A lifelong habit of 'finin'—the art of pretending to be okay while collapsing inside—defined David L.'s existence until he hit a wall in 1987. He describes a mind like an upside-down pyramid where a boss's silence at 9:00 AM leads to him buying day-old bread by 9:01 AM. After years of hiding bottles under the vegetable tray in the fridge and retreating to a five-by-six-foot bathroom sanctuary David found a brutal kind of grace through a sponsor who forced him to stop playing the victim.
The wreckage is heavy: a fractured relationship with his mother and a son who once punched him in the chest and called him an alcoholic. Through the rigorous application of the steps and a series of humbling cards mailed to his mother David moved from a state of constant fear to a place where he could wash his mother's feet and accept the messy unmanaged reality of his family.
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