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I'm in a pain induced coma. Insanity chipping away at the ragged edges of my lucidity.
I'm so fragile.
My nervous system has completely shut down. All my senses are numb and I can't see, hear or feel. The electrical impulses are bouncing around my cranium, bottled up, unable to escape, frantic, but never reaching the edges of my body.
The bells are ringing and old favorite carols are playing. The tree is up and the kids are begging me to make cookies. Christmas is just days away. Many friends and neighbors come to visit. We exchange plates of goodies and I give them my best plastic smile. I'm pretending.
He said sorry. That it was a mistake. That it only happened once. We're going to therapy. And, oddly life moves on and the trip to "the-country-that-must-not-be-named" is forgotten.
We don't think about it or talk about it. If it's mentioned, he gets angry.
"It's over! It's in the past."
"When are you going to get over this?"
"I should never have told you."
"At least I didn't have an affair."
"What's your problem, I said 'sorry'."
What is my problem?
Is it the lurking feeling that there's more? Or, the unsettling new Asian "friends" on Facebook? Or, that he hasn't been STD tested as promised? Doesn't he know you can get STD's from a blow job? How casually I say this, as if it is normal and part of regular life. Somehow, flying half-way around the world for an Asian blow-job is normal. I stay silent, afraid.
Three weeks have lapsed since the tormented nightmares that revealed my husbands cheating .
When the moon rises and the sky is darkest, I re-live my D-day.
November 27, 2010
He confesses to a strip club. The words pulse in my chest. I can't believe it, a strip club?! He's in bed, pretending to sleep, ignoring me in the darkness. Dazed, I stumble to the bathroom. Flipping the light, astonished by it's brightness, my eyes squint in automatic response. I stabilize myself on the wall. Heaving and sobbing.
"A strip club? He flew half way around the world for a strip club!?"
My skin prickles under the piping water. A shower usually relaxes my body but tonight it agitates me! The water drops trickle in slow motion. My breath migrates shallowly through my lungs. The truth is hazy.
"Guys don't just go to strip clubs to watch." I'd heard him say it a hundred times.
In a torrent of rain I storm from the shower, hair sopping, mascara smudged and dripping, my body quaking on the ragged edges of the typhoon. I find the words, "what else?"
Thirty mintues pass before he confesses to being on the recieving end of a dancers blow job.
tripping backwards I fall flat on my back....
Minutes pass, but I don't know how many. For me, time has frozen.
The most terrible black, bubbly gunk is rising up from the back of my throat gagging me. Bitter to the taste, I struggle. Swallowing once, trying to keep it from spewing, to keep it from really happening, to keep it from being real.
But, there is no going back.
Just like last nights Chinese food and the poisoning that follows, my tongue hollows, my throat retches spreading into full body heaves. I vomit the most frenzied rage!!
In a split second I'm ramming my head against his chest, knocking him down, WWF style! In un-lady-like fierceness I beat him! Every elbow, knee and fist I own pounds into him as he curls into a fetal position, hands covering his head protecting his eyes and his nuts because he knows I will tear them out! I want blood!!
Vile words spilling from my tongue.
I spend the night in a nervous state of awake. Part comatose, part hemorrhaging mania. By the next morning my eyes are crushed red from tears. I still can't sleep. My face is swollen from anguish. My knuckles raw from fighting. My skin is tepid and moist. The sun beings to cross to the western sky and I still haven't slept. Alone and despondent I sit on the patio, in the afternoon sun, looking at nothing. The whites of my eyes are sticky and dry. I haven't blinked in ages. When the lids finally close a sting resonates into the deep wells of my eye sockets. I become acquainted with pain.
Insanity has taken a permanent residence in my brain.
If you feel even the slightest bit heavy after reading this post read this. There is hope.
To read Mr. Scab's version of these events click here.
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