Thursday, April 12, 2012

Walk of Shame

Follow the story.

Read the previous entry here.

November 2000

With "Just Married" graffitied on our car, we sputtered around the American northwest. Romantic nights in bed and breakfasts.  Lazy in our wanderlust, traveling, kissing, Candid photo's on bridges and holding hands.  Soaking up the fresh love of newlyweds.

We traveled for days with no plans.  Eating at mom and pop shops, cuddling around the fire during a blizzard.  We were happy.  Silly, but I remember arguing about the car temperature.  He was always flipping it to super HOT or super COLD.  Me, I liked a more moderate temperature.  An indication of our personalities?  Maybe.

That first year, life began in a tiny basement apartment just down the hill from the University.  Our queen mattress pushed up against one wall.  The desk doubled as a kitchen table.  The bathroom shower so small we couldn't enjoy it together.  A kitchen full of every gourmet gadgets thanks to generous wedding guests. I was a minimalist and couldn't see the use for all those gadgets.  I returned them for cash.  Later, I'd regret not keeping that dang salad spinner!

Within the first 2 weeks of marriage I ran away.  I know you're not surprised.  Always a runner!  One night while he was sleeping I was afraid, lonely and felt rejected.  What had I done? I was married.  MARRIED!  Not just forever but for E T E R N I T Y!  gulp.

The finality of it sank into my bones and anxiety overtook me.  Visions of my parents cold controlling relationship flashed in my mind.  Quickly, I threw some things in a duffle, got in the car and drove halfway down the canyon before tears fogged my vision.  I spent the night parked by the river, recling in the front seat and counting stars.  Before the sun peeked over the mountains I pointed my wheels west and drove back home.  Recommitting to my promises and our life together

It was barely dawn as I slowly cracked the front door, cursing the squeak as I shut it.  Silently dropping my things to the floor I crawled next to my sleeping husband.  Warm and oblivious.  Lying my head back, the pillow was cold.  I watched his sleeping face.  My arms wrapped around him as i whispered my sorry's into his chest.  He hadn't even known I was gone.

June 2011

Did I really let that happen?

Did I just let my husband, a confessed sex addict with a preference for Asian hookers, touch my body?  Kiss me?  Run his fingers across my hips?  And I him? Did I touch him?  My body wants him.  My mind rejects him. My heart weaves bitter, salty strings of disgust with sweet honey flavored yarns of healing.  None of it makes sense.  I love him and I hate him.

Had the numbness of trauma dulled my senses?  Was I a victim of my own lust and desire?  Or, maybe I have no grasp of self-preservation?  Is this how the walk of shame feels?  Sigh.

Pressing my nose to the pillow where he slept, the sheets still warm, I inhale his scent.  Wildly familiar and at the same time absolutely foreign.  His tangy spice filling my nostrils, proving...

I really did let that happen.

The morning after left me naked, exposed and tender. Vulnerability had settled on me like a million tiny diamond stars ready to light my path.  Or, without warning the stars could burst into a scorching super nova hurtling me, forever lost into a black hole.  The outcome of last nights hoopla could be devastating.  It's like I'd done something i knew i shouldn't.

But one thing was certain, I had risked all I am.  If I was a gambler, I'd thrown in every last chip and played my cards.  The prize was hope and I was willing to take the wager.  No matter how foolish.

Over the next three weeks, the night of our passion, love and forgiveness repeated itself.

It was full of sweetness.  Gentle understanding.  Compassion.  Timid trust.  Endless sorry's.  Sharing confidences.  Revealing secrets.  Tears and agony bathed in relief, the beginnings of forgiveness.  He spent many nights in my bed but only as a guest.  With sensitivity and respect he left when there was no invitation to stay.  Sometimes my broken heart needed silence and distance.

This three weeks was a gift.  A promise.  A second honeymoon.

* Disclaimer about sex


  1. Wow! No matter what happens I hope you can always look back on those three weeks the way you do now. What a gift.

  2. I remember that sweet time bonding too time too. I wish we could have it back - although, in all honesty, it wasn't quite "right", it was somewhat primal...I was claiming him more than loving him. Now we're working on the intimacy of it all. Somehow, as difficult as that it is, it's better now. Crazy, I know ;-)

    1. ahhh, it was sweet bonding time but you know what the pattern is and what happens next.

  3. I understand the feeling of thinking you'd done something wrong. It goes right along with, "Aren't I sexy enough?" "Aren't I pretty enough?" "Aren't I thin enough?" We always seem to question why our SA has chosen others over what's right in front of them. Only they can figure out why they have a head full of bad wiring.

  4. I have been going through this the last few weeks. It seems every time we talk (fight) about the problems. We end up sleeping together. and every time I think "What the heck is wrong with me?! Sex is the last thing I should want to do! That's just it I want to be with him I want him to comfort me and hold me. And I like it! until the next day when I remember why I can't stand the thought of him. And then it starts all over again.

    1. Ahhh...sounds like your having make-up sex. Fight, make-up, hook-up is that the pattern? Sex is such a loaded issue. With Sex or Porn addiction in the picture it becomes even more loaded. And so deeply personal. For me, I had to be emotionally safe to be intimate with him. There are times I have felt safe and times I have not. I could never allow our sexuality to be used as a weapon. I'd already spent many blind years allowing his warped sense on intimacy to destroy my own sexuality. There were even long periods of time that I wondered if Id ever have a pulse again. I'm always blow away at how crazy life is and looking back I can see my patterns, both positive patterns and patterns that needed change.

  5. Wow. April. I am so glad you let yourself feel those beautiful and healing feelings. I am glad you remember them, and that have a place in you. A part of wishes I had felt those things--it shows a true humility and willingness to LOVE for the sake of loving. You are remarkable.



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