It looms, every day. I worry. It's constant. I imagine what it would be like to find out he'd died. And to know, so explicitly, how it happened.
The pain would be unbearable. I think I'd be saved by anger. When I think of the great risk he takes with his life every time he uses, this life that I've invested so much of my own in, this life that is so important to me, anger fills me. It gets all in my eyes and in my mouth. It's different from the anger about the money or the shiftlessness...it's anger at the sad, long waste, for both of us. The time, the energy. It's anger at so much talent, so much goddamned talent, thrown away. It's anger at the world for letting it happened.
This is one of the things I'm not supposed to do. We aren't supposed to project. I shouldn't project. I'm tormenting myself. I just can't stop it, sometimes...thinking about the first night I tried to go to sleep without him. Thinking about trying to handle such a loss without him there with me. Thinking about facing the world.
I wouldn't have my family, either. Or maybe I'd just tell them...I married this man much too soon and I tried to keep it from you but now he's dead of a heroin overdose and I'm afraid to keep going help me mama please don't make me do this alone...I can't imagine it would go over so well. I can't imagine it being worse, however, than facing it alone.
I am such a planner! I'm planning for his death, planning for my survival. There is no sign of him using. There is no particular reason why I should be gearing up to lose him. But I am...I want to know that my emotional bags are packed. It's such a stupid habit, because none of this thinking or writing or worrying will prepare me for anything...neither for the actual event of his death or whatever horror will come next.
I stumbled upon this website tonight, which explains in detail how drugs kill you and this rather hysterical, stern website about drugs and death. Perhaps that explains my projection...