"Do you pray with that mouth?" An old-timer’s question once snapped Kent C. back to reality, cutting through the noise of a man who entered the rooms as a "dime store dummy" wearing a Mr. T starter kit and Air Jordans to hide an empty inside. For years, Kent lived as a "fake and a phony," a man addicted to acceptance and trapped in the bondage of self, drifting toward a place of cold-blooded indifference where he didn't care if anyone lived or died. He describes his wreckage not as a lack of will, but as a lack of power—a fuse on a stick of dynamite getting shorter every day.
Recovery for Kent is "monkey see, monkey do," a gritty adherence to the simplicity of the Big Book and the guidance of sponsors who trained his feet to move against his head. He rejects the intellectualization of the program, insisting that sobriety is found in the dirt of service and the discipline of a home group. By accessing a Higher Power, he moved from being "more dead than alive" to a life of active, fl...
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