Reese D., sober since June 5, 1982, shares a thirty-three-year story shaped more by childhood abuse and compulsive pursuit than by alcohol itself. Raised in Brunswick, Georgia, the son of a Jewish mother from New York and a local father, he grew up singled out, beaten, and molested, learning early to go numb. He drank, used IV drugs, chased women, got hepatitis at seventeen, bounced through counselors, Georgia Regional Hospital, and multiple treatment centers before landing at Willingway in 1982 — where an affair started during family week triggered the overdose that finally became his bottom.
He describes the first year as ego-driven trophy-hunting for sponsors, caffeine and cigarettes swapped in for drugs, and a near-marriage he blew up by telling the truth about his sexual identity struggles right after the invitations were ordered. The pivot came at about seven years: standing at his mother's sink, rinsing his mouth and spitting as a deliberate act of resentment, he realized the wreckage underneath the drinking was still alive. A night in Gainesville — driving home crying after sex that no longer worked — stripped him of every remaining symptom and left him face to face with himself.
Recovery deepened through a maternal sponsor from the other program, a close non-romantic friendship with a lesbian AA member, and finally a wife whose six-year-old spit food at him and whose three-year-old handed him a playground rock out of her overalls as a peace offering. He talks candidly about fighting with a six-year-old until he saw himself in her — needy, impulsive, dishonest, the kid who used to get beaten for exactly those traits. A new job in early 2015 has surfaced every old insecurity again, and he leans on prayer, meetings, and the newcomer to keep the lead jacket off.
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