Tuesday, January 8, 2013

the beginning of the end


Follow the story.
Read the previous entry here.

My decision to stay began the day that seemed like the end.  The beginning of the end, the end of the beginning, or something like that.

This is what happened.

November 12, 2011

Our 8 month separation has been pieced together with some sporadic 12-step work, weak therapy and our general half-ass attitude.  Sometimes I let him stay the night.  There's been some good sex and some really, really terrible sex.  Triggers eat away at me most days and my mind re-lives all the traumatic details of his undercover life.  Conversations weren't always peaceable.  Most ended with yelling, blaming, name calling and door slamming.  We didn't even live in the same house.

Desperately, I try and take care of myself and my children.  I listen to my sponsor.  Read.  Meditate.  Reach out to others and practice yoga.

One morning, Mr. Scabs offers to stay with our son while I go to yoga.

Riding my bike feels like freedom.   Cool air.  Hair.  My tires hit the wide sidewalk leading through the park.  Nodding to the homeless man on the park bench with his 2 dogs.

Freedom to let my mind wander...
"Being the dog of a homeless man would be the best dog life to live.  Running all over town, no fences and cuddling up with your owner each night.  Rummaging through trash and chasing cats..."

Swerving down the empty street I pull up to the yoga studio.  The door's locked.

Strutting with her free-bird confidence, Izzy, with her legs clad in tie-dye yoga pants and bouncy  short orangy-red curly hair, is waving wildly at me.  She teaches the 9am class.  Hollering, she announces that the studio is locked and she doesn't have a key.  Our class has been cancelled.

Back on my bike, I ride toward home.  Passing the thrift store, the bakery, the music store where my BFF works.  I pass through the park, by the man with 2 dogs, down Pepper St. then turn left up my road and into my driveway.  Chucking down the kickstand and balancing my bike, I turn the knob to the back door.  Everything is silent, like the house is keeping a secret.  My footsteps are mute and my breath is stolen.

Passing the office, I see the glow of his laptop.  He doesn't notice me.  My mute steps taking me within inches of his back.  Peering over his shoulder, I see everything.  The alluring photo of a dark-haired, half-dressed girl and a description of how she can satisfy anyone with cash.  I watch him scroll and click and scroll and click and then delete the history.

Watching from behind, I can smell his freshly washed hair and count the familiar moles on his neck.  I begin to think, "If I don't leave him now, this will be the rest of my life."

I'm not sure if he felt my body heat or if I began to breath again but he turned the chair and suddenly realized I was watching.

"What are you doing?"  I ask.

"nothing" he says.

My teeth clench.  What the hell?

Denial spilling from his lips. Stuttering, stammering completely lost.  Ping-ponging between what he wants and what he does.  He knows he has lost.

Everything breaks from this moment forward.  We lock, head to head, into a full scale brawl. A hurricane of piss and vinegar, grasping for shreds of dignity and scraps of some kind of understanding of our desperate life.  Yelling, blaming, swearing and maybe one dramatic face slap later Mr. Scabs is expelled, out the door.  I am finished.

Livid, pained and finished.

Two weeks later, a pile of papers entitled "Dissolution of Marriage" comes in the mail.  Thumbing through the pile, it's our life, broken into child support, co-parenting, property separation and the rules of divorce.  Each paper feels thick and important, officially ushering the termination of our marriage.

I sit silent, in the same room where everything ended, preparing myself for that final conversation with Mr. Scabs,
and ill with the thought of the terrible, terrible conversations I must have with my children.

This is the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning.


  1. I so needed to see this today of all days. I've cried instead of sleep for the last two nights. I am so desperate to decide to stay but all I seem to do is stare at one awful option after another never choosing anything. I can't bear the thought of my children's lives being torn up so I decide I can just suffer for them but this is no way to live for long. -Snowy

    1. i know exactly how you feel. it is the most impossible decision to make

  2. Hanging on every word as usual.

  3. OH man, this left my stomach in knots. I know the post from yesterday shows that the real reality is happy and progressing. But this just makes my blood boil. Because I can related to it. I remember the way I would ask the same questions, "nothing." (hiding other things though, not porn) and then instant anger on my end. And then I remember the papers. And the Dissolution.

    But now, it feels GOOD to get angry. To know that he was wrong and such a freaking weak person. And I was the strong one, even though I felt so little.

    I seriously love this. You are my hero! I was honestly just thinking about you on my drive to work this morning and about how much I look up to you. So glad you're back posting! I crave them.

    1. It left my stomach in knots too. And Mr. Scabs has that gut sinking feeling too remembering these moments.

      sheesh, i feel a little sheepish being called your hero...you are so fantastic yourself! i'm so lucky to call you my friend.

  4. ditto hanging on every word. its good to revisit feelings.. and mull of feelings... and address where we are now. you are strong and i sure love ya friend!

    1. it is good to check in and see where we've been and where we're going. love ya back!

  5. This read like a scary movie to me... I'm screamin at him "The bad guy is in the house (the porn, not you)... don't go UP the stairs you idiot!! You will be trapped up there!! Go out the front door where the sun is shining bright and you can be safe!!"...

    Yes - I am a yeller when it comes to watching television/movies... I am a full blown interactive experience. I don't recommend any of you watch TV with me, unless you want to hear nothing of what comes from the screen and mostly of what comes from me.

    Anyways - on that note... I'd love to watch TV with you sometime... big ole bowl of popcorn n' all.

    And on THAT note... I have no doubt that your yoga class was canceled on purpose - that that entire sequence of events was brought to pass by and for some divine purpose.

    ...:::: blink :::::....

    1. i also have no doubt that there was a divine purpose....especially now, looking at it a year later.

      and i love your tv watching enthusiasm!!! Sometimes i feel like screaming and squealing too!!

  6. I hung onto every word as well...nail biter for sure! You are amazing girl:) Thanks for having the courage to share the your heart and soul with us. Love you!

  7. Thank you so much for sharing your story. Your experiences seems so horrible, but at the same time, you exude so much hope and happiness. You rock. - MM

    1. these experiences are horrible and too many women experience similar things and it breaks my heart. i hope we can all find happiness.

  8. Sheesh.

    Life with a sex addict is nothing but a string of relapses.

    1. I'm sorry you feel that way. Sometimes it's hard to read comments like yours. I used to feel that way about my own relapses. That I was destined to screw up over and over and over again. I was left feeling hopeless, like why try anyway when I couldn't get away from it? Why even fight? Surrender (to my addiction) seemed so much easier than the contrary.

      That's how I used to feel...

      Although I haven't actually slipped in a little over two years - I do have mini hiccups every now and then. I recently had one where I kept reading a book I shouldn't have... no, it wasn't an actual slip, but it was a learning opportunity. That's how I look at slips now - learning opportunities. It gives me the opportunity to reflect on where and how I didn't trust my Savior and how I can be better. That's all I want. To be better. I want to be perpetually progressive. I do not strive for perfection. I don't even strive to not slip. I simply strive to love my Savior... and in the wake of that... somehow, He blesses me with sobriety.

    2. Sidreis, this is really sweet.

  9. Yeah hey...its crazy, not know which one is it is. The beginning of the end or the end of the beginning.

    I am so proud of you for trying!!

  10. A very big hi to you. 1. I really want to know if you are the blonde with the beautiful hair?? Are you? I've been following you off and on for a year now and love the hair, whether it is yours or not.

    2. So had he been sleeping with the "dark haired" women or prostitutes since you had parted? Did you ever find out? I know, it's painful, it's just I do read your blog and if you know, I'd like to hear - is that gossip? I don't mean it to be - I'm the kind of woman who must know everything... There are some who do not.

    3. My H was into massage parlors also. He was not into specifically Asians -(only and just into hot bodies with pretty faces)... You know, the usual selection of Asian prostitutes at the massage parlors. He said if they were white and attractive or hispanic and attractive it wouldn't have mattered. Just as long as they were very thin - he likes the very thin - not anorexic, but the very thin, not big boobs and small buts. Sounds young Asian to me, but anyway, he would accept any girl who walked in and gave him the full treatment - no massage thank you, just sex. Are you able to state whether your husband was really into Asian prostitutes or just like my husband - any woman who was attractive that would put out for money. It's not irrelevant. I have an ex-black friend (only ex cuz she went into seclusion) who's husband was only into black prostitutes and he is white and they had to do really funky stuff... he especially liked the pregnant black prostitutes...it bugged her so much..she would have prefered he not go after black women who were pregnant because she cannot get pregnant....another friend had a husband who was only into Asians, it bugged her a lot. It goes on, but just to show you that it seems like the details of how different these women were is so upsetting, see? For me, see, I'm very conservative and he likes the women who will F anything - any man... as long as they are attractive and they were of course all much younger than me. See that's my difference. They were in there 20's and I'm almost 50. I'm white and he only went to Asian Massage parlors cuz that's what is here in LA.

    1. 1. Yep, that's me. Although sometimes it's a different color depending on my hairdressers mood! Haha!

      2. It's alright, you can ask. I'm the kind that likes to know everything too. After we split and he moved out, he got himself some serious help. And that's also when I started opening my mouth and telling people what was going on. Our friends reached out to him helping him build some accountability. Honestly, I haven't been that involved in his recovery work but I do believe I've gotten a full honest disclosure. He says he hadn't been with another woman since before we separated.

      3. When we talk about it mr. Scabs says that he went to massage paroles because they were the most convenient for his needs (can we laugh at that pun?) and Asians are what fill most our massage parlor s here in our town. I don't believe it's a fetish for Asians I think like your husband, he would have gone for anything. Sad sad men.

      Your story sounds terribly difficult and hard to face. I hope you're ok and taking care of yourself!

  11. I hate that all too familiar dark feeling you get just reading this. Why is it so hard to be faithful to the one they married? I've always done everything in my power to please my husband in every way, but it was never enough. Thus the nature of the sex addict. It's never enough. Ugh!



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