Di's Journey: From Early Blackouts to 24 Years Sober

- Hi everybody, my name is Di and I'm an alcoholic.

Thank you for asking me to do this.

Even though you didn't ask me as my sponsor.

I've been sober since July 13th, 2002.

The Pacific Group is my home group

and my sponsor's name is Marty S.

(audience cheering)

- I have an A.

- Brotherhood.

So I always like to start.

So first, let's just get this out there.

You're about to hear from a 61-year-old gay Jew, okay?

My sponsor, Cindy, used to tell me all the time,

make him laugh in the beginning,

but end early and you're good.

I was a blackout drunk

when I took my first drink at 13 years old.

I was a blackout drunk

when I took my last drink at 42 years old.

A lot of stuff happened in between.

If you're new, our stories are all different,

but just remember those two things.

It didn't get any better.

I was not the one that was burdened with potential.

You hear about, you hear speakers say all the time,

fun, fun with problems, and then just problems.

I started right with problems.

I grew up in a small town in upstate New York,

Hubbardville, New York, population 273.

I was very popular in Hubbardville.

At my graduation party, which is a keg in the woods,

in a blackout, I announced to the entire town of Hubbardville

that I was gay and pointed out who I slept with.

One of which was the chief of police.

I didn't get any speeding tickets.

Anyway, the town I lived in, if you're old,

you know what I'm talking about.

They had blue laws in effect, meaning you couldn't buy

or possess alcohol within the town limits.

So I learned how to drink out of a still in the backyard.

I come from a long, long line of white trash.

The best thing you can say about them

is that most of their tattoos are spelled correctly.

Good people, just earthy, we'll call them earthy.

I'm number 10 of 11.

It didn't get any better from that point.

The next day, my parents had to put me on a one-way bus

to Fort Lauderdale to move in with one of my brothers,

because again, if you're young,

here's the newsflash for you.

In the '70s, in a town called Hubbardville,

it wasn't okay to be gay in public.

And so I was out.

I was in Fort Lauderdale for three days when I,

oh, I should mention, when I talk about my relationships,

here's what I really mean.

You pick me up on the street or in a bar,

and then about three or four days later,

you figure out I live there now.

That's my version of a relationship.

I was literally there three days,

and I met my first boyfriend.

We grew up together.

I was 17, he was 22.

Here's the difference.

He had just graduated from college at 22 years old.

He had gotten his cordon bleu in Paris.

He was a chef, came back, opened restaurants.

We opened a big catering business.

I was the guy standing at the register,

stealing money in my own restaurant.

Like that's, like I said, I don't leave.

So I was with him for 13 years

until he couldn't take it anymore.

One day he showed up.

But let me back up.

So I went to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous

in 1978, that's how well I was going.

I was 18 years old.

I found out later most 18-year-olds

that don't have a drinking problem

never feel the need to go check out NAA me.

That's not my story.

Anyway, I turned 21 years old.

We had moved from Fort Lauderdale to Los Angeles in 1981.

I pulled into downtown, coming in and out of a blackout,

thought I was still in Fort Lauderdale,

have no recollection of the trip across country.

I turned 21 years old shortly after we got here.

So he decided to have a 21st birthday party for me.

I vaguely remember going to the party.

My next clear memory is five days later,

waking up in Mariachi, New Mexico

with five people I'd never met before in my life.

I never found the car that way.

He had to report it stolen.

I'm assuming I drove there, I don't know.

That's when it was still working.

I wish I were kidding, but I'm not.

I can't end this stuff up.

Drugs are a little bit of a part of my story.

I had a little recreational heroin for like 30 years.

But I never did heroin to get high.

I did it for medicinal value,

just to take the edge off the speed.

It started with Coke.

I think in the '70s it was Coke.

But like I said, I'm a Jew, so at a certain point,

it didn't make financial sense anymore.

So I switched from Coke to speed because duh,

like, why wouldn't you?

And I'm a bad blackout friend, really.

And I discovered if I do a little bit of speed,

not like an eight ball, I don't black out.

But then I'm a pig, so I don't sleep

for like 14 days at a time.

So I do a little heroin at the end of the night,

just enough to take the edge off the speed,

and I can sleep.

And it worked really well for a really long time.

I have a full sleeve tattoo to cover up the track marks.

That's how well it worked.

Anyway, like I said, I went to my first meeting at 18.

I was in and out, in and out.

I, after 13 years, he took off 'cause that's what they do.

We have very different stories of how it ended.

His story is I stole a credit card with a $20,000 limit,

and he never saw me again, that was probably the truth.

And I made an attempt at surviving.

I was 30 years old, and I went to the AT center

in Silver Lake, and I think I had a sponsor.

Not sure how much time I had because I'm not sure

I heard the whole, we don't smoke pot either thing,

which sounded harsh, still does by the way.

And when I, it was the night of my birthday,

my 30th birthday, a friend of mine,

who doesn't know anything about alcoholism, showed up

and took me to, I was living in West Hollywood,

and he took me to the bar at 2.15 in the morning

on the sidewalk, Santa Monica Boulevard.

I met him, my second hostage.

He, that poor kid got the worst of it.

He, I was 30, he was 22, and he was a genius.

He was about to get a second PhD in clinical psychology

with an emphasis on drug and alcohol reform.

I became his dissertation and his alma mater story.

I put him through hell.

I, and it got really bad at this point.

I wake up at 2.30, three o'clock in the morning

shaking violently.

I had to keep a couple of 40s under the bed

'cause I know I'm gonna need 'em before morning comes.

And after 11 years, he had all he could take.

Now, here's how it went.

So he moved out, he still paid the rent.

He paid all the utilities.

He gave me $150 a week to live on.

And I still had to move in the local drug dealer

in Long Beach and trade rent for drugs.

Of course, always came out at the end of the month

owing him money.

And what happened was,

there's a few people I always mention when I speak.

I hope I never forget.

But one of the things I mentioned is Al-Anon.

I would be dead today if it wasn't for the program of Al-Anon

not because I went, the ex went

and got a Nazi Al-Anon sponsor apparently

and showed up one day and cut me off.

Like that was it, let me back up though.

I was trying to get sober.

He left the apartment fully furnished.

Every night, I went to bed.

I swore the next day I wasn't gonna do it.

And I meant it.

I really wanted to get sober.

And I'd go to sleep and I'd wake up the next day

and I'd drive that 140 for the night before

and get my first 20 bags of speed, then score a balloon.

And I did that every day for eight months,

the longest eight months of my life.

And like I said, he showed up and cut me off.

That night, that was July 12th, 2002.

Apparently my bottom was financial.

Not really, I like to dream about it.

I honestly thought that day I had two choices,

suicide or state run institution for the rest of my life.

They were my options.

And that night I had, I can only describe as,

I guess it's what they mean

when they talk about a moment of clarity.

For me, it was a split second out of body experience

for the first time.

I mean, and now think about this for a minute.

In and out of jail, in and out of institutions,

on and off the street.

My liver was so distended I could see it.

My hair was falling out from malnutrition.

All my visible veins were collapsed.

It didn't really seem that bad to me.

My alcoholic life had become the only normal one.

But that day, it was almost like I was looking at myself.

For the first time in my whole life,

I could see what I had actually become.

And I fell asleep that night.

I said that famous alcoholic prayer.

I prayed to a God that he didn't believe in.

My exact words were, "God help me or kill me,"

because I can't do this one more day.

And it meant it.

And I fell asleep that night.

Which may not sound like a big deal to you,

but that was the first time I slept through the night

since the 70s, literally.

And I woke up the next morning, I went to the computer,

and I looked up "Alcoholics Anonymous."

And I found a meeting.

It was Saturday noon in Long Beach,

the Marina Pacifica meeting.

And another one of the people I always mentioned,

her name was Marilyn.

Marilyn was about 78 years old,

and she held my hand through that whole meeting.

She got me my first big book.

Which, as far as I can tell,

has belonged to five other people before me,

and it has all their goals.

That's the book I used today

to take my guys through the steps.

Anyway, they told me about a rehab I could get into,

'cause I still had insurance through the Al-Anon.

San Pedro Peninsula Hospital.

It was me and a bunch of longshoremen and firefighters.

I'm still friends with a couple of them today.

A few of them are still some.

And they took me there after the meeting.

The ex picked me up, took me there.

I'm pretty sure he slowed the guard down.

Not sure he stopped.

It was Saturday.

They don't do intake on Saturday.

Michelle was another person I always mentioned.

Michelle was working reception that weekend at San Pedro

Peninsula Hospital detox.

And she wouldn't let me sleep on the couch

until Monday morning when they did the intake.

And it was an 18-day program.

And this is, it was 2002,

but it was before rehabs were all necessarily 12-step.

They just detoxed you.

I mean, that was their job.

But they did bring in AA panels,

and they talked about sponsorship,

and they talked about regular meetings

on regular meeting days.

And I heard a little bit.

And when I got out, the ex let me stay on his couch.

He gave me $5 a week for the bus

and a can of top tobacco.

That was my network.

And I went to meetings.

I went to meetings in Long Beach, three, four meetings a day.

And they told me I had to find a job.

So I started looking through the LA Times.

We actually used to do that.

They were called the Wanheads.

That's how we found jobs.

And they were advertising for a dishwasher job

at Du Par's restaurant in the farmer's market.

And so I went there and I applied for a job.

And I had to tell this woman my story.

I was like 27 days sober.

But let me paint a little picture for you.

I look good tonight, don't I?

I know, you don't have to tell me.

When I got to Alcoholics Anonymous, I weighed 107 pounds.

I still barely had any hair.

I had no teeth.

And I was dying on the street.

I was completely illiterate.

I think I might have had a sixth grade education.

And I hadn't worked in 16 years.

And I had, you know the guy in the room,

the one with the tweaker twitch,

that doesn't know he has it?

You know, that was me.

For a good six months.

Anyway, I told Shirley, I said I'm sober

in Alcoholics Anonymous and I just need a break.

I'll do anything.

Shirley's father, the founder of the company,

had been sober in Alcoholics Anonymous 32 years.

And she hired me.

She gave me my start.

I was interviewing.

I got promoted.

I was a busboy and I was a fry cook.

I was a waiter.

I was an assistant manager.

And I became the general manager.

It's a terrible story.

The general manager died at work.

And then she threw the keys at me.

I was interviewing waiters

and I hired this kid named Jason.

Jason was about 22 years old.

Anyway, I was going to maybe one meeting a month.

I thought I needed her for a week.

I mean, I don't have a sponsor.

Not working stats.

I did read the book.

Didn't seem that complicated to me.

Jason must have heard me say something

that indicated I picked up NAA slogan.

And he asked if I had a sponsor.

I said no, 'cause I didn't know what the sponsor was.

And one thing led to another.

Jason became my first sponsor.

Jason was 22, straight.

I was 42, gay.

Jason took me everywhere.

He took me to architects of adversity.

He took me to Hollywood meetings.

He took me to gay meetings in West Hollywood,

which was my gay meeting story.

So we were at a meeting and this guy got up

and took a cake for a year

and thanked his boyfriend/sponsor for the cake.

Jason literally grabbed me by the neck

and pulled me out of the room.

I was banned from that room forward for gay meetings.

Anyway, there are some good ones out there, by the way.

Finally, when Jason decided nothing else was going to work,

he brought me to the Pacific and left.

Like, he literally dropped me off and left.

Forgot another guy's, my sponsor's name was L.

He never took me through the steps, oddly enough,

but he gave me my foundation and alcoholic smile.

He taught me how to be a gentleman.

He told me how not to scrape my mouth

like a Brooklyn truck driver.

It was just awful, which by the way, in the Pacific group,

ever similar to this is not a popular thing.

Pete gave me my first suit.

Pete told me to show up at every meeting

an hour before it started.

He taught me how to have a commitment at every meeting.

And I was about almost two years sober.

Hadn't worked a step.

I was literally star craving sober.

The craziest newcomer in the Pacific group.

So bad that my friends got together and had a little...

William was my friend back then.

So was Rich.

Rich used to, he was my AA brother.

Used to pick me up and take me to meetings

all over the Valley.

And I thought he was the nicest guy in the world.

I found out later our sponsor Pete made him do it.

But whatever.

Anyway, my friends were like, dude, we like you,

but if you don't get a sponsor and start working the steps,

like we can't be around you.

You're toxic.

And I heard a woman speak Wednesday night,

her name was Cindy, Cindy C.

And they said, "Her, you need her."

So I asked her, the meanest woman in Alcoholics Anonymous

to be my sponsor.

That woman treated me like an animal.

Like it was, I'm still afraid of them to this day.

If you've ever met Cindy, trust me,

everybody's afraid of her.

She's a scary broad.

She, every week we got together

and we would read a chapter in the big book.

I didn't know that she was actually taking me

through the steps.

And she sponsored me for my first seven years.

And then she moved away and I got another woman

to be my sponsor.

Her name is Hilda, Hilda F.

The second meanest woman in Alcoholics Anonymous.

Apparently I have a thing for butch women.

Anyway, and the day after,

this is how I got Hilda as a sponsor.

If you're new, remember blackout drinking,

drunk at 13, blackout drunk at 42.

The rest is just stories.

I started dating a newcomer who had less time

than the guys I sponsored.

And then thought it was a good idea

to bring him to the Pacific group

and start parading him around.

Hilda was the secretary of the Sunday Night Wire

and I was her speaker host.

So the whole year I would tell her

all my tragic little stories about the newcomer.

She never said a word, she never lectured me.

And toward the end of the term,

one day she said, and I quote,

"You know love, I can't do the English accent.

It's better with the English accent."

She said, "You know, it's usually not the newcomer

that drinks."

The next day Hilda was my sponsor.

And that week I was at her house reading my board step

and she took me through the steps again.

I want to say 14 years of sobriety,

super active in the Pacific group, sponsoring 14, 18 guys.

It's hard to keep up because you don't really drink,

you smoke crack, but you know,

super active speaking all over the country.

I got this weird lump on my neck

and I didn't pay attention to her anymore,

but it didn't go away.

So I went to the doctor and they were like,

"Oh, you're having an infected lymph node."

They gave me antibiotics and it would go away.

And then it would come back.

This went on for six months.

Finally, I had gotten a new job, new insurance,

and I went to a new doctor and they did a biopsy.

By the time they found it,

I had stage four cancer

and it had already started to spread into my brain.

And I had to go through chemo and radiation

and I didn't handle chemo very well.

Some people do, I did.

I couldn't walk, I couldn't go to meetings.

And I had distanced myself so far from Alcoholics Anonymous.

And in turn, my sponsor, they didn't know how to get back.

And I started to get better.

But during that time, this guy kept calling me

and checking on me, "Are you okay, this is Marty."

We'd bring guys to the house and bring meeting.

And I didn't even really know this guy.

Swear I didn't.

Turns out he was the brother

of the meanest woman in Alcoholics Anonymous.

I didn't know that at the time, I think I knew.

Anyway, when I was back on my feet, I called Marty

and I said, "I need help."

And Marty brought me back to Alcoholics Anonymous.

Marty's brought me back to Alcoholics Anonymous

a couple of times.

But anyway, Marty took me through the steps again.

Marty does this thing with people that have had some time

and have been through the steps

where you work all 12 steps in one day, which I did.

So I've worked the steps three times, three different people,

three fairly heavy hitters of Alcoholics Anonymous.

No one way was better than the other.

I've had three different spiritual awakenings

as the result of these steps.

And Marty got me super active in the program again.

When the pandemic hit,

the company I was working for shut down.

Oh, I left out an important part.

Thank God he's not on Zoom.

I actually have a husband who I have

because of Alcoholics Anonymous sponsored direction.

When I did my tip step with Hilda,

she said to me,

"Don't you ever want to be in a relationship again?"

My answer was no, good.

She said, "Yeah, I don't believe that."

She says, "You don't know how to date, you're a whore."

Hilda, there was some truth to that.

She literally gave me sponsored direction to sign up.

Well, not direction.

It was a strong suggestion

that I should sign up on match.com

and get some practice dates under my belt.

Husband was my first date.

Like I said, I have a history.

We dated for a year

and I wasn't allowed to move in with him for a full year.

In fact, the lease on his apartment was up

when we were together 11 months

and I had to call Hilda and get permission for him

not to really lose and move in.

And then we lived together for a year.

And the week that Prop 8 fell, we got married.

And if I don't screw it up,

on July 20th, we'll be married nine years.

But the only reason I have a husband,

who by the way, isn't in the program.

He's the guy that leaves a half a bottle of vodka

in the fridge for like six months.

It is annoying.

We were moved anyway to call and get to that.

So when the pandemic hit, my restaurant shut down,

my husband and I packed up and decided to move to Vegas.

Built a life in Vegas, bought a house in Vegas.

Oh, this is the half a bottle of vodka story.

We're packing.

He's packing the half a bottle of vodka.

Seriously, drink it or throw it away.

I don't care which.

Anyway, he threw it away.

And got super active in Connect the Dots in Vegas,

over resentment with Marty,

who wanted me to keep doing the Wednesday night Zoom meeting

and I didn't want to do it.

I got a new sponsor 'cause that's who I am

for 17 years of sobriety.

Over another resentment, I left Connect the Dots,

a justified resentment, the worst kind of an alcohol.

So this is me with 18 years of sobriety.

I don't have a local sponsor.

I'm not going to meetings.

I almost got divorced.

And when an ormy is gonna put you out

because you're not going to meetings, trust me, it's bad.

I got fired from my job.

I only had a handful of friends that would take my calls.

He was one of them and had no problem telling me,

Mary, you're nuts and you're going to drink.

He calls me Mary.

It's all fake.

What do you think I call it?

Marty, I'm having a nervous breakdown.

Marty, I need help.

He's like, oh yeah, I've been waiting for this call.

Marty got me right back into AA.

I found a little home group in Henderson

called the Green Valley Group.

It's just like this.

It's about this size.

During the pandemic, they never shut down.

And I went back to AA, started sponsoring guys.

The company that I worked for that shut down

actually recruited me to come back.

They flew me out.

Actually, I was with William.

We had lunch at one of the restaurants

and I texted my old boss.

Anything, one thing went to another.

And I live in Vegas.

I have a house in Vegas.

I have a husband in Vegas.

I work in Los Angeles.

True story.

So I go back and forth.

How long?

Oh, okay, perfect.

So I traveled back and forth from Vegas to LA

every other week on my daysong.

I remember newcomers, black out drunk at 13,

black out drunk at 42.

That's the only thing you need to remember.

Fired for my job at 18 years just writing.

That's what happens to me when I don't go to meetings.

And I'm not current with a sponsor.

Those things are still true today.

So if now that I'm back in LA,

I sponsor a few guys here.

I still sponsor guys in Vegas.

I have a great job.

They just offered me.

I just got a fat raise, a fat raise.

I'm not a millionaire.

But keep in mind, I started as a dishwasher

and I became the lowest paid assistant manager

for Johnny Rockets.

The only one that they ever hired

was the felony on the record.

I had six, but I was honest about it.

I dispute one of them that was harboring a future.

I still don't think, which was probably an illegal,

you know, in the backseat of my car smoking crack,

but apparently it was a future.

I worked my way up to regional director.

I became a regional director for Sizzler.

I was the food and beverage director

for the international terminal at LAX.

I started with a sixth grade education.

I went to school online.

I got a GED.

I got an AA, I got a BA.

It's not the life I would have told you I wanted.

It's way better than the one I could have ended up with.

So let me just put it in real simple terms.

It's been 19 years since I've come out of a blackout

and had to find a piece of mail

to find out where I passed out the night before.

It's been 19 years since I've had to wake up in the morning

and try to find my car and then check it for clothing

or blood, which I used to do.

It's been 19 years since I put a dirty needle in my arm.

If it doesn't get any better than that,

trust me when I tell you it would have been good enough,

but it did get better.

And I'm not the guy that came from running.

I'm not the guy that came into Alcoholics Anonymous

with an MBA.

I come, like I said, from white trash.

All I did was Alcoholics.

That's literally all I did.

I went to meetings.

I showed up early.

I stayed late.

I had commitments, made a handful of friends,

and I followed sponsor direction.

That made zero sense, which by the way, with 19 years,

most of it still makes no sense.

Hilda was my favorite.

She made me be nice to a cashier at 7-Eleven, and I hated.

I was like, but I really hate her.

She's like, yeah, I understand that.

You have to act like you don't.

I know that woman today.

I know her kids.

I know her family.

She knows my sobriety game.

She's actually a good person.

Oh, I know.

I have an incredible life today,

and I owe everything I have to,

oh, if you're new, get this part too.

I owe everything I have in life, everything,

to the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, 12 steps.

Very, very.

I'm getting ready to sell my house in Vegas

'cause it's worth like way more than we paid for it,

and we're moving back to LA.

Like, you understand?

Are you hearing this?

I bought a home.

I'm selling a home.

I have a car.

I have a driver's license,

and I didn't scrape the registration sticker off your car,

which by the way, I used to do as well.

So if I don't screw it up, in 11 days,

I'm gonna be 20 years sober.

I could not get 30 days.

I used to see people take chips for, I could believe 30.

I would see people take chips for 60 days,

knew they were lying.

60 days with nothing, like nothing, upon nothing.

I didn't believe it until I got 60 days, and then 90 days.

I'm gonna be married to the same person

who actually knows we're married

and will be relatively happy to see me when I go home again,

and was sad to see me go when I left yesterday,

I think for nine years.

Whose bank is this?

Again, all I did was this.

And when Cindy was my sponsor,

this is the most important thing I have to leave you with

if you have less time than me.

Cindy told me that if there was any hope for me,

that at every meeting, probably in my row,

better find somebody that had less time than me.

And whether I meant it or not, see what I can do for them.

And I'm here to tell you that I've done that

to the best of my ability for almost 20 years now.

And the end result is, I'm still sober.

Thank you.