Of Addicts and Assholes


Disclosure is like the day I forgot to wear pants to work.

Sometimes I like to ride my bike to work and my very cool employer built a mini-locker room with a shower on the first floor.  I'd get up at the crack of dawn, pack my work clothes and don my hot pink spandex with the kind of confidence that comes with 5am darkness.  

One morning, with soggy hair, I frantically dug through my bag.  Tearing through everything, throwing my things in the air, spilling to contents on the floor.  That sick gut-dropping feeling took over and I'm sure the blood drained from my face as I walked the stairs dressed in a cardigan, leopard flats and hot pink biking pants.  It was an out of body experience.

This is the same way his full disclosure churned in my belly and the blood drained my face white as my heart beat deeper into my chest.

The biggest question disclosure created for me was, "Is he an addict or an asshole?  Is he ill with his very choice making ability stolen by an addiction that has taken over?  Or is he the scarier narcissistic sociopath?  Or is he some weird addict/asshole hybrid?"

Trying to quell my endless questions he said, "I thought prostitutes were better.  At least I didn't have an affair with the neighbor or something."

I whipped around, "Which neighbor?!!??"  (Oh yes, we had all these ugly conversations)

But really, he was trying to make a point.  Recognizing the significant difference of sex with a hooker and sex with a willing woman.  The point backfired on him.  In betrayal, neither is better or worse and both have their daggers.

I've been finding things out about myself and all this has led me to believe I am patient and forgiving and strong. Things I never knew I was.  Most days I feel like I'm healing.  Most days I am doing well.  And when I am sad or overwhelmed I can reach out get the help I need.  I can do all this with or without Mr. Scabs.  And honestly, mostly I am doing it without Mr Scabs.  I'm not sure we are both in a place to heal our marriage yet.  Working toward it, but not yet.  A mountain of individual healing and repair work must come first.

Even after all that healing, I have one major unresolved pain.  I can't find a place of peace when it comes to Mr. Scabs undeniable and terrible abuse of women, of prostitutes of human beings.  This injury seems inconsolable.

We talk about it but i still can't find peace.  I have a heart for these women.  The unbelievably painful and degrading series of events that leads a girl or woman into prostitution isn't pretty.  No matter what it looks like on the outside.

Just like every other injury and pain I have to pass through them and find the bridge that crosses over the white-capped sea to the other side finding peace with the addict and assholeness of Mr. Scabs.


Hope your weekend is full of self-care.  


p.s.  I sent an email about Camp Scabs.  
If you got it great, if you didn't and want to join us click here and contact me.