A Peek into Mr Scabs


Mr. Scabs and I have worked together to write this post.  Although I form the sentences  many of these words are his own.  Trying to capture raw honesty from the past.
This is his version of this post.

November 2011

"Aha" moments don't come to me.  Awareness don't seem to fall into place for me and when my wife begs to know why I've done what I've done, the answers don't come.

I have lived a numb life.  A shallow life.  My connection with other human beings running just across the surface, like a skipping stone restlessly dabbling it's way across the pond racing to the other side.  The quicker, the faster the speedier I go--the more of life I miss. The thought of slowing down and diving under the surface into deep waters has me crippled, I won't do it.

No one wants to be caught doing something they shouldn't.  Like a kid narked on, facing kindergarten detention for spitting in the back of his teachers hair.  Even though every straw of my heart warns me to stay away, I feel the pull.  And the skipping stone racing through my life.  A blind draw of curiosity.  I already live out of a laundry basket, homelessly wandering between my home and my friends spare pink room.  I have to knock on my own front door.  What more warning do I need!?

Curiosity is a strange word to use here.  It sounds innocent.  But that's not what I mean.  I feel like a fish that has absently swam into deeper, darker, murkier waters.  Trudging back trough the dark and murky toward the clear waters is too long and impossible to do.  Instead, any shiny bit or bobble captures me, because it's all I can see.  So I bite.  Only to have a painful hook rip through my lip, swiftly drag me to the surface where I can't see or breath and then I'm gutted, fried, drizzled with lemon and eaten.

Curiosity.  It killed the cat.  Despite it's 9 lives.

I don't know how else to describe what I did the day Ms. Scabs rode her bike to yoga or any of the days I hurt her.  None of it makes sense.

Our eyes meet and my hand instinctively slams the laptop shut.  But she has seen everything.  The weight of her defeat eats at me.  She has given up and I feel the strength that held us together slip away.  I'm plummeting and instead of frantically grasping for a way out, I lean into the fall accepting all the abuses I have caused.  A knife plunges into my underbelly, tearing at my guts.  This is my end.  No lying, no explaining it away or blame-shifting.

I have spent my 9 lives.

The weekend marks our 11 year anniversary but we won't be spending it together.  She's packed her bags and arranged a weekend away.  It's a cold good-bye; instructions about watching the kids this weekend, like I'm some kind of babysitter.  

I ask her where she's going, what she's going to do, who's she going to be with.  Silence.  I feel left out.  Like a liar.  I feel like a betrayer.  Rejected.  Skipping across the pond racing away.  Running from myself.  There is no "Aha" moment.

As she leaves I jab her a snide comment about going off to cheat on me.  To do what I have done to her.  I hang my head because I know I deserve it.

....to be continued