The Point

by Bree L.

Mill Valley was I first picked up when my dad, a Hayward cop, left our home.  I hit the streets and worked as a babysitter and with my money bought marijuana, but soon moved to alcohol. I was eleven and in fifth grade. At fourteen, I discovered cocaine even though I was drinking about every day. My freshman year, I quit school. 

A guy turned me out and I was soon arrested for prostitution. The judge sentenced me to live with my dad, who had moved to Oregon. He was working as a probation officer.  I lasted about a year with my dad before being sent to a foster home.  I soon got together with an older guy who lived in Washington.  I hid out with him until I reached sixteen, then I returned to Marin.  I tried to finish high school, but alcohol and drugs got in the way. Besides, I was too far behind with my credits to finish.

I tried to finish high school, but alcohol and drugs got in the way

I went back to baby sitting and couch surfing in Marin, and every so often had to return home to my mom’s.  There was a bedroom at her house, but she’d married a man I was not comfortable around.  He physically abused my brother and was sexually abusive to me. He did things like walking around the house without clothes.

To escape, I met and married a man from Santa Rosa. We were together for ten years and had three children. I worked as a plumber part time and stayed home to take care of my children. It seemed like everything would be okay, but drugs were always around and, of course, alcohol. 

After I had my first child, my one brother showed up at the door. He’d gotten drunk, drove his car and hit and killed a child by Mt. Tam high school. The police gave him a field sobriety test and let him go. He came directly to my house, but later was prosecuted for involuntary manslaughter.  Today, he’s a wet alcoholic and lives in Washington State.

Life caught up with me.  I acquired four DUI’s, lost my license, but kept driving. I was in and out of jail as a result. When I went before the judge the last time, he asked if I wanted a state or civil commitment. I chose the civil and was committed to the California Rehabilitation Center (CRC) where I could receive treatment in prison. My sobriety date is May 15, 2000, the date I left the CRC.  After that I was discharged to Walden House and subsequently to a residential treatment place for six months followed by three months of sober living. I had a long criminal history of forty felonies and twenty misdemeanors. 

My focus today is to live in balance, close to Mother Earth

When I had done my time, I went back to school. I’d finished high school in jail so I started back at Sonoma State and got a BA in Criminal Justice (a subject I knew something about).  I started out working at juvenile hall with young girls and taught at a probation camp for young boys. I also began teaching the drink and driver’s program. When anyone asks me to volunteer for something on the side, my response is always “yes.”

Currently my twelve step program is with the Red Road, a Native American spiritually based program. The Sweat Lodge is my church. There is a Zoom talking circle that meets in Santa Rosa on Tuesdays from six to eight. My focus today is to live in balance, close to Mother Earth as taught by my church.  My working the twelve steps several times over has been life changing.

by Anonymous

Before landing in A.A., I definitely did not see myself as an alcoholic. Sure, I drank a fair amount. I more than kept up with my friends, but that label was not part of my descriptors. Denial is more than that river in Egypt. Consequently, my memory of drinking is hard to come by, but I do have flashbacks of what my life was like. Sure, I was drinking. That’s a given, but my thoughts don’t go to the actual drinking. There was about twenty minutes of joy. The rest is a blur, but I do have mental pictures or flashbacks of what my world was like. 

I owe the biggest amends to my dog

The sink was always full to the brim with soaking dirty dishes. This softening of caked-on food was an integral part of housekeeping duties. The dishes had to soak a long time before I actually washed them.  It happened frequently that I’d run out of plates and have to put on heavy rubber gloves to rescue a plate or two from the swamp.  There were times when the whole process got too smelly, then I’d have to empty the sink and refill it, still unable to take the time to wash the dishes. The water would develop a thick scum with a bit of green color as the dishes continued to soak away, waiting to be washed. There were times when I put a dish towel over the sink to cover the ugliness, but still didn’t have the time to wash the dishes.

During the Summer of Love, I ironed. The ironing board and I were one and the same. It was always up in the living room, in front of the TV, so I could iron and watch TV at the same time. That was when I watched the goings on in San Francisco and dreamed of hanging out with the hippies. My husband wore white uniforms for work, and they needed starch along with the ironing. Ironing got down to a need to use basis.  Semi-wet laundry ironed much easier when it was cold and wet. My refrigerator was full of laundry waiting to be ironed. When I didn’t get to the ironing, it had a tendency to mildew, and it smelled.  This meant I had to take the laundry out and wash it all over again. It was a pain, until I discovered the freezer. Frozen laundry worked just as well as cold laundry and the clothes didn’t get mildewed. 

We will not regret the past or wish to shut the door on it

My biggest amends probably need to go to my poor dog. I didn’t believe in walking him as during the summer, I’d lived on a farm and those dogs never got walked. We had a built-in porch and during the winter months, it was cold, so I’d just let the dog out onto the porch with a bunch of newspapers.  That was his back yard.  He spent most of his time on the porch. A beautiful collie (Lassie’s breed), he was matted and needed brushing.  The porch was also starting to smell. So, I couldn’t let him into the house. One night I let him out and he didn’t return. The game warden found his body alongside a stream by our house. He told me animals were known to go off by themselves like that. That didn’t help. It was many years before I made it into the rooms of A.A. but these flashbacks still haunt me. I know the promise that says, “We will not regret the past or wish to shut the door on it.” 

Maybe as I write of these memories, someone might identify. Today I’m so very thankful for A.A. My sink is never full, and any ironing goes directly to the cleaners. 

by Rob S                                                                                                 

Being a fully-recovered alcoholic means if I throw AA under the bus tomorrow morning, I could be “boiled as an owl” by midnight. This is because I am helpless and hopeless over drink, save for the grace of God and AA. You may think: “What an oxymoron! How can an alcoholic be hopeless and helpless, yet claim to be recovered?”  

Well, one happy ingredient of my recovered status is that “if I should drink” has not occurred to me for many years. It seems to have been removed from my emotional vocabulary. But for a better detailed description, here are a few promises from pages 84 and 85 of the Big Book:

• We will seldom be interested in liquor. 
• If tempted, we recoil from it as from a hot flame.
• We will see that our new attitude toward liquor has been given us without any thought or effort on our part. 
• We are not fighting it, neither are we avoiding temptation. 
• We have not even sworn off. Instead, the problem has been removed (the mental obsession, not the physical allergy). It does not exist for us.

I could be “boiled as an owl” by midnight

Not so fast—there is a prerequisite. “That is how we react so long as we keep in fit spiritual condition.”  How? By living in the spirit of Steps 10, 11 and 12. 

Non-Big Book readers might state: “If I were recovered, I’d start drinking again.” This is logical thinking using the normal definition of the word “recovered.” However, those who have studied the Big Book can easily see the folly in that sort of thinking because they understand the allergy/obsession syndrome. The Big Book uses the word “recovered” in a special and technical sense readers can easily understand. I often use the phrase “release from the mental obsession” at meetings to avoid controversy.

by John W

Though I knew not yet the bottom, it rose this time with a vengeance like never before,

Yet my hope laid concealed beneath it, just beyond what was my last trap door.

Arrogantly I needed not, cared not, dared not to admit complete defeat,

But my life, my reality could not have been clearer, John Barleycorn had me beat.

Ignoring the doc’s advice I watched as family, job, home slowly died with me.

My end was in sight, it seemed ordained, que sera, sera, what would be, would be.

My days had become oh so very long, my nights were oh so very dark.

My soul in silence screamed to be free, from its plea came the spark.

Looking back, it was for the wrong reasons that help I sought.

I wanted not what these “losers” had, their suggestions I fought.

But my line, my jumping off point, was there and I had come to it.

I could press on to the bitter end or accept and use the tools in their kit.

Somehow I became willing and I trudged, as they said: one day at a time,

With the promise that a new freedom, a new happiness, with work would be mine.

by Karen D.

I am a newcomer with less than 40 days of sobriety. After relapsing, I got a new sponsor, who is very hands-on and who provides the kind of structure I need and appreciate. It would be fair to say that I am grateful for her. 

For the first 30 days, I checked in with her every morning. At her request, I provided a schedule of local AA Zoom meetings in the area where I live that I planned on attending for the week (2 per day). On April 10, 2021, I decided I wanted to join a women’s meeting and randomly selected a Zoom meeting at Lush Lounge in San Francisco. I was born in San Francisco and had my first drink here when I was seven years old. I still have many relatives, friends, and of course, memories of The City.

I was born in San Francisco and had my first drink here when I was seven years old

Once the meeting began, I felt welcome and comfortable. Like most AA meetings, newcomers are made to feel welcome. I appreciated the organization and structure of this meeting and was relieved that, unlike my first San Francisco Zoom meeting last year, it was secure and without any interruption by zoom bombers.

During her lead, the speaker coined the term “Gratitude Attacks.” She felt overwhelmed with being alive, because she was so grateful and happy to be sober. Her energy and enthusiasm stuck with me, and seemed to affect most members of the group. 

The speaker had recently moved to L.A. and had hoped to find in-person meetings, but she was a bit apprehensive about attending one. She spoke about her progression from when she was drinking to the present, which is part of the reason she brought up the Gratitude Attacks. 

When the meeting was open for sharing, another woman who had just moved to San Francisco from L.A. said she was struggling with her sobriety and with getting settled in her new apartment. She was also, however, grateful she had help moving, that the movers were in AA, and they didn’t charge her. I got the impression that her sobriety was wavering but that gesture of kindness gave her a reason to be grateful. Although she seemed a bit down, I was glad she shared and hoped that the meeting overall lifted her spirits. 

It was encouraging to hear gratitude described this way. Since attacks are usually thought of as negative, having a Gratitude Attack is a reason to celebrate and encourages optimism. This is really helpful if staying sober is a struggle. This very different way at looking at gratitude occurs when something good happens. Being sober each day is a reason to celebrate and to be grateful. 

Upon waking up in the morning, we list five things for which we are grateful

When I shared I mentioned that, coincidentally, the night before I had watched a video about gratitude. The narrator suggested that, upon waking up in the morning, we list five things for which we are grateful. This is a good way to start the day in a positive direction. I can see how making an extensive gratitude list could lead to a Gratitude Attack—like compiling happiness.

I was glad to be in a meeting with women. I appreciated how nice everyone was, and even more so, how honest they were. Like any meeting there were people who were struggling to stay sober and others who seemed to be doing well, had worked the steps, had a sponsor and attended meetings regularly. Many, it seemed, had never thought about reasons to be grateful but I got the impression that they would consider making their lists. I myself was very grateful to have attended this meeting and I will definitely be back. Thank you!

by Ken J

Growing up a little gay boy in a small Nebraska town in the 1960’s, I think I was alcoholism waiting to happen. I actually did not know what was wrong for me. I just knew I didn’t fit in.

In 1969 I was actively escaping through reading anything I could find. I read about the Stonewall Riots in NYC. There were unfamiliar words in the article, so I got out the dictionary and looked them up. Even at that young age I identified and realized I was not alone. I got the message that one day I would be with people like me. I also somehow knew that I needed to keep this revelation to myself. And I began keeping secrets. Living a life full of secrets became a coping mechanism. The less people knew me, the less chance I would be rejected. Standing in the back of the room was safer than being in the front row. Hiding the truth about who and what I was also allowed me to be a person that I thought would be more accepted. Of course we all know that none of that works.

What worked for me was alcohol. It was the social lubricant that made life livable. I began my drinking at 13, sneaking drinks from my parent’s liquor cabinet and dipping into the vats of wine my sister and her husband were brewing on their farm. I would ride my bicycle the five miles to get to her farm, and then spend time in the root cellar with awful vintages of strawberry, rhubarb and cherry wines. And I loved it all.

I didn’t pretend to have a girlfriend, but I didn’t share who I was with everyone

At 16 I was accepted to spend a year as a Rotary Exchange Student in Brazil. It was my first geographic. Upon arriving in Brasilia in June of 1975, my host parents took me for lunch and ordered me a beer. I said, “I’m only 16.” To which my host mother replied: “There’s really no drinking age in Brazil.” I immediately knew that I never wanted to leave. My year in Brazil was brilliant. I found people who were very different, who had a value system much different from where I was from. I became a stronger person, and my self-esteem actually improved. Of course, I was drinking daily. Because I could.

I was able to find gay people in Brazil. Although it wasn’t really that accepted, there was a greater degree of tolerance. Especially in Rio de Janeiro. I spent the majority of my weekends there, on the beaches, in exclusive nightclubs, and in absolute dive bars. I learned very well how to be the model American Exchange Student Monday through Friday. And then wild gay party boy on the weekends. I truly led two lives.

After my year in Brazil, I went back to my home town in Nebraska. I finished my senior year then left for college, which was only 300 miles away. I felt like I was chained to that miserable town. Three years later I was invited by the University of Nebraska to seek education elsewhere. Another distinction accomplished. I became the first member of my entire family to ever be kicked out of college.

Three years after that, I had actually created a life for myself in Phoenix. I had a good career, a house with a pool, and a couple of cars. I also had a massive alcohol problem. I was 26 years old. One day, I just lost all sense of control and became delusional. I drank for two weeks straight. I cared about nothing but drinking. On the Monday morning after Halloween I took the first step in reaching out for help. I asked a woman I worked with to take me to the ER. She came and got me, took me to the hospital, dropped me off and said, “Don’t call me again.” And that was the beginning of my real life. Three days later on November 6, 1985, I went to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I have been gifted with continuous sobriety from that day.

My sobriety began in LGBT+ meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. At 26, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to come to AA if there hadn’t been gay meetings. And even if I had come, without gay meetings I might not have stayed. There was a safety that I needed. Fortunately my sponsor made it clear to me that I needed to become a member of Alcoholics Anonymous as a whole, not just a special interest group.

Service commitments became my thing. I loved working on conferences and panels. I spent nine of my first ten years in Intergroup. I was extremely active in both the gay groups and in the general AA community. But continuing with my life of secrets, I still led two lives. I had a gay life, and a straight life. That was the way it was for me in AA, at work, in school and with my family. Granted, I didn’t pretend to have a girlfriend, but I didn’t share who I was with everyone.

In 1996, when I was 10 years sober, they were planning the annual anniversary of Alcoholics Anonymous in Phoenix. The theme was “The Diversity of AA.” There were going to be six speakers, a newcomer, an old-timer, a Hispanic American, a Native American, an African American, and a gay person. I thought that was really progressive and amazing. Until they asked me to be the gay speaker.

He told me to get over myself

I’d been taught that you never say no to an AA request, so I agreed. But I wasn’t happy about it. I was faced with sharing my biggest secret, one I had been nurturing for 35 years. As the date got closer, my anxiety and frustration grew. I went to lunch with my sponsor, an older man with 40 years of sobriety. I said, “You know, the newcomer, the old-timer, the Native, Hispanic and African Americans don’t have to say why they are there. I actually have to say that I’m the gay speaker.”

He replied, “Oh, I think they already know.” He told me to get over myself. And it’s really that simple, isn’t it? We put so much time and energy into trying to be who we think people will like and accept. They are usually able to see right through our masks.

The anniversary night arrived, and in front of around 3,000 people I came out. It was like my breath stopped for a moment. Then my two lives began to come together.  I no longer had to hide. And that led me to be the man God meant for me to be, in all aspects of my life.

When I was fairly new, I remember my grand-sponsor, a woman named Gene L., telling me, “If you live this way of life, work the steps, and be an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous, there will come a day where you can hold your head up. You will find the dignity and the grace to be who you are. Who you are!” I am now 35 years sober, and Alcoholics Anonymous has given me exactly that: the peace of mind and the serenity of the soul to be who I am.

by Jackie B

After a whirlwind start, April has been a welcome respite for those of us serving in San Francisco General Service.  At our April District Meeting, we held a sharing session for first-time General Service Representatives (GSRs) to reflect on what they saw, heard and felt at their first Pre-Conference Assembly (Panel 71, the 71st Annual General Service Conference). We also took a Zoom poll about collecting group consciences on this year’s agenda topics and participating in the General Service Conference process. 

Zoom polling to gather facts during the District Meeting was illuminating, fun and encouraging

It was heartwarming to learn that 30 GSRs collected group consciences this year on agenda topics. The average range of topics discussed by groups was between four and six. Half of the GSRs reported emailing their group consciences to the delegate directly or using the Area’s web form. The other half shared at the microphone or passed their consciences on to a District Committee Member (DCM) to share at the Pre-Conference Assembly on their behalf. 

Using Zoom polling to gather this information during the District Meeting was illuminating, fun and encouraging. I am also happy to report that District 06 of San Francisco and Distrito 16, Spanish Central, now have a bilingual Interdistrict Liaison, Martha B. 

Finally, with heavy hearts, we mourn the too-soon loss of our Panel 57 District Chair in San Francisco and former Area Chair, Jeff Antonson-Oden. Jeff passed away on April 3, 2021 in New York City. He was a beautiful and brilliant man who inspired and mentored so many of us here in San Francisco, including myself. A virtual Celebration of Life will take place on Sunday, May 30, 2021 at 11:00AM Pacific Time on Zoom.  The Zoom ID is 891-3514-8366 and the password is 1935. Spanish-English interpretation will be provided. Please note that some non-AA members will be in attendance, including some of Jeff’s family and non-alcoholic friends.

by Conrad G

Around 1968 a group of 10 men met in Gordon T’s apartment. I was there. The apartment was on Central Avenue in the Haight Ashbury. Our meeting was called to discuss starting the first official gay AA meeting in S.F. We agreed to start the meeting. 

We rented space at 261 Fell Street in the building with the rose garden. Our goal in starting the meeting was to encourage members of the gay community who were reluctant to come into the mainstream of AA to come to our meeting. Then we could encourage them to enter mainstream AA as they became more comfortable living sober. 

We were surrounded by beautiful psychedelic art

Our local Central Office was not comfortable with the idea of gay meetings. We therefore did not list this meeting in their directory. We listed the meeting with the Society for Individual Rights’ monthly newsletter. 

The 35-and-under group of Alcoholics Anonymous that met on Thursday nights in the Church of St. Francis of Assisi in North Beach was S.F.’s unofficial gay group. The meeting was for anyone who wanted to attend. We had a lot of very good friends who came regularly also what was then a large gay attendance of maybe twenty. 

As a community little did we ever dream our community would be as large as it is today, with gay AA meetings throughout the Bay Area and throughout the country, including Hawaii. The first conference was the Living Sober conference here in S.F., held yearly around the same time as the Pride Parade so travelers could come to both.

Coffee, jasmine tea and cake were served

Since we were unable to use 261 Fell for our very first meeting, two of our members with a hippie pad in the Haight invited us to use their space. They had decorated their pad with metal wall sculptures painted in bright pastel colors. A piece of round iron sculpture with all kinds of flowers appeared to grow out of the carpet. 

After reading the usual opening literature, we added the last paragraph of page 68 and all of page 69, ending with the first paragraph on page 70 from Alcoholics Anonymous Third Edition. After that it was always read at all of our meetings. Then the black light was turned on and all others off. We were surrounded by beautiful psychedelic art. No drugs were taken, no marijuana smoked. Coffee, jasmine tea and cake were served. Conrad G. and Carlos S. were co-secretaries. The only people still with us in body that I know of are Don K., Gordon T. who now lives in Hawaii, Roland S. in Palm Springs. In 1968, it was a beautiful, first gay meeting.