The problem with marrying someone from your past is that that someone “knows” your past, sometimes better than you do. Anyway, last night was a rough night.
It started out well because Scott and I practiced talking and did so for about two hours. If the word “practice” throws you off, it’s because for the last six months, we’ve, probably, barely talked two hours TOTAL, which makes for a very long six months, especially when you count the days, but we seem to be on the healing side of it.
After our talk, we went to the store to pick up a couple things for the girls. They were at The Prelude, so we wanted to be back before they got home. On the way, our talking continued but didn’t go so well.
We ended up remembering the past, he remembering more than I because that was back in my drinking/drugging/stripping days. As we went on discussing this memory, more was revealed, and it was heartbreaking.
As we walked through the store, this memory (which I hadn’t been aware of) was haunting me. I could not stop crying. Scott attempted to console me, but I wanted nothing of that.
It seemed like every breath brought on more tears. I was, practically, bawling in the store. While Scott stood in the checkout line, I went outside, so I could REALLY cry (like I hadn’t already been doing that).
As I stood there, weeping, so many people walked by, but no one stopped. I wanted, so badly, to be prayed for. This memory was causing me so much guilt and so much shame, I didn’t know what to do.
On the way home, I explained to Scott why I was bawling, and as soon as I walked into my room, I made a 9-1-1 call to my friend, Karena, because I KNEW something was terribly wrong.
As I hyperventilated through tears, explaining what was wrong, she listened, and then she said the most profound thing ever!
She said, “That’s not your memory to have. Get rid of it!”
Wow! She was so right! What Scott had been remembering was something that didn’t involve me (directly), but it was something that could’ve been avoided had I not been drinking and drugging, which leads me to another thing.
In recovery, they say, “Do not regret the past,” but I don’t agree with that because I know the definition of regret.
*regret: feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over*
I’ve regretted wasting away so many years drinking and drugging.
I’ve regretted stripping and selling my body.
I’ve regretted being part of that memory Scott had.
I’ve regretted all those abortions.
But I don’t stay in that sadness. To me, regret is remembering and being sorrowful, while asking for forgiveness.
As usual, there’s much more to this story that I can’t get into because, well, even “I” have private things.
And I told him, “Let’s not talk about the past anymore.” He agreed.