Old wounds

I have talked a little bit about Colin here. I've talked of how his death changed me and how I feel about life now. There is a lot there that I have not talked about, and don't talk about with anyone. There were a lot of sides to Colin that were not especially pleasant; there were many aspects of our relationship that were not happy. Colin had the ability -if it should be called an "ability"- to bring out the very worst in my personality.

I chose not to talk about a lot of the negatives about him and our relationship after he died; partly I think because I wanted him back alive so badly that I couldn't bear to think of the bad parts. I didn't want him to be dead, so it seemed only right that I talk about how perfect he was. Those who knew him, and knew us, were kind enough not to challenge me about the perfection I talked about. They graciously never brought up the alcohol-induced fights they witnessed between us, or the level of dysfunction we brought out in each other.

I have continued to choose only the good or funny or witty parts to tell others about; only the very closest of my friends know about some of the yuckier parts. I like it that way; I like remembering him as funny and larger-than-life and charismatic because he was all of those things.

The lovely JW invited me to a terrific community, and I've been talking and thinking a bit more about Colin as an 'addict'. I didn't realize until I started posting about him in that regard that I have chosen not to think too deeply about that side of him anymore. I didn't think too deeply about it back then, either. I knew it was bad for us, and for me; I knew it was dangerous and couldn't last. I knew that one of us would go off the deep-end, or I would out-grow him. But I didn't admit that stuff to myself; and I certainly didn't tell anyone else. We "partied", if I said anything about it at all.

I have done a lot of healing since he died, and a lot of personal reflecting on my life before and after his death. But there is still so much that I choose not to think about, or talk about. I find myself wanting to tell people that he was a good husband, even if he was possessive and mean when he drank too much; I find myself wanting to minimize the bad parts so people didn't think he was terribly unhealthy. But that feels so silly, since healthy individuals don't commit suicide.

It has brought up a little bit of the pain in my relationship with him; I am a little surprised at myself for still having this pain. I feel like the pain of dealing with his drinking was replaced by the pain of his death; feeling anger or sadness over his problems seems silly. Since I have managed to heal this far from his suicide, why should I feel that old pain from the dysfunction of our relationship?

Even as I feel so uncomfortable talking about the bad sides of Colin, I also like the challenge of doing something that makes me squirm emotionally; like the way picking at a scab feels good because it itches even though you know you're tearing your own wounds open, I want to do this because I want to see how much I can scratch at this wound before it bleeds.