Even though it happened over a year ago, I am still brutally affected by memories. When I try to overlook the past, the emotional scars stare me right in the face, making me recall that night in graphic detail. I just cannot forget, even while I try my damnedest. This bothers me so much.
After everything, I haven’t been able to look at substances in the same way (alcohol, cigarettes, drugs of any kind). What used to be harmless alcohol is no longer; it is a door into deadly & addicting worlds. The same kind of worlds that almost took my Love away from me. I become uneasy when I know these substances are around me or Lover. I do not drink because of this. I haven’t had a drink in over a year. It’s true that the past (&, shamefully, fear) has aided this decision, but it’s my own choice.
When he comes to bed smelling like booze & cigarettes, my heart falls. When I see him reach for another beer, everything inside of me cringes. I begin to feel all of those emotions I felt back then, when I suspected his dishonesty & bad behavior. All those lonely nights, waiting for him to call; worried sick about him in my bed, trying to reach him during the late hours. I was never relieved when I found out that he was too drunk to remember to call me & so he passed out before even having a second thought about it. He was safe, yes… but not sound. Whenever I brought my ill-feelings to his attention, telling him that I was worried about the people he was around & the habits he was forming, he would soothe my fears, saying that everything was okay; that I could trust him. If there is one word I cannot stand it would be trust. Not just for the meaning — I don’t believe it’s possible to truly trust anyone but yourself — but because it’s such an ugly sounding word. Trust.
Always, he would assure me that I was being silly & worrying over nothing, making me feel foolish for even thinking that something was the matter. Imagine the stupidity (mixed with a bit of pride) I felt when I knew he overdosed. I didn’t know if I should have kicked my own ass for being too dumb to see the signs, or if I should have been proud of my intuition on a matter [drugs] that I knew nothing about. Both completely legit feelings, yet, very contradictory. Regardless, I have never turned my back on an intuition, even when it’s uncomfortable to face. In my heart, I always know; my brain is reluctant to catch up, of course, but I always know.
All of this is not to say that I am in regret; no, everything happens for a reason. I love my husband, more than that small statement can contain. But how do you forget? Rather… how do you really & truly move on? There are days when his overdose is the farthest thing from my mind. Where I feel like it never happened, almost as if it were a horrible nightmare I had. Nothing in our lives now mimics anything of that time, so it seems almost silly to have such vivid recollections. But then… there are days where all I can focus on is the frightening feelings & the deceit that could have — should have — torn us apart.
I wish it would all just stop & let me be alone to be happy in the present. I wish for normalcy. I wish to not be so paranoid. I wish that the scars of the past would stop popping up at all the wrong times. Most importantly, I wish I could have an answer to these questions: do I wish the overdose never happened? or… Am I okay with everything that has transpired, indefinite healing processes & security issues included? I don’t know.
I can’t explain why I find myself talking about this, of all things, tonight & so terribly late, too. Maybe it’s because he is lying in our bed, snoring & stirring, smelling like that of a bar. Maybe it’s because he was a little dishonest with me tonight; or… maybe I am wrong.
One thing is for sure: this particular wound is taking the longest to heal & acknowledging it reopens it.
“We cannot change our memories, but we can change their meaning & the power they have over us.” — David Seamands.