Norma's Journey: From Childhood Trauma to Sobriety

Good evening, my name is Norma and I'm an alcoholic. I'd like to thank Oscar for asking me here tonight.

It is an honor and a privilege to be asked to speak at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

I also want to thank the two 10-minute speakers. You guys were really good. I really enjoyed you.

My sobriety date is March 27th of 1989 and I live in Long Beach.

And I'd like to thank Soso for doing that long haul with me.

You know, she's really great. I get to go in the carpool lane and we are road dogs.

Everything I'm going to say here tonight is my opinion and my opinion only.

I don't know if this is the way my life went down, but it's the way I see it.

I want to welcome the new people to Alcoholics Anonymous.

I want to let you know that it works, it works good, but it works slow, doesn't it?

You can tell I'm a Mexican, right?

And I'm of the Mexican variety that my family had part in.

I got a job, I got a job, I got a job.

I was a

I was like, I'm going to launder.

I'm not your super star.

You know, I just want to let you know that I'm a huge fan of alcoholics.

And I'm glad to be here today.

I love that beer. I'd sneak in there and pump nothing but foam beer. I love keg foam beer.

I was four years old and I'm loving it. When I was a kid, we used to live behind my grandmother's

house. And when I was little, I used to sleep in a little walk-in closet. And I have an older

sister and she used to get to sleep with my mother. And I never understood why I had to

sleep in the closet. The truth of the matter is I wet the bed. That's why I didn't get to

sleep with my mama. But I didn't know that then. You know, I was just a little kid. I was also a

battered child. You know, my mom beat me a lot. But let me tell you what kind of kid I was. You

know, they never let us have cookies or candy, only on special occasions because bad for your

hair, bad for your teeth. And we lived behind my grandmother's house and she always had a two-pound

box of See's candy in the refrigerator. So I'd sneak in there, look around, there's nobody there.

And I'd sneak in there, look around, there's nobody there. And I'd sneak in there, look around,

look around, there's nobody there. And I'd sneak in there, look around, there's nobody there. And I'd

slam that chocolate in my face. And then my mom would show up and she'd say, Norma, did you eat

that chocolate? No, I didn't. And she started giving me that rapid fire. I didn't eat it. I

didn't eat it. I swear to God, I didn't. She got me by the arm, take me to the mirror and there'd

be chocolate all over my face. And I don't know how it got there. Because you see, even at that

young age, my head said, don't tell. Don't tell. If you tell the truth, it's going to be so much

worse. I am so grateful that Dr. Silkworth said that my disease centers in my mind because I said

don't tell. And I didn't tell. When I was eight years old, we moved from Mariloma. You could tell

I'm a Chicana. I should be from Santa Ana, but I'm from Orange. We moved to Mariloma and those

days Mariloma was cow and country land. I had my first three-day blackout drunk at eight. We had a

you know, I don't know. I just know that this is how my three-day blackout went. Someplace in the

nighttime, somebody said, put that kid to bed. And then the next thing I know, I came to on Sunday

about one or two in the afternoon. I came to walking on the side of the house, hearing them

inside talk about me, about how drunk I had gotten and who had given me so much. And that was the

first time I felt shame and remorse. I knew that I was going to die. I knew that I was going to die.

I knew I had done something wrong, but I didn't know how. I'm also recovering Catholic, if there's

any Catholics in here. But when I went to school, I went to Catholic school for one year in my

mother's blackout. My mother does not remember ever driving us there. She doesn't ever know that

we even went there. I mean, she didn't even find out till maybe 20 years ago. But we went to

Catholic school. The nuns always choked me a lot,

paper in my mouth, my gum on my nose. And then they had these murals that God's going to strike

you down if you broke those. Somebody help me. 11, 12, some commandments. If you broke those

commandments, God was going to punish you. And I think the first one says, honor thy mother and

thy father. Okay, she said 10. Okay. I thought, anyway, and I never told the truth. You see,

they'd say, I never told the truth. I didn't know. My head said, don't tell. My mom'd say,

Lorraine, Norman.

Who did this? I never did it. I never thought about the consequences. You see, because my

mother would start beating us both till somebody would fess up. You know, I never thought about

the consequences of my mom, my sister getting a beating behind my lies. I never thought about

the consequences that my mom's hearing my mom swing the belt and me screaming and my sister,

where is she going to handle this, this noise? I never thought about the consequences of my

behavior. My mother got sober in Alcoholics Anonymous when I was 10 and she moved us to

Pomona. Back in the day, the girls ratted up their hair, wore tight skirts in the fifth grade,

okay? And every day after school, they'd wait for us to give us our initiation and I'd cry to the

teacher, they're going to beat me up. I mean, I just came from country bunking land and then I

come over to Cholla-ville, you know, and I never felt like a Mexican. I mean, my mother was an

alcoholic. She didn't cook. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on

Popeye's. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on

Popeye's. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on Popeye's. I was raised on Pop-Pie's TV dinners and

Bologna sandwiches. I never felt Mexican enough. All the Mexican girls had burritos and I didn't

have a burrito and I didn't speak Spanish then . So I never felt like I belonged.

My mother was a great AA-er. She went to meetings every single day. From 7 30 to 10 o'clock,

Mama was at the meetings. From 7 30 to 9 30, we had the boys over. We're doing the pre-paint,

My drug of choice is whatever you got, right?

Got in a lot of trouble in school.

My mother moved us to the other side of Pomona.

You know, the book talks about seeking lower companions.

I took three buses to get to the barrio.

I was the best dress chola in the barrio.

Not only that, but I got allowance for doing chores.

So I'd go over there and I was always the big shot, paying for everything, doing all that.

Always being the big shot.

Got in a lot of trouble again.

And I went to lots and lots of meetings.

Every time I got suspended at school, my mother made me come to meetings.

I liked the AA meetings because they had cookies, had great snacks, stuff we didn't have at home.

And I'd sit in that front row and I'd listen to those speakers and I'd go,

Wow, what an exciting life they had.

Too bad they're old, they ain't got nowhere else to go, so they come to AA.

I'm talking in the 60s, okay?

They were really old then, you know.

So anyway, we moved to the other side of town.

And my mom moved us to Montclair because Montclair didn't have a barrio.

And I joined drill team, you know.

I'm the kind of person I can hang out with anybody.

The socias, the continentals, you guys don't know those words, but, you know, the squares, you know.

The low rider.

I was never into bikers though, you know, because I got that big hairdo.

So, you know, and back in those days, the cool thing was smoking.

If you smoked, you were cool.

They had a designation.

Native woman's restroom.

Everybody would go in there and smoke, you know.

And we'd go to these things after school and drink a little Red, you know, Red Mountain back in the day.

You'd get a gallon of it for 99 cents, you know.

And you'd go home, mama would be smelling.

You been drinking?

No, mama, no.

I swear to God, I've been drinking.

You think I'm stupid?

You know, when your mama's in AA, she be smelling shit, right?

So, in those days, like John was saying, we would get these little white little pills with little crosstops.

There were 10 for a dollar, they were whites, they were speed, right?

And then you could get four little sleeping pills, but I didn't know they were sleeping pills.

They were just cool.

You know, they were Red Devils or Pink Ladies or Rainbow.

They had all these cute names, you know.

And so, anyway, at school, you know, so we were always doing goodies and then we'd go to the bathroom and go smoke a cigarette.

And all the girls.

This particular day, we're talking about this guy, he was six foot three, blonde hair, blue eyes, he has a nice low rider and car shows, all the girls wanted to be with him.

I don't know about you guys, but I don't know what I like, but if they, if all you guys want him, I gotta have him.

So, I married this guy at 16 and he introduced me to Boone's Farm, Apple Wine, and Reds.

Wow, I thought I was violent before, as soon as I got that combination, it was.

Anyway, I was a newlywed and I went to a house party and I was semi-passed out on a friend's shoulder and my husband was gonna go get some booze.

And when he comes up, comes back, I pick up my head and he's coming through the door and he's got a bag of booze and some chick comes through the door and she's got a bag of booze, too.

My head's like, mm-hmm, I know he was with her.

So, when he came, I think, this is my perception, I'm not sure, but I think he came to kiss me and there was a beer bottle by me and I clocked him on the face.

Kissed me and there was a beer bottle by me and I clocked him on the face, cut his face, just in case he was with her, you know.

I'd get a little rowdy when I drank.

Shortly after that, I tried to kill him again, but really, I was just knocking some sense into him, because he asked for a divorce.

And I wasn't done yet, you know what I'm saying?

I mean, I was, my divorce papers say I was married three months and 10 days.

Three months, 10 days, 16, already divorced.

Married and divorced at 16.

So, when he gets out of the hospital, his family sends him to Ontario, Canada, because they were Derry people.

And when I get out of juvenile hall, I say, I'm gonna kill this guy.

What I was really gonna do is I was gonna plead him and tell him I was gonna straighten up now.

When I misbehave, I always said, my mom would say, Norma, when are you gonna behave?

Right now, mama, right now.

So, I was gonna go plead him.

This used to be rapid transit.

Some of you guys remember thumbing it?

No, huh?

Well, a couple people.

Oh, yay, yay.

This used to be rapid transit.

We used to hitchhike.

I'm gonna go kill this guy in Ontario, Canada.

I have never been out of Montclair.

I don't know where Ontario, Canada is.

But I start hitchhiking and I get as far as Columbus, Ohio.

I want you to know there are no Mexicans in Columbus, Ohio.

But I'll tell you what, I started drinking, I started partying.

I forgot what my primary purpose was, right?

And it was about November, I had sent my mom a Christmas gift

and I had called my house to see if they received it.

My stepdad had told me that my mom had contemplated suicide.

My mother was five or six years sober.

She had contemplated suicide, so I came back.

I went to Allotine when I became of age.

You know, I've been around AA all my life, you know,

and I didn't want anything to do with Alcoholics Anonymous.

And when I was a kid, when I came back, I said,

you know, I'm getting rid of that wine that was red.

That stuff makes me too rowdy.

I know what I need.

I need to get myself a job and get myself a car.

So we moved back to Orange and I get myself a job

and I buy myself a 64 Chevy Impala Supersport.

You know, the kind with the big steering wheel,

but I put a little six inch

because I can't see over the top.

Get rid of that apple wine and those reds.

Switch to a little 151 Bacardi and RC Cola.

God, I loved it.

And today I can still, when I smell Bacardi,

it still excites me.

And then it gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I don't want no part of that challenge.

You know, I used to lie in my street.

I used to sleep on the street side

and I used to line my window with 151 empty, of course.

I tell liquor store guys that I'm saving change.

You know, that's why I need the big bottles.

And I claim Ontario as my vario.

That's where I'm from.

And you know, Ontario and Orange are not close together.

And this is a time when we wore those big hair pieces,

big hairdos, like Priscilla Presley and eyelashes.

The eyelashes are in style again, you know?

And you know, when I'm putting

that war paint, I'm drinking.

You know, when I'm getting all ready, I'm drinking.

Drinking the shower, absolutely, doesn't everybody?

You gotta have a drink when you're taking a bath,

a shower, you gotta have a drink.

And back in the old days, I'd be going driving

and a cop would stop me.

And then I'd just, I'd start crying and blame everything.

Mama, mama, there's a fight, blah, blah, blah.

Just start crying and the cop go, okay, okay,

I'm gonna follow you home.

Back in the day, I'm gonna follow you home, park your car,

and don't get in it.

I swear to God, I won't get back in it, I swear to God.

So I wait 15 minutes, look out the windows,

and he ain't around.

So then I walk around the whole block,

make sure ain't no stash in place,

jump in that car and go to Ontario.

Go to Ontario and we beat up the girls from out of town,

you know, the girls from Chino.

And then the next day we go look for our hair

where they pulled it out, right?

On Sunday, but the normies call it Monday,

I gotta go home, I gotta go home.

But I figure if I haven't gone to sleep,

Sunday ain't over, right?

So I gotta get home, drop some whites or so,

if I'm lucky, some black beauties,

so my mother doesn't think I'm an alcoholic.

A friend of hers, her name was Irish Annie,

she asked me one time if I had a problem with alcohol.

And I said, heck no, I'm not having a problem with alcohol,

I'm having fun, you know?

And so I never want, so I always had other little goodies

so she wouldn't think I was an alcoholic.

So what happened for me is my cousin invited me in,

and I said, hey, you know what?

I'm gonna have a beer.

And he invited me over his in-laws' anniversary party.

And he said that I could have one drink.

I never considered myself a daily drinker,

but every day when the guys were gonna go get a 40-ouncer

or the Mexicans call it a cahuama at lunch,

I was in the car, you know?

But I didn't think beer counted.

Beer was when I was an adolescent, I was an adult now.

I was 17 now, you know what I mean?

So he said I could have one drink.

I had a 10-ounce shot of whiskey, if I get one.

And I didn't have no party favors in it, and I blacked out.

And the next day, his wife came over my house,

and she said I'd been all over my cousin's brother,

that I had been sitting on his lap and stroking his hair,

and I cringed at the idea because I hated him.

You see, when I was a kid,

I always thought he wanted to molest me.

He'd call me over, he'd rub up against me.

He had this look, I was terrified of him.

So when she said I did that, I got scared.

So then I started jogging seven, 10.

You know, I never read chapter three, never heard chapter three.

My whole life is about chapter three.

So I start jogging seven, 10 miles a day.

Get rid of that 151 Bacardi, and start jogging,

and decide to go back to school and broaden my horizon.

Move into a furnished Christian apartment.

I'm not drinking, so I'm not violent.

Just smoke a little weed.

You know, weed ain't bad.

You know, it's natural, God-given, come from the dirt, right?

Stay up all night reading, and studying, and doing all that.

Go to class, take a hard class like political science.

Go in there, write, put my name on it.

Smoke a joint before I get there so I can relax,

because I've been studying all night.

Read the same sentence over and over, think about it.

Never get off that first sentence.

Get an F. I took that class four semesters in a row.

Same seat, same instructor.

Never miss a day in class.

Bad behavior.

Last day of school, I said, I know what the problem is.

The problem is I'm stupid.

My mom always said I was stupid, and I believed her.

And what happened is, my girlfriend said, I'm stupid.

My girlfriend brought these two guys over to my furnished Christian apartment, and I

had a shot of tequila.

It had been three years since I had a drink, and I had a shot of tequila.

Then I went to two pints of tequila.

And then she asked this guy where he lived, and he said he lived by the orange circle.

I don't know why alcohol enhances my resentments, but my mother lived by the orange circle.

There was a baseball bat by me, picked up the bat, destroyed the furnished apartment,

got in a physical confrontation with my girlfriend, bit her nipple.

The guys left, the cops came, got in a physical confrontation with the cops, ran out the door,

knocked on the lady's door and said, pray for me, as they're taking me to jail.

And it had been three years since I had a drink.

And like I said, I'd been in hundreds and hundreds of AA meetings, I didn't even know

I even heard anything.

And when I came to in jail, it was like four in the morning, and they let me out.

I didn't pick up a case or nothing.

And I thought, yeah.

You know, I get arrogant.

Yeah, they didn't need to be in my apartment.

You know, rah, rah, rah.

I got a black eye, and one of my fans missing, my hair's all thrashed, and a nice bus driver

lets me on the bus, and I go home.

And I swear off one more time.

So what I do, I switch to a little social heroin.

You know heroin, those days, those are very long.

Everything I swore I wouldn't do, I started doing.

Inevitably at 28 years old, I hit the streets, because I sold everything.

I put everything in stores.

And I had a drink and pay storage, which it's going to be, it's going to be the drink, right?

You know, and I was 28 years old when I hit the streets and started living here and there

and everywhere, garages and hotels and hotels.

And my girlfriend was a great enabler, and I'd make lots of trips to the county jail.

I don't like Civil Brand because it smells, but I like OCJ.

OCJ, I love Orange County food.

You know, they, I love it.

You know, they, I love shit on a shingle.

I like sloppy joes.

I know Wednesday's fried chicken and chocolate milk.

You know, all my partners are in jail.

I love being with you.

That's what I like.

I'm the only one that I know that would cry when it was time to leave.

I don't want to go.

I don't want to do it another time.

Made lots of trips to the county jail.

I'd call mama, because mama, I need money on my books to buy cigarettes, back when

you could smoke.

I need candy.

I need this.

And mama, this time I'm going to straighten up.

This time it's going to, you know, this time it's going to.

And every time I went to jail, I believed it that I was going to straighten up.

As soon as I hit that sally port and my friends were there, I'm going to just have one.

I owe me one.

I've been down nine months.

I owe me, what's one?

Then I'd get on the cycle all over again.

I know what it is to be walking the streets on a rainy night with layers and layers of

clothes on and smelling like a wet dog.

I'm wondering what happened to my life.

I would go into, when you live on the streets, that becomes the normal way.

You know where to go to sleep.

You know where the Salvation Army, you know you have to be there at four o'clock to get

a bed.

You know you can't have this.

You know you can't have that.

You know all the ways to live in that life, where the free food is, where the free clothes

are.

You know, I had a nice shopping cart.

I would hide all my goodies someplace and, you know, and that's how I lived every now

and then.

I'd call my mom and I'd call her up and she'd say, how are you mijita?

And I'd say, I'm fine mama, I'm fine.

Because like I said, that life became the norm.

This one particular day, I'd gone to jail.

Like I said, I like jail.

And I called my mom and she was like two through with me.

She said, for God's sake, Norma, I'm making dinner for Johnny Harris.

If you want to get sober, you write to this place in Indio.

Now, I have never heard of Indio.

She said she was going to send me to the best recovery home she knew.

I went around that jail saying, I'm going to Betty Ford.

I'm going to be studying the money with Elizabeth Taylor.

You know, because I always got to be a cut up.

I don't care if I'm in jail or in the streets, you know, I got it going on.

And she gave me, and she told me to write to that place and ask them if I could get

a bed there.

She gave me a phone number to call when they let me out.

Now, I don't know why our judicial system, I can't even pronounce those words, judicial,

you know, our government.

I don't know why they let us go.

I don't know why they let us go.

I don't know why they let us go.

I don't know why they let us go.

I don't know why they give criminals an early kick.

You know what that is?

That means to go let you out at 2 in the morning.

Now, I'm a criminal.

What am I, what business do I got at 2 in the morning out of jail?

I'm not going to do anything good because it's 2 in the morning, right?

So, on this particular day, I'm in the Sally Port with all my partners.

All my friends are in the Sally Port because you go to jail and you've got a lot of friends there.

It's like coming to AA meeting, the constant repeaters, right?

So, we're in the Sally Port and they go, come on, Norman.

Let's go get some food.

Let's go get some cookies at 7-Eleven.

Anybody that knows me knows that I love sweets.

I go, okay, let's go.

So, when we start walking towards 7-Eleven, I have that feeling of impending doom.

Like, no, what's going to happen to me?

No, what am I going to do?

That feeling of hopelessness was so great that I ran back to that jail and I called that number.

That lady picked me up and she took me as far as Riverside.

My mother came from Blythe and picked me up at Riverside.

And she had that conversation, some of you might have, with those you love.

She said, Norma, give yourself a break.

This can be the last time you ever go.

It's going on and on and on and on.

You know, it's, Mama, I'm shrinking.

I'm five years old again.

I'm always a screw-up, blah, blah, blah.

And she's going, she said, this is the last time you ever have to go through this.

And I pray that it is as long as I continue to fulfill the conditions for me to stay here.

There are conditions.

We don't pick up.

We don't use.

We don't drink.

We get a service.

We get a sponsor.

We work the steps.

Those are the conditions for me to stay here, you know.

So then what, you know, it's the wee hours of the morning.

If you've ever been to Indio, I've never been to, just sitting and tumbling, like, where

are we going?

So we get off the freeway, think we're getting off the freeway, then go to the mountains

where the hot, hot mud and all that.

Betty Ford and my dad.

Delusion.

And we pull up in front of the ABC Club, it's a two-story house, and there's nobody there.

Because it's the wee hours of the morning.

We roll down the alley.

One side of the alley is this old, white, two-story house with four cats.

You know what cats means?

Means mice.

Across the street is a shooting gallery.

You know what a shooting gallery is, right?

It's an old, broken-down old house with no windows, with graffiti and smells like urine

and feces.

And that's more home than the other side of the alley.

Yeah.

And bigger than who's nanny comes this old lady down the steps.

She tells me to sleep on the couch and don't use the phone.

You know all night I'm thinking, who can I call?

Somebody get me out of here, what was I thinking?

I don't know where the heck I was.

But in the morning, when that sweet old woman, who has passed away, took me into her office,

she asked that question you're not supposed to ask, arrogant people.

She asked me what my drug of choice was.

And I said, heroin.

And she said, did you ever use alcohol?

And then it flat all the things that I ever did, the hangovers, the throwing up, all the

demoralizing.

I said, yes.

And she said, can you see how your alcoholism led you to try other things?

And I believe that that was my first moment of clarity.

She goes, therefore, we identify ourselves as an alcoholic.

We no longer want to be different.

The person that might save your life that day.

Might just relate to the alcoholic and not the other.

So she said, so we identify ourselves as an alcoholic.

She said, and you get a sponsor and you work the steps.

I got a sponsor who had 27 years of sobriety.

Why?

Because my mother had 23 years, my sister had 8, and I wanted to prance and show off.

My sponsor knows more than you do.

Because when I came here, I came here with every resentment fresh on my mind.

Everything that I, I'm a scorekeeper, everything they fell short, everything they didn't do,

everything they said, I kept it fresh on my mind.

I'm not the favorite because I'm watching.

I'm keeping score that I'm not the favorite.

You know what I mean?

I'm keeping score.

So when I'm going to jail, back in the old days, they said, if you're under 30 days,

you don't know how to stay sober, so don't say nothing.

She goes, pass that poison around.

Just say your name and pass.

So for 30 days, I didn't say nothing.

And then this guy got to the podium and he told the girls, you ladies are really going

to get to know yourself.

I'm so arrogant.

I go, shoot, I already know me, what's wrong with this guy?

But then he said the most profound words I ever heard.

He said he had six months of sobriety.

And I couldn't believe he had six months of sobriety and freedom.

He could leave anytime.

He wouldn't have to.

He wasn't sentenced there.

I wasn't sentenced there, but I was doing time.

I was doing time because my girlfriend said get help.

I was doing time until she gets out of prison.

That's the only reason I'm there.

I'm not there to get sober.

When I was 30 days sober in that house, they let me go to a woman's stag, the only Chicana

in all of India.

Can you imagine only one Chicana in all of India?

Anyway, that was my perception.

She took me to a meeting in Palm Springs where the tables were like this, but they had linen

on it.

They had china glasses, and they had ashtrays, and the women all looked beautiful like you

ladies here.

And there was a lady named Aline Manuel, and she was talking to her sponsee, referring

to page 96 with her boyfriend.

If you don't know what he had, let him go and find another.

And everybody was roaring.

I didn't get what the heck they were saying.

I didn't feel like I belonged.

I felt so self-obsessed.

I didn't know those words yet, but that's what I felt.

In the middle of the meeting, this only Chicana goes, gets the coffee pot, and she starts

serving coffee.

Newcomer, if your head's anything like mine, my head said, mm-hmm, they make the Mexicans

serve the coffee here.

I'm sorry to say that I believe that.

I did believe that.

So when she's taking me back to that recovering home, I go, what, Esther, we have to serve

the coffee?

She looks at me like I wet the floor.

She goes, no, Norma.

I do it because I'm a woman.

I'm a woman.

I do it because it makes me feel a part of.

I do it because without them, I can't stay sober.

I do it because how it makes me feel.

And she taught me about service.

So I started doing the steps, and in recovery homes, they say crazy-ass things like get

a god greater than yourself.

Get the doorknob.

I am not getting no doorknob.

But in the desert, it's very windy.

So I chose the wind as my god, and every time it touched my face, I said, please keep me

sober.

And in the nighttime, I said, thank you.

I don't even know if I meant it, and it worked anyway.

On November 27th of 1989 was the day after Thanksgiving, and I got to have a little part-time

job.

And the assistant manager asked me to remove some artificial Christmas trees out of the

attic.

I worked in a hardware store.

You can tell I have a big mouth.

I'm saying, why are you taking me?

Why don't you take one of the guys?

I'm the only chick here.

My mouth doesn't stop.

I'm going up there.

My mouth don't stop.

And when I have a resentment, I have a tremendous amount of strength.

Get those Christmas trees out.

I have never been in an attic.

He didn't tell me to stay on the beam.

I forgot to tell you.

I went from 76 pounds, I saw seven little girls, to 150, boo, boo, boo, in four months.

Because I had lung gut.

And anybody who's not eating continuously, all of a sudden you eat a lot of cake, a lot

of pie, a lot of cake, cookies, you know, all that.

So I went from 176 pounds to 150 something something.

And so next time you're in Home Depot, look up.

So I took a step and then I took a trip and I slammed into the metal shelves and it sprung

me up again and it slammed me down again.

And I landed on my feet both times.

And I didn't even break anything.

Just a few teeth, but they were probably on the rot anyway, you know.

What I got that day.

What I got that day.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, as I stand here in front of you, at that moment, as I clutched

my liver, God went from my head to my heart.

God went from my head to my heart and I knew that God had a plan for my life.

I went on walking around like a football player.

I don't need anything.

I don't want to take anything because I value my sobriety.

I don't want to ever have to kick start.

I don't want to.

This is just easier, softer way.

So I started doing the things everybody's doing.

My grandmother died when I was 16 months sober and I got mad at my sober God.

And I said, take my mama, take my sister, two for one, but give me my grandma back.

You see, I wasn't done loving on her.

I wasn't done showing her the things you were teaching me about being kind and polite and

considerate and caring for her.

I wasn't done doing those beautiful things you've taught me.

But when God takes something away, He always replaces it with something else, you see.

I had to pick up the paper and the paper was broken.

I had to pick up the paper and the paper was broken.

I had to pick it up and had to do five more inventories so I could let my mother and my

sister off my expectation hook.

Because I expect my mother to be a certain way.

I expect her to interact a certain way with me.

Why does she blah blah blah blah blah?

And so I can just let them off the hook.

When I was 16 months sober, after my grandmother died, shortly after that, they asked me to

leave that recovery home.

I was devastated.

They asked me to exit out.

I'm in sin.

I'm institutionalized. I'd probably still be living there right now, you know, because I like

where I'm at. Wherever I'm at, I like where I'm at. I get comfortable anywhere and they asked me

to leave so I could start doing my life. So I came back to LA to mend a relationship. I was in

this relationship for 12 years. I was in this relationship for 17 years. I had a lot of affairs

my first year and a half of sobriety and that's not how you have a relationship. Anyway, I got a

job. I started doing all the things here. I went 10 days without a meeting when I moved because I

didn't know anybody sober in LA. And then my head said, why don't you go and tell the home girls how

you straightened out? And then it came to me. In that recovery home, they said, if you go to the

barbershop, you're going to get a haircut. So I got scared. So I went to 9604 and that started my

journey of getting another sponsor, working the steps, doing all the things that are

suggested here. You know, I've gotten to live two lifestyles in one lifetime. I had to clear up my

TRW. Back in the day, I don't know what they have now for credit, but TRW, you have to clean up all

that stuff, you know, like you didn't pay your gas bill and, you know, it's $56 when it was a

dollar a month. You never paid it. You know, and the cable bill, you never paid it at all. So you

got that and all this stuff on my, that I owed. And my sponsor had me write him,

a letter, send him payments and do all that thing. Then I remembered I owed a chick money.

So I'm asking God to please help me be strong to go there. So I go over there and I knock on her

door and she says, Norma, get out of here. If you don't get out of here, we're calling the cops.

The book says when we don't know what to do, we pause. So I pause. And then I thought, oh yeah,

you know, when you live on the streets, you know, there's a lot of cops. You live on the streets,

one stop, you give you a ticket.

For open container, you've got a court date. Another one stop you, paraphernalia, court date.

It's a getting the riot court date. I never went to court. I was too busy. So I'm no knucklehead.

The next time the next cop comes around, I'm not giving him my name. So I give her her name.

So I picked up a couple of beefs under her name. She was a little resentful. I remember this.

And then I think, well, I could tell my sponsor I've gone to any length. The book says that people

are not, la la la. And then my hand's knocking as I'm thinking. And I say, I'm not here to win

your friendship.

I'm only here to right the wrong I have done. And they open the door. And I go in there and

start talking as fast as I can. Big old sumo Mexican, look at big old vatotes and all. I'm

just me and my little guard, you know. I'll do whatever you suggest to right the wrong I had

done. And they said, good, good, good. Keep up the good work. And this was in 1991 when five,

it was five or $700 check and they didn't take it. So when I left, I was all happy. I was proud

of myself. It was great.

Two weeks later, she called me. She wants the money. I get a little resentful. She should have

took the money when I was offering it to her, right? So I called my sponsor and she said, oh,

Norma, just give it to him. You're only holding it for them. Click. And that's kind of how my

sobriety has been. Now, let me tell you, let me up to date you really quick because he gave me

the five minute warning. Yeah, yeah. Okay. In 2011, they let lesbians get married. So I got

engaged. Okay. Okay. Okay. And then I remembered, I think I'm married. I think I married somebody.

I think I married somebody. So somebody told me how to go on the internet and look. And I saw my

marriage, my first marriage. And then I go, you didn't scroll down. So I go back in there and I

scroll down and I married to some guy in 1984. And I don't know him. My head said, don't tell

anybody. You don't have to get married. Lesbians could never get, don't tell, no. When my head

starts talking, this is what I'm talking about. This is what I'm talking about. This is what I'm

talking about. This is what I'm talking about. This is what I'm talking about. This is what I'm

talking about. This is what I'm talking about. This is what I'm talking about. This is the

barrio. This is the cribs. This is the gangsters. This is not the good people. This is not my

friend. So I start writing. I start writing an inventory. I call my, my sponsor at that time

was Patty O who has passed away this January. And I call her up and she said, you know, Norma,

I don't have any experience with divorce lawyers. Call your sister. She gave me my sobriety sister's

name and I call her up. She gives me a name. Okay. So then I go see these crazy attorneys

and they say crazy ass things like, what's his birthday?

I don't know. What's his social security number? I don't know. There's 104 guys with that name

in the United States. How old is he? I don't know. She gets sick. I have to get another attorney. I

have to go through the whole thing again. We went to social media. We went through the paper,

private investigator, the judge, every time they reject it, the judge says, go through social media.

So then I write the judge a letter and tell him that I married this guy in a blackout.

And I don't know.

That sounded like a scam in itself. You know what I mean? Been married to somebody 32 years and you

don't know him. You know, it's kind of like most people, most people find out in a blackout

sooner than that. Right. So I got divorced and I got married. And, but what I'm, the reason I

share this story is that's what it used to be like. And without a sponsor, I won't know what

to do. I'll listen to my bad head that gives me bad information. Uh, last month, uh, no, in May,

I had public,

but I felt this surge in my, my, my chest. I thought it was an anxiety attack. And then my

neck started going like this. So I went outside, started praying and meditating. It's going like

this. I think, I say, I think I need to dye my hair. So I started dyeing my hair. My neck does

not stop. I say, I better wash this stuff off my hair. I don't want my wife to find me with a mess

on the floor. So now it's going like this and it doesn't. So I better take a shower so I can be

clean and pretty. And my neck's going like this. And then, and then, and then, and then, and then,

I better call somebody to cover my commitment on Wednesday because I think I need to go to urgent

care because my neck doesn't stop doing this. So then I call an RN and AA and I tell her that I

think I'm going to urgent care because my neck hasn't stopped doing this. It's only been two

and a half hours and it won't stop. And she said, Norma, hang up the phone, call 911 and don't get

in the car. I hang up the phone. I say, man, we alcoholics, we're so dramatic, man. I don't listen.

I get in the car, drive up and down on the, I'm good. I start driving. Okay. My neck hasn't stopped.

And then all of a sudden I noticed that every vein in my hand is jumping on the steering wheel.

I go, this is a scary movie because they're all popping like that. I go, wow. So then I start

telling my heart, okay, baby, we're almost there. Do, do, do, do, do. Baby talking my heart. I get

into urgent care and then my hands don't stop moving. Oh, sign language. And then they tell me

help you here. You got to go to emergency. And I go do these hands. Look like I could go to

emergency. The point is they said too much coffee and too much Nicorette gum because I'm healthy,

you know? And, and the reason I tell you this is because this is not a good place. This is not a

good, I will always be unfinished business. I'm never going to arrive. I have gotten to live two

lifestyles in one lifetime and I never did a good deed to deserve it. It's been for free and for fun.

With some conditions. Thank you.