|the scab-eating, forgiveness-stealing lady dog|
It was a nightmare, a few days before Thanksgiving 2010, that woke me up. Like a bucket of ice water dumped on my head, I was awake. This is when I began to discover my husband's addiction to the ugly side of sex. Gak!!
This blog is about that, but not always. Sometimes I like to talk about bikes and painting and best friends, family and travel. We are more than the weird things that happen in our lives. But, there is something about telling your story.
Eat My Scabs is my true story. At least true, from my perspective (disclaimer).
I don't know how my story will end or what will happen. Sometimes it's twisted and confusing. Sometimes it's full of love and impossible forgiveness. Sometimes it's like walking through hell. And other times, it's gut-busting hilarious! I have a terribly fantastic Asian prostitute impression. "You like?" It's not right and I promise to be a better person, but for the moment, I'm laughing. Laughter is medicine.
One scalding, explosive day our life came to an unreal screech. I knew things. I knew things that even my dirtiest thoughts couldn't imagine. At that moment, all the heat boiling inside me burst out into one demand,
"You have 24 hours to get out of my house!"
Yes, suddenly by default the house was mine. I had claimed it as sacred ground and he wasn't allowed.
But it was so weird, because the moment I made my demand and knew it was right, the pit in my gut grew deeper and wider. I felt sick and at the same time I felt freedom. Emancipation.
For nine months Mr. Scabs rented a room somewhere else in the city. There was such peace in not having to see his face or hear his voice or acknowledge his existence. Some days he would call and ask to come over and talk.
One of these days I was sitting, absently listening to him beg and cry while I picked at an almost healed scab on my shin. It was a few inches long with a thin tawny almost transparent color. I picked at it revealing fresh pink skin. With a tug and a sting, the scab came off! Only slightly aware of him begging for forgiveness, I ran my fingers over the newly healed skin. It was pale pink, smooth and tender. Amazed at my bodies power to rebuild, heal.
I looked up to see tears and emotion in my estranged husbands scrunched and twisted face as he pleaded, "I'll do anything, ANYTHING to earn your forgiveness!"
A n y t h i n g . . . ?
I held out my hand, fingers pinching the freshly picked scab and with total sobriety said, "Eat my scab and I'll forgive you."
Our eyes met and he knew I was dead serious.
I could see the turning and burning in his brain. Surely he'd done worse...his tear-stained, swollen eyes darted from my distant expression to the fresh scab and back to my cold eyes. I watched with the slightest stoney grin (cruel, i know) as his fingers opened ready to take the scab as a communion and promise of forgiveness.
Just then, our always hungry Lady-dog jumped up and snatched the scab from my fingers. In one lip-smacking gulp the scab-jerky was gone. Mr. Scab's face drained white when he realized he may have lost his only chance for exoneration.
Thus, Eat My Scabs was born.
To read from the beginning start here.
p.s. There are times when I feel like writing a lot and then times I don't. Sometimes living the story outweighs the energy to write the story. Although I am not always here, I am usually on Instagram aka_scabs.