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by Miguel Martinez
I’d made my mark as a graffiti artist in San Francisco. My thing was tagging. I’d spray paint or use markers on a building or sidewalk with my graffiti name. When you’re young and powerless, graffiti is an easy way – well, not that easy – to earn the respect of your peers with nothing but your own hard work. I started doing it on impulse: anger, seeking recognition and community or just being high. But let’s be clear: It’s considered a crime of willful damage to property, and vandalism.
In a scandalous split second, I made a conscious decision to vandalize a Muni bus and rob the driver of his jacket at age 14. Back then the Muni jackets were a big thing and people were paying money to get them. While one of my friends painted the bus with graffiti, I grabbed the jacket off the driver’s seat. In reality my behavior was a cry for help. My real life youthful experiences are laced with some really dark times – and some mountaintop moments.
There were sirens, and before I knew it, I had a gun pointed at me by an officer. I was so panicked, trying to take the jacket out of my backpack, and another officer quickly took me down, and then I was handcuffed. They took me into the police station and I ended up at Juvenile Hall for a few days. That encounter didn’t stop me. I thought it was cool. Now I know it was a big waste of time.
Graffiti doesn’t rise to the level of murder, robbery, carjacking and other serious crimes. But its presence, some would argue, can blemish the image of the city, and it contributes to a sense of lawlessness. For me it was a gateway to other criminal behavior, just as alcohol or marijuana may lead to harder drugs such as heroin, cocaine and methamphetamine.
My parents immigrated to America from Mexico, landing in San Francisco, where I was born two weeks after their arrival. Born on Sept. 17, 1992, I’m the oldest of three children. There are 10 years between me and my brother and 13 years between me and my baby sister.
I grew up in a hardworking, loving, Latino family in the Bernal Heights neighborhood. As far back as I can remember, my dad always worked two jobs. When he first came to San Francisco he was a restaurant cook and a janitor at a local movie theater. He was a really good painter and eventually, that became his main job. My mom worked as a janitor at the Moscone Center in San Francisco for over 17 years.
Back then the neighborhood was heavily Hispanic with Taquerias within two blocks of each other. Now, it’s more Ramen House and Sushi places, and throughout the years it became more Americanized. We had rent control: Imagine a two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco for $1,300 a month. Back then families could afford to live in the city, raise their families, educate their children in public schools and pay taxes.
As a family, we regularly went to baseball games at Giants Stadium, enjoyed outings to Gilroy Gardens Family Theme Park, Great America and DisneyLand. At Giants Stadium, I’d always get there early and visit the Fan Lot, the kid sized space right by the world’s largest baseball glove, where I’d slide into home plate. I couldn’t wait for the frozen sugary lemon drinks and the garlic fries. My dad would drink beer from one of those Giants plastic cups and he’d bring them home as souvenirs. I went to at least 20 Giants baseball games as a kid.
My dad would save the tickets in his dresser drawer and all sorts of relics from the past. I remember seeing baseball tickets from 1998, Muni bus transfers, the long ones, from 1992, and some cool vintage clothes and other things, like an acid washed, jean backpack. Sometimes I forget how important my parents are and how blessed I am to have them in my life.
Even though I came from a good family, I was introduced to alcohol in junior high school. My first drink was at age 14 during a Christmas family event. At 15 in my sophomore year of high school, I started drinking outside of the house. By this point I was drinking during school hours out in the street. I would skip school to drink, but would rush home to shower and eat something before my mom would get home from work at 4:15 pm. I would watch television or go straight to sleep. But one day, I didn’t make it home before my mom and I ended up in the hospital. I’d gotten so drunk, fallen and seriously injured my head, a six-inch scar I carry with me to this day.
My parents learned I was doing more than drinking a holiday cocktail; I was drinking heavily when they were called to the hospital. They were worried. I told them someone from school had brought the liquor. They said, “Don’t do it again!” That warning didn’t stop me. Not only was I drinking, I was introduced to pills. I remember taking blue dolphins, yellow thumbs up, and other pills with weird names I can’t remember. In school, the worst thing that would happen with the pills was the anxiety, so I’d go to the bathroom and return to the class 20 minutes later. If I didn’t have the booze, I’d do the pills.
I found myself drinking more. I would drink at a friend’s house so if I passed out, I wouldn’t be alone. I started getting home later; first I’d get home at 7 o’clock, then 8 o’clock, then 9 o’clock, and then I’d make it home in time to go to sleep at 10 o’clock. My senior year, I had an early schedule 7:30 am through 2:30 pm. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents by not graduating from high school, even though I was drinking heavily. To make up for the times I’d missed, I took online classes to get extra credit towards graduation. I made every effort to graduate and walk across the stage. And, I did.
When I finished high school, I went to Job Corps on Treasure Island to train in cement masonry. I was serious about the program and I’d stopped drinking. I’d completed about 70 percent of the program with about six to nine months remaining, when my girlfriend convinced me to take a position at a five-star restaurant located on The Embarcadero where her uncle worked. Even though I was learning and growing at Job Corps, I decided to leave and take the restaurant job.
I started as a dishwasher and in six months I was promoted to the bar area where I was popping oysters and selling “Uni” (tuna cut thin with fried shallots on the top). I learned all about the 12 different types of oysters and was great at talking to bar customers about all the varieties to eat with their drinks. Next, I was stationed at the bar where the tips were great, and the liquor accessible. You can imagine, all the resolve I had to stop drinking couldn’t match that top-shelf liquor, beer and wine at my fingertip’s day in and day out. The temptation was too much to bear.
I was doing so well the management asked me to do some part-time work at another establishment. This time instead of oysters, it was alligator and rabbit. And of course, top shelf liquor, beer and wine. I said to myself, “Damn, I don’t have to spend no money, and get all the drinks I want.” Basically, I was drinking all day at work and when I got off work too.
At some point, the drinking started interfering with my job. Management recognized I was a good employee and my colleagues would cover for me, and management would send me home. They’d say, “It’s probably not a good day, go home, we will find someone to cover you”. After a while they saw my pattern and things went downhill from there. I lost my job. By age 19 I had to drink to keep from shaking.
I’d abandoned my career in cement masonry, drank myself out of the restaurant jobs, and ended up in jail as a result of my drug use and maintaining my habit trading stolen goods and robbing. My self-sabotage was wreaking havoc in my life. With the alcohol and drugs came the criminal behavior.
I wanted to be left alone to just drink. I left my parents’ home and put all my belongings in storage. I’d just turned 20 and became homeless and was at the shelter at MSC-South. At the shelter I met Tony Chase, an administrator there, and he began to talk to me about how I could straighten out my life. I made a feeble attempt.
At the shelter I saw how easy someone could make money by selling crystal meth. I started buying $200 worth of crystal. I didn’t use any crystal at that time. Then I saw I could stop selling my shoes. I would sell and go back to the shelter. Then I was staying up later, There were times I would black out because I was a heavy drinker. I stopped drinking and began taking a few hits of the crystal during the day. I would make it to a few of my appointments.
I’d lost all connection with my parents. I was devastated when I found out my parents had moved back to Mexico. One day I was in the streets and ran into my brother’s godfather. He said, “Is your dad liking it out there?” I really didn’t know what he was talking about. I played it cool. “Yeah.” The truth is I didn’t have a clue. Later I learned they’d left the country. I was devastated. I felt like I wasn’t understanding anything in life. What did I have to change for or to live for anymore? I was in a really dark place.
My next few arrests were for vandalism for graffiti. I’d use the best products so that removing the graffiti was nearly impossible. I would tag my name and it would stay on the Muni bus or store windows, so I was well known. My last arrest was considered a “terrorist threat” against the public. I was walking in the street, talking out of my head, and under the influence of drugs. It had to do with my mental health that was triggered by the alcohol and drugs. So, I ended up in the San Francisco Behavioral Health Court.
Everyone who crosses our path is a teacher. They come into our lives to show us something about ourselves. I’m learning to be strong, not rude. To be kind, not weak. To be humble, but not shy. And that’s how I consider my first introduction to members of Positive Directions. I was introduced to Positive Directions in Behavioral Court where I met Lisa Wood-Oliver, Cedric Akbar and Rosa in Department 15. My sentence was to a year at Our House on Oak Street, but I relapsed after being there only five months. The reasons for my relapse was that I did not take suggestions from Cedric and Martin X to stop working with my uncles who also drank. So, I got remanded back to custody due to a dirty test.
Then I was referred from jail to a one-year program at St. Anthony’s. I eventually got put out of St. Anthony’s for not being compliant. I went before the judge and he told me I needed to come back to court in five days with a letter for placement in a residential program. I came back with a letter for Walden House. During my 90 days at Walden House, Positive Directions staffers Puff and Martin X came to check in on me. During my last week at Walden House, I appeared before the court and the judge told me that Cedric Akbar was willing to give me another opportunity for a new lifestyle by having an open bed at Our House. I gave myself a second chance for a new lifestyle; go to groups, learn about recovery, and share my challenges with other individuals from the house.
I highly respect the work Cedric and Cregg Johnson of Positive Directions do to guide us to recovery. I’m not just a number; I’m a person whose life matters. Today I work two jobs, provide financial support to my family back in Mexico, pay taxes, and I’m present for my cousins here in San Francisco. This makes me feel more responsible. Something way different than in 2017. I tell my story to let others know it is possible to change. The abstinence-based approach is working for me and others.
I saw my family when I went down to Mexico last year. They were happy to see me in recovery and doing well. My little sister is 17. She’s seen me under the influence of drugs and alcohol, and she started drinking too. I feel like part of it is my fault. The first thing I tried to do was buy her material things, and she said, “All I want is you in my life!” This was my mountaintop moment, where my family could see me as a grown man taking responsibility, no longer addicted to drugs and alcohol.
Positive Directions has the largest support group in the city, The Gathering. The leadership noticed as the group’s popularity grew. so did the diversity of the audience. Your skin color, where you were born, or even your religion – it doesn’t matter because those of us involved with alcohol and substance abuse recognize that addiction is no respecter of people. I walk down the Mission and I see people doing the same things I was doing in my addiction. When someone asks me for money, I think it’s better to buy him a sandwich, some nourishment. I recall when I was homeless and, in my addiction, I’d go days without eating. So, when I bring that brother some food, I know he’ll either eat it or share it with someone else.
In the Latino community, we have our stories and struggles. In some of the support circles the language and cultural barriers impact the message. Positive Directions launched a Spanish speaking group that meets on Mondays, called Direcci’on Positiva. I’m part of that team and serve as a facilitator. I also like that Positive Directions opened more doors to help at My Casa, and from what I’m hearing people in jail are talking about the programs and want to be a part of Positive Directions when they’re released. It works and that’s the message!
If you or someone you know needs help for addiction or co-occurring disorder issues, please give us a call. Positive Directions Equals Change, a community-based organization in the Bayview, offers classes and support groups each day of the week. If we aren’t the best fit for you or your loved one, we will take the necessary time to work with you to find a treatment center or provider that better fits your needs. Please give us a call at (415) 401-0199 or email our team at recoverycorner@pd4life.org. The schedule is pictured and all are welcome.
