovery isn't a mental exercise but a surrender to a Higher Power and a commitment to the unity of the community, the only thing keeping him from the bottle.
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