The down escalator is always moving, and there is no such thing as standing still. Don C. describes a life once spent on stage, pretending and seeking strokes, while using food as medication until he crossed the magic line into compulsion. For Don, surrender wasn't a white flag but a contract to cooperate with "crazy people" and a process he didn't understand. He traded mental master planning—the "shoulds and oughts" imposed on others—for a gritty, daily discipline.
He views his recovery as a co-creation with a Higher Power: the Higher Power provides the strength, but Don must find the shovel in the shed and start digging. His morning is a rigid architecture of inventories and prayers to scrub away "toxic thinking" and phoniness. He remains a realist, acknowledging that he is always one bite away from the hell he escaped, necessitating a lifelong climb against the gravity of his disease.
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