MY relapse occurred six-and-a-half years ago, something I never want to forget, and ended around 4 A.M. on a summer morning. I called my dad for a ride from a convenience store payphone, located in the bad part of downtown Dallas. The problem was that I didn't know where I was. I went into the store and asked the perplexed clerk for the address and, after what seemed like an eternity, my extremely patient father pulled up to save me once again.
This was after repeated skirmishes with alcohol and its devastating aftereffects, just one in a long string of relapses, but it was the one...
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