Long Beach, the fog rolling in off the bay, and 4,000 of the undead celebrating in a room while the sick wander the alleys outside. Jack G. describes a life lived in the wreckage: warrants for his arrest, a mother who called his insanity "art," and a childhood of overlapping girlfriends and a marriage to a girl of questionable age.
He spent years as a "book guy," tearing the Big Book and the New Testament apart line by line, trying to pin his Higher Power down to a phrase just to maintain control. It took a Jesuit brother telling him to shut up and walk on the beach to realize he was fighting a fatal illness. He recalls the "scam" of the Big Book—the glossy pitch of friendship followed by the small print of smashed furniture and jangling phones.
For Jack, sobriety isn't about "contrary action" or willpower; it's about the shift to primary action, moving from doing the work because he has to, to doing it because he wants to.
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