Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

The aftermath

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So, I finally got the life history out of the way.  D-day.  Now to the time that has passed since.  How am I still alive today?  

It hasn’t been easy…….can I get a prize for understatement of the century anyone?

At first, I was surprised how much I still loved and adored him.  WTF?  Aren’t you supposed to immediately be turned off by and HATE with pure venom a man who cheats on the woman who gave him everything she had to give, who gave up her personal dreams and aspirations to put all her faith, trust and love into his basket?  Aren’t those the rules?  How pathetic am I?  I mean, really Paula, HE FUCKING FUCKED YOUR “FRIEND” FOR OVER A YEAR, and pretended he still loved you, what a weak-arsed excuse for a man. Who could love that?  What is wrong with you girl?  Pack his shit and get him away from you!

I realised pretty quickly that he had had some kind of life crisis.  He was completely shocked and gutted that this had happened, but at the same time, kind of weary, like he had been watching a train wreck in slow motion for a very long time, and it had finally arrived at his feet.  We talked, and talked, and talked, he answered every question.  He didn’t like it, he squirmed a whole lot, but he understood immediately that this was the ONLY way I wouldn’t leave him, and there were no guarantees that this would save our love either, but he had to try – and I asked everything, from sexual positions, to what she was good at (nothing, lol) to where, when, how did they do this without me ever knowing, or suspecting, how did he find the time, what about her small son, what happened to him during their trysts, was this the love of his life, had I got in the way of their “great love story?” she lived so far away, and he had such a frantic work schedule, what did they text, what did they plan, was he ever thinking of leaving me, what were the plans for that, he shared things that I didn’t ask like how he parked the car in the exact same place in our driveway if he met her, and topped it up to the exact same level of gas, he scrubbed things clean, he ensured there was no sexting, and no messaging that could be misinterpreted, so I could pick up his phone, and there’d be nothing, he told her if she ever sent anything inappropriate, he would end it there and then, he told no one, he never mentioned anything about any problems to his best mate……..and did a shitload of fucking, and a shitload of intense LOVEmaking, hot, hard sex, and soft, gently re-exploring of each other’s bodies, for hours, and hours – I mean, how did we find the time?  We must have averaged three or four times a day for a year.  Answer, I didn’t sleep.  I couldn’t swallow food, I stopped drinking any alcohol for six months, couldn’t bear the taste or the feel of any food or beverage in my mouth.  And nothing had any taste, or texture.  I vomited a bit, and I am vomit-phobic – it’s fine for someone else to do, and I am a mother and farmer, so don’t have a weak stomach.  I just hate to spew!  And I ran.  I ran and ran and ran.  I got skinny.  Bona fide skinny, for the first time in my life.  And I couldn’t enjoy it, I just felt wretched, old, droopy and wan.

It seemed he had hung onto that night we moved, and used that silly little five minute conversation to “justify” his thinking.  Apparently I abandoned him that night.  He really believed that.  This despite all the loving talks, the lovely kissing and still great sex we had.  This despite I could have left him, but promised I wouldn’t, was jumping through hoops to make our new life work.  His brain just clung onto, “she doesn’t love me anymore.”  Ridiculous, but his reality.  Of course, I said, “well, leave then.  Don’t fuck around.  Leave.  Be a fucking man!  You arsehole.  I had no way of protecting myself from your filthy whore, because I  had NO IDEA you were fucking someone else!”

Oh, I missed that part!  I went and got tested at the nearest Family Planning clinic.  42 years old, mother of three teens (who I continually ram home safe sex messages to) middle class, one sexual partner ever, NEVER partaken in any “risky” sexual behaviour insomuch as multiple partners, or no condoms.  God, I can’t tell you how low I felt.  But then, the results came back.  I  had chlamydia, and HPV.  Cool.  He was so fucking angry at me for getting tested, “she’s clean, she was only sleeping with me,” he might as well have said stop being such a drama queen. Well, Buster, guess what, your schmoopie is a dirty, filthy, disease infested, rotten whore, and now I am too.  We sorted the chlamydia out easily, but I am still dealing with six monthly smears and cervical changes that have been treated with very painful and invasive procedures, three times.  The last LEEC I had  – this is a hot wire scraped over your cervix to scrape the cancerous cells off (owwww!!) was on my 45th birthday.  Happy Birthday to me, it was special.  Thanks skank, love you.

We did pretty well for those first six months, I knew we couldn’t unfuck that goat, I thought I understood this was forever.  I hurt like nothing I could even imagine, but we still loved each other, he was sorry, attentive, completely  transparent.  Of course we would be okay, it was just going to take time.  I contacted a counsellor, male, an ex-dairy farmer, retrained.  He seemed good.  He told us a few facts, like how this was likely to play out, how long to expect to be suffering for (that seemed so OTT, 2-5 YEARS – not us, we LOVED each other, lol, we’d nail that!) And then, I fell in a really deep hole, started feeling more suicidal.  I was hanging in there for the next appointment, and we went along, and he wasn’t there!!!  He FORGOT!!!  Roger was furious, he knew I was on a knife edge, and he rang the counsellor and let him have it.  We re-scheduled, and got there the next time happily.  BUT, IT HAPPENED AGAIN later, he FORGOT another appointment.  I was beside myself, thinking it was a “sign” – I mean, a professional didn’t even want to help me, and I was PAYING him.  I don’t know why we didn’t report him, I can only guess we were too traumatised that early in.  Roger wanted to kill him, my usually mild-mannered, reasonable and kind boy (yeah, right, but he used to be that guy) was actually filled with murderous rage.  I often wonder if it was a bit self-directed, like he wanted to punch himself as he watched my suffering.

Something had to give…………….

 

 

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9 thoughts on “The aftermath

  1. Holy crap! You are an amazing, strong, superwoman! What a life! And so sorry about the STI’s…hugs. I went and got tested and thankfully, am healthy. Why are guys such pricks about the tests? Grrr.

    And boy oh boy…she’s a skank! Her poor little boy.

  2. Yeah. That kid has brains. But he also has an appalling mother, grandfather and neither nature nor nurture are in his favour. If people knew how completely revolted I am by the very IDEA of a sexually transmitted infection, I mean, it has always been an irrational (?) fear of mine. I felt clean and somehow pure (?) But now, with my family history I feel tainted, forever tainted. My body is fouled. Not in a “normal” way – HE doesn’t get my feelings about the pollution of my body. Disgust and self loathing are pretty key.

  3. Part of the reason they are pricks about the tests, is that it means they really were that selfish. Reality bites. They really could have KILLED the mother of their children, simply because it was hard to roll a condom on. Mine says there was an element of the letting go of the fantasy. That there really must have been something special about her for him to have gone off the rails so badly, because he’s a good guy, right? He knew in his brain that this wasn’t true, but if they had DISEASES, well, they really did read the skank wrong, she wasn’t special, she was just an available hole to fuck. He was so angry that I got tested, because there was NO WAY she would have a disease. He just KNEW this. With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, he is appalled at that thinking now.

  4. Ouch… so so hard isn’t it.

    “unfuck the goat”… brilliant expression by the way…

  5. I got tested about three months after. He has yet to man up and make an appointment. I’m fine so there is less of a concern but it’s the principle of the matter.

    I a agree with the fantasy element.

    Hugs…your bravery and sheer will are an inspiration.

  6. Mine said he would get tested, but hasn’t and doesn’t seem to be making plans to. I might have to suck it up and go do it. The thought is humiliting since he’s the only man I’ve ever been with. (Btw, I have commented formerly as 1myr on other blogs. I’m now Gloria).

    • Hi Gloria! I was such a mess about the STIs. He was so angry about me suggesting we needed testing. Little secret. I dosed him with my antibiotics and was able to get more for myself through dubious means ( I do the drug ordering for my veterinary-based work!) I am not proud of that. But he was in a very unreasonable state. I then got re-tested a few months later and I was clean. I didn’t tell him my dastardly deed until then. I can’t fully explain why I did it that way? I was pretty fucked up. I wonder if I was scared of him? I’ve never been scared of him. But it was like he wasn’t anyone I knew and he was quite violently opposed to me getting tested. We’ve talked about this. He thinks his denial was about pure horror. He is SOOOO disgusted that he put my life at risk because his brain wasn’t working properly. I just KNEW it was imperative to get tested as soon as I heard they didn’t ever use protection. Ooooo, I wanna vomit just typing that!

      Good luck, Gloria. Of all the stories I’ve read, and there’s been hundreds, I only heard of two others who were unlucky enough to contract sonething. The odds are way in your favour 🙂

  7. Hey P❤ I’m re-reading all your posts again. I guess you could call it ‘pain shopping’, because boy, does it fan the flames of my anger to remind myself of your pain, my pain, all of our pain. But it helps too. And not even just in the ‘you get it’ comforting sense. Our stories have many parallels, and you have the incredible ability to put my fears into words.
    The STD thing is a big issue for me too. Even though my husband ‘confessed’ (aka beat everyone else to it) before he had the chance to infect me, I’m haunted by the fact that he COULD have! What if the news of his fuck fest with the whore wasn’t spreading around town like wildfire within hours of it happening? What if all involved/complicit had kept quiet? Would he have told me? I think not. I think he would have climbed into bed with me with his dirty dick night after night. He says no, the guilt and shame would be too much to bear. I think he’d prefer some secret guilt and shame to how things have turned out. He was so mad at my insistence on getting tested too, wtf?!!! “I’ve never cheated on you before, and I didn’t sleep with you after I ‘did that’!!”. Well excuse me for being inclined to think that everything out of your cakehole right now is bullshit! All tests came back clean, his included, which is a fucking miracle considering the walking bag of disease that he fucked! It’s not a condom you need with her, it’s a fucking HazMat suit!
    You’ve spoken of how Roger went from being delusional (about the chances of her having a disease) and angry (at your insistence on being tested) to now being totally disgusted with the outcome and his entire way of thinking at that time. So when did the other shoe really drop for him? Was he with you when you got the results? What was his initial reaction, and subsequent reactions when you began receiving treatment? Has he gotten any better at understanding why this was such a massive violation for you?
    I’m really sorry if this drags you back to that awful place, you know I’d never willingly upset you! It’s just something I’ve been thinking about a lot, especially when faced with a husband who’s attitude on the matter is ‘It didn’t happen so how can you be upset about it’. Sigh! It upsets me because once again it calls into question His integrity, His willingness to put his own ego above my safety, his cowardice. And one of the main causes of the total destruction of our once-incredible sex life (but that’s a whole ‘nother word vomit for a different post 😜)
    Thank you for letting me vent here, my friend. It means more than you could ever know xxx

    • I still don’t think he totally gets how much of a violation the whole ideology of STIs is for me. I’m not entirely sure why, I suspect it is a gendered thing. Women are kinda taught to ‘guard’ their sexuality, you know, the old double standard. You’re a whore if you like sex, and a frigid bitch if you don’t sleep around. Women are more easily infected, just biological shapes, what goes where! But my Dad’s coming out in the 80s, in the midst of the early AIDS epidemic had a huge effect on me in this regard. I worried for years that Mum was going to call and say she was HIV positive.

      He is somewhat better about it now. But doesn’t fully get it. It’s been 7 and a half years since D-day, tomorrow. Fuck. He never got tested. I didn’t tell him straight away. For the first time ever, I was scared of him. The anger at my suggestion was … overwhelming. So weird. When I found out I had chlamydia, I used my antibiotics to treat both of us, and did something dodgy, used my veterinary position to order more as back up – his in his mashed potatoes! Jesus, I can’t believe that was me. And luckily it was enough, because I got retested later and was clean. I have never really understood his anger back then. Roger was adamant he would take this secret to his grave. So wonders why I asked about any other affairs! Which apparently he never had. Hmm. He also looks back and realises that he was a bit (lol!) delusional in not recognising that not dealing fully with the whys he was setting himself up to cheat again further down the track when the next life hurdle popped up. I honestly believe he could have never spoken of it. To anyone. I have learned he is that guy. I can’t keep secrets. At least not from the man I honestly felt was the love of my life. I know that about myself. I’m good at keeping friend secrets. But even those I shared with him back when we were good. Because I knew he was great at keeping secrets. Thinking about that now makes me realise I should have been worried about that in the sense of keeping an affair secret.

      Pain shopping is all part of the hideous process. I think it is about blood letting. Just trying to get as much poison outside of you as possible.

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