The Misery of Loneliness That Only an Alcoholic Understands – Ray M.

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About This Speaker Tape

A three-room mill house in North Carolina, no bath, and a father who drank from a jar in the pantry. Ray M. grew up watching a man dance with a broom because no one would dance with a drunk. He spent years trying to outrun the "lint head" label, eventually finding a Higher Power that "got him from the rear end," leading him into the ministry. But the old patterns remained. A prescription for sleep morphed into a nineteen-year slide into the gates of hell—marked by a "swinging singles" apartment, a mattress on the floor, and a double-barrel shotgun used to shoot out his own window just to trick the police into visiting him.

The turning point wasn't a sermon, but a sequence of men who looked him in the eye and said, "I know how you feel." From a doctor to a stranger in a treatment lobby, Ray was drawn to the attraction of men who had survived the same wreckage. He stopped dancing with brooms and started walking the path of sobriety.

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