Why the Spiritual Malady Is a Deadlier Disease Than the Bottle – Mickey M.

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About This Speaker Tape

1311 York Street, Denver. A Victorian mansion where the broken washed up. Mickey M. arrived as a chameleon, a fractured shell who had been drinking since age five. He didn't want sobriety to find peace; he just wanted two weeks where his hands wouldn't be curled up in the morning and he wouldn't feel like a fish thrown onto a sidewalk.

He carried a concrete bunker on his shoulders: the weight of sexual abuse, survivor's guilt from a war he never fought, and a spiritual malady that felt like a deadlier disease than the bottle. He describes a life of "H-bombs" and "blackest darkness," including a period where a loaded .32 automatic sat in his dresser. For Mickey, the bottle was just a way to treat a deeper sickness. He speaks of the "squish bug" caterpillar that must be pulled apart in the dark to emerge. Now a maker of cowboy boots, he warns that no one is "smooth as mayonnaise" and that the spirit is the only thing that keeps the knife away from the wrist.

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