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April 1983

The Key

IT WAS LIKE waking up in the middle of a nightmare, and being unable to escape its spell and fall back to sleep again. Finally, after almost twenty years of denial, anger, and frustration, I was sitting in the day room of an alcohol recovery center with the shakes. Me! Sitting in a strange room, filled with stranger people, trying to sort out the confusion that had been half a lifetime in design. My memory was clouded, but my conscience gave me sharp pangs of guilt. Why did all of these thoughts come to do battle now, none with any real form, but each with its own scar to irritate?

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