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Writer's pictureSara Broughton

Scars and Stripes Forever

I remembered the entirety of my 4th of July this year. I didn't wake up in a weird American Revolution- type cape and have to go ask my neighbor, the last person I remember talking to before blacking out, if the costume belonged to her. I didn't almost fall into a freezing cold Alpine lake while going to watch fireworks on a friend's boat. I didn't spend part of my afternoon on the ground under a picnic table where I'd crashed my bike in a local park after leaving the Parade; while my 9 year old daughter sat nearby waiting for her Mom to wake up. I wasn't uninvited to join my family for watching fireworks because I was too drunk. It was, thankfully, an episode- free 4th of July.


It may not have been the sparkly, perfect Independence Day of dreams, but it was a day that I could have and hold on to. Certain dates precipitate reflection on years' past. Looking back on some of the experiences that I had come through while drinking was like looking back on a series of battles, which they essentially were. I never set out with the intention to get drunk. I drank to enjoy myself, and to make my anxiety about the events of the day dissipate. I drank because I was proud to be an American.


Then I drank for some other reason on July 5th. Then for something slightly different on the 6th. As a teacher with summers off, July could get to be a big drinking month for me. It had been this way for a while. When I was thirty, I drank too much at a concert and set out on a bike for home with my husband. It didn't end well. I crashed without a helmet. I was unresponsive and ambulanced to the local hospital where it was determined that I needed a trauma center so was rushed to Denver. I stayed there in critical condition for a week. I underwent facial reconstruction surgery, had my ear stitched back on and my lip put back together with about 12 sutures. Talk about people looking at you like you are a mess when you wake up from being drunk. My visitors, including my two and four year old little boys, stared at me like I was a monster they didn't recognize. It was heartbreaking on so many levels.


As one might expect, I brought up the consideration of "Well I guess it's time for me quit drinking". In my heart I was slightly grateful to have a reason to give up the game. However, my husband responded that "the bicycle accident wasn't because I was drinking, it was because of loose gravel on the road and it being pitch black dark". That was all I needed to hear. I was off the hook of apparent identification as an alcoholic. My drinking had not done this to me, therefore when my concussion calmed down a little bit, I'd be able to pick up drinking again. Hallelujah. I had been co-signed.


Looking back on it, being grateful that the Universe had granted me permission to keep drinking while lying in a trauma center with chunks of blood in my hair was sick. It did not make any sense. Addiction doesn't.


It took a long time to heal up from that accident, as well as the bike accident eleven years later which left me on the ground after the Parade. No responders intervened in that one. I eventually came to, slurred to my daughter that it would be alright, and walked her and our bikes home. When I showed up later than expected, banged up and somehow without shoes, my husband was not so quick to dismiss my drinking. "Fucking alcoholic. What kind of person does this?" was the response. By that time, I had just about stopped caring. I had succumbed to the illness and had stopped fighting alcohol. Judging by the massive bruise on my thigh the next day, which was probably indicating something close to a femur fracture, alcohol was still fighting me.


So, yes, it's a long series of war stories. How did I get out? How did I survive the war? I wish I could say that it was a simple fix - a magic pill, a simple prayer, some wholesome living. It wasn't that however. Its been a daily reprieve, and I have been fortunate to strings a stretch of days - 1641 of them- together. It's been a lot of work. AA has been a refuge and foundation for me. It was there when I needed it most and continues to be there for me. I do recognize, however, that AA may not be everyone's cup of tea. That's okay. Find another recovery fellowship that suits you.


I have been blessed with a lot of amazing, supportive women who have believed in me enough to see me get sober. These women were not my initial "team" of friends and family; those people gave up on me. These women have included my therapist, my sponsor, my AA friends, my fellow women from treatment, among others. There is no support quite like that of others who have walked our path. The people who have helped me the most are women who have been in the war themselves, women in recovery.


After years of living with an anxiety disorder, I have learned to calm my anxious brain without alcohol. Meditation seemed hard and even a little pointless at first, but now I can't live without it. Getting outside and connecting with nature takes the edge off of my anxiety like nothing else. These are the things that work for me, and they may or may not be the things that work for you. Different people, different pathways. The point is, there is life after alcohol abuse. There is hope. Little by little, minute by minute, the life that may seem to be drifting away from you can return. That's a cause for celebration.











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