At The Jumping-Off Point

I behaved my way into believing. When I came through the doors of my first AA meeting, I was desperate. I had already picked out a bridge abutment that I wanted to smash my car into. The hope was to make it look like an accident to spare my family another suicide of a family member. It was right before Labor Day weekend of 1979. I was 34 years old and had been drinking heavily for 13 years.