A park bench in Vegas, a bottle of cheap wine, and a matted beard. Bob D. describes himself as a "freeze-dried alcoholic" who felt disconnected from the world long before he ever touched a drink. For Bob, alcohol wasn't just a beverage; it was the only immediate treatment for a spiritual malady that made him feel like he was always coming from behind. He chased the "magic" of those early days, eventually spiraling into a dance of death involving 151 rum, drugs, and a series of blackout runs that left him as an "urban outdoorsman" sleeping in burnout projects.
He recalls the paradox of the alcoholic ego: the more he lost—jobs, family, self-respect—the more smugly superior he felt. He describes the wreckage as being "kicked to death by rabbits." It took a hit-and-run DUI in a stolen car and a brush with a state penitentiary to force a surrender. Bob realized he wasn't fighting the bottle, but a self-centeredness that kept him shackled to a hyperactive mind. Through a Higher Power and...
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