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I once heard a quote:
"A real apology is changed behavior."
I still have a lifetime of amends to make for past actions and the damage I caused, but I hope to show my family what changed behavior looks like, of course with God's help at my side.
About the Founder, cont'd.
My name is Frankie. I was fortunate to grow up in a close-knit and supportive family in small-town America, Prescott, Arizona, a place I’ve proudly called home my entire life. My parents, Frank and Rosie, have been married for over 50 years and exemplify stability and commitment. I also have an older sister, Monica, who has been a significant part of my life and recovery.
My upbringing was rooted in community and values. My dad coached all my sports teams, and my mom never missed a game, always cheering from the sidelines. Academically, I was encouraged to excel. A’s and B’s were the standard, and anything less was seen as an opportunity to work harder.
After high school, I pursued my studies at a junior college, focusing on fire science and emergency medicine. It was during this time that I encountered alcohol in a way that would deeply shape my life. Though I never enjoyed its taste, I was drawn to the initial euphoric feeling it provided. That sensation became something I found myself chasing, as I drank not for the flavor but for the effect it had on me.
I was a normal kid with an exceptional upbringing, and that just goes to show you that the disease of alcoholism does not discriminate. I didn’t grow up in a broken home. My story doesn’t start with trauma, abuse, or being exposed to drugs and alcohol at a young age. Yet despite all of that, alcoholism still found its way into my life.
My Timeline
They say alcoholism is a progressive disease, and as I look back, I can see that now. My drinking progressed from the age of 18 until I was 38. It started casually in college parties and a few beers. Once I experienced the euphoric feeling or some call a dopamine high of a buzz, I began chasing it. Over the years, I found every reason to drink: Any sporting event, parties, or whenever I felt sad, mad, or any type of way. It was never just one or two drinks; it was always until I was drunk.
At 22, I became a father to a beautiful baby girl, now 20. Nearly two years later, I was married with twin girls. I had a beautiful family, but my drinking continued to progress. I hid it from my wife and family and failed to recognize my role in the challenges we faced. Eventually, our marriage ended, and I was left to reflect on the impact that my addiction had on my life and relationships.
Now a divorced single father, I felt like a dog let off his leash. In my late 20s, I was partying like I was 18 again, needing more and more beer to get drunk. After many failed relationships, I convinced myself the problem was always someone else. But eventually, I realized I was the common denominator in all my misery. I was constantly asking, "Why me?"
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Between 2010 and 2014, I discovered hard liquor, which I learned got me drunk faster. In 2014, I met the mother of my now 9 and 10-year-old sons. We stayed together until my drinking reached its peak during COVID-19. I worked for a prominent pulmonologist's office in my town and was frequently exposed to COVID-19, requiring 14-day quarantines. With no work and no contact with others, I found myself waiting for stores to open at 6 a.m. just to buy alcohol. By then, I was drinking 30 shots a day and anything else I could manage without throwing up. My body became dependent on alcohol, and I would start detoxing within hours of my last drink.
When life began to normalize post-COVID, I got an apartment with my boys' mother but continued drinking. My oldest son, in kindergarten at the time, was home-schooled due to COVID closures. We set up a learning space in his room with colors and numbers on the wall. One day, while sitting on his bed with his little brother, he looked at the colors, then turned to me and said, "Daddy, your eyes are yellow." That was the most gut-wrenching moment of my life. In the blur of the next few days, his words resonated deeply. I knew I needed help. I admitted complete defeat and reached out to a dear friend, who gave me the courage to call my family. I asked them to just listen. On October 3rd 2020, I walked into the rooms of my first support group, and it completely changed my life.
Capturing how yellow my eyes were and what liver failure looks like.
Over the next several months, I was in and out of the hospital due to the damage I had done to my body. My liver was three times its normal size, and I had a six-centimeter cyst on my pancreas that left me as an insulin-dependent Type 3c diabetic. During one of my hospital stays, a nurse named Margarita would find me each morning to pray with me. I believe this was the first time God reached out to me. I often laugh now, thinking of God's sense of humor in sending me a nurse named Margarita as I began my sobriety journey. Margarita’s presence felt like a miracle. When she knew she wouldn’t see me again, she wrote me a letter, telling me God loved me and that she was proud of me.
After my recovery, I tried returning to the hospital to find Margarita, but no one there had heard of her. When I shared this story with a friend, he asked if I believed in angels. I told him Margarita was real, I even had a letter from her. But when I searched through my hospital bags, the letter was nowhere to be found. I truly believe that in my darkest times, God sent me an angel to protect me.
Over the past four years of sobriety, I have rediscovered a higher power which I chose to call God, a love for others and mostly self-love. I once heard that "Cling to the thought, that in God’s hands, your dark past will become your greatest possession you have the key to life and happiness for others with it, you can avert death and misery for them." I now walk this path to give hope to the hopeless and inspire as many people as I can along the way.