1966, a hospital room in Texas. A nine-year-old girl looks at her sick mother and thinks only one thing: I want out of here. Katie P. doesn't start with a drunk story because "there's a lot of humor in drunk stories, but I don't know that there's a lot of knowledge." Instead, she traces a lifetime of being "self-consumed," from the childhood thrill of hyperventilating to the "old ideas" that turned her into a professional cheater in school.
She warns against the trap of meeting-based sobriety—getting the "relief" of the rooms without the "freedom" of the steps. Katie describes the danger of "finding Jesus" without a program, admitting she once nearly shoved a woman into an intersection "under the name of Jesus." The wreckage peaks with the death of her husband; she recalls the brutal honesty of her first thought upon his diagnosis: I'm going to drive that damn bus forever. Now, she relies on a Higher Power and the grit of active sponsorship to stay sane.
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