Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

Kindness

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Kindness

Despite all that has happened in the past six years, we make kindness a priority. One of the things that attracted me to Roger in the first place, and kept me hooked for the past twenty-six years was his inherent kindness. He is kind as a default setting. When an animal is in distress, although we are “hard” farmers, he still gets very upset if he has to put one down, or sees it suffering. This doesn’t mean he breaks down, or even sheds tears, it just means he absolutely hates witnessing the distress, and will do everything in his power to help. I identified that this was how he was with regards to Leanne. He felt sorry for her, and wanted to help her. Sadly, that meant he hurt us. But, of course, he was never going to get caught, so I would never be hurt. He never wanted to leave me, and he tried to worm his way out of the affair without me ever finding out. He never told me about it, because he knew it would break my heart……too late, he had already set the whole machine in motion for that when he first slept with her. However, back to the NOW. We are very kind to one another, we like each other, and we do still have the odd laugh, usually over something perverse. Kindness is important, and we practice it daily.

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The deep guilt and agonising unhappiness of the betrayed in not being healed

This is my battle this past year.  Okay, he cheated, he is bloody sorry, why am I not okay now? I have tossed it in the pan, sauteed it for a bit, then eventually stewed the crap out of this question for a long time. Chump Lady posted about it so succinctly, as she is want to do. Cheaters are not owed reconciliation just because they are sorry.  

I’ll let her explain it better http://chumplady.com/2014/05/cheaters-youre-not-entitled-to-reconciliation/


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Wishing

Following on, briefly, from the previous post, I recall desperately wishing so many things in the aftermath of his betrayal. One of the things that stands out was wishing he had left me. I still think of that often. If he had taken my choices away, I think it would have been easier. I wanted him to live with her, and get really miserable. Feel rotten after a brief honeymoon period. He admits that was his vision, too, and probably one of the main reasons he didn’t leave. We both saw that she was a piece of shit, a taker. I wanted to be able to breezily drop the kids off, or meet for coffee and discuss something, me, with my (then) brand new, skinny body, and new outlook, I knew I would recover, and thrive. But staying, and trying to recapture what we once had has been exhausting, and a grueling task, an endurance feat the likes of which I have never experienced. I wanted him to leave me, and be bloody miserable. But mostly I wanted to show him how I could thrive without his lying, cheating ass.


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Winning!

Yeah, well, so it seems.

Roger and I have been very open and honest about what happened, what went wrong, what coulda, woulda, shoulda happened, as well as what really did. Of course it was painful. Of course many said I should never know the details. But that would have driven me even further into insanity. I thought hard about what to do when I found out about what he did. Should I leave, take his ass to the cleaners, would that make me feel better, would that be the best outcome for the three innocents in all of this, our children. Should I pretend it didn’t happen (I wish!) I am not that person. I can’t do that. I can’t compartmentalise. I felt early on, and amazingly, even he understood, that we need the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth if we were to have any hope of trying to salvage the wreckage of our couple of decades of “true love.”

One of the things I did was ask a whole heap of questions. I questioned what he thought I did wrong. I questioned what/when/how he had identified had started him down this destructive path. I questioned what he thought would happen if he was discovered. I questioned what he thought would happen to our kids. I questioned if he cared what they thought. I questioned why he did this with someone who was my friend. I questioned how he thought that would play out if they were discovered, my-friend-his-ex-who-I-was-so-fucking-cool-about-him-remaining-friends-with and him, perfect. I questioned how he coped with that fact. I questioned. And questioned. And questioned. And he answered. He hesitated over some details, but always answered. I think he answered truthfully. Who knows. A liar is a liar is a liar. One of the things I identified early on was his shift in morality. I had many lightbulb moments, but never kept the power up to them, the moments passed, and fizzled, I missed them all, but I identified one especially with regards to this. Several of his friends shoot together, and they have always had a maimai at the back of our farm, on a duck pond. When we shifted, one of the guys – a ring-in, someone he and I were not so fond of, as we knew he was a bit of a shit, cheating rumours followed him about, well-founded ones – was caught taking his mistress to the unfinished building (they were all building a new one, perfect, down a long, isolated no-exit road, nowhere near our farm entrance, and then several kilometres of dirt track, accessible only by four wheel drive) and fucking her there. I found out, and told him I was disgusted, and wanted no part in providing a venue for him to deceive his wife. Roger had always been pretty anti-cheating, and this time he said, something along the lines of, they all have keys to the gate, and I can’t police it, yes, it is super shitty, but it’s none of our business, who knows what is going on in his marriage, maybe they “have an agreement.” I heard this, and I told him I was not happy about them fucking on my property, I knew his wife, and I knew the mistress’s husband (who had previously cheated, ugh.) However, I conceded to what he said, how could we police it, other than telling him to hand in his key, and bugger off – which was my strong suggestion. He refused, saying it would cause chaos within the building group. First clue my love was changing his morals. Guess why? I can’t remember timelines that far back, but I think he was not shagging skankola then, but obviously there was some mental shifting going on. Guess where they did most of their fucking subsequently???

There were other moments, but I missed them all. Or I didn’t follow them up, must have been some kind of denial really, that is what faith, trust and love do, they make you blind.

After D-day, we were still working together every day, and we had a lot of time and space to talk. I remember asking him what was so special about her, to risk everything for. What was her special sex move, what had him so addicted to fucking his whole life up – what was I lacking? Hell, he was my only sex partner, she is a whore who has had fuck loads of partners and fuck loads of sex, she MUST be good, right? (Early days, you think it might be something you did wrong/not enough of/looked bad doing/fill in your own insecurities here.) He looked at me so sadly and said, “she does nothing. Literally nothing. She is cold, lifeless and boring in bed.” I didn’t believe a word of it, of course. But he has maintained that line forever, he even told me those same words when we first got together, she is boring and sexless. Her use of sex is to keep a man from leaving her, and no more. He thinks she doesn’t even really enjoy any of it. And he knew it. But kept fucking her. WTF??? 

Next line of questioning went down the following route. What were you hoping to achieve then? Why didn’t you just leave me? Why didn’t you tell me, or even hint to me, that there was a problem? I don’t get it. I SOOOO don’t get it. 

He answered that it was total escape, total fantasy, total anticipation, that was always unfulfilled. He would drive to her place while I was at work, full of thrill, full of the idea that he was going to see someone special, and feel better about what he perceived as his shitty life, and he would always drive home with his tail between his legs, wanting to drive under a truck, thinking, “why the fuck am I doing this, I am having an AFFAIR, dammit, with a hot woman, and the sex and love I get at home with the mother of my children, which should be pretty boring and mundane, is a million times better that the excitement I anticipate, and never have delivered with hot, fantasy woman. WTF is going on here???”

I didn’t believe a word of it. Of course. But the longer it goes on, the more I realise it was probably the truth. He kept hoping for more. He will tell you that all sex is good sex. But what he had with her was deeply unfulfilling, that at best, it was pretty average, and that half the time, he struggled with performance issues, yes, he was having an affair with a skinny bitch, and he couldn’t ever guarantee a hard-on. Shit, that is not this guy!!! 

So, I revisited this question. What was he hoping to achieve, once the excitement of the novelty, the newness of having his first ever affair started to die down just a smidgen? Why didn’t he LEAVE!!!  God, please, just leave me you fucktard! His answer is this. They didn’t fuck often, he estimates in that fifteen months, it was maybe not more than a dozen times (I double that, then multiply by 5000.) Nah, really, they didn’t actually meet up that often. I know that the gap between fuckdate number one and fuckdate number two was five months. I know that maybe twice they fucked twice in a weekend. Whatever. Who the fuck cares. He was trying to work out what he was trying to achieve. When he finally did realise he was tossing up whether to leave me or not, he did the calculations, fed the data into the computer, and weighed up the pros and cons of leaving me, and the pros and cons of living with her. It is a fucking joke, I know. He says he talked to her about this once, and once only. He told her that he knew they could never work, they were a million miles out of synch on just about every topic under the sun. And he saw the nasty poke its head out from time to time, even though they only ever spent a few hours in each other’s ACTUAL, physical company. It was mostly a text affair. She is a selfish and cruel woman. And he knew it before he started poking his filthy dick in her filthy vag. He asked her where she thought they would live. She seemed to think she would sell her house and she would move to the provinces (where we live) and that it would be happy families, she wouldn’t have to work anymore, and could play tennis and drink wine with the idle. He said, what do you think will happen to Paula? And our children? She seemed to be oblivious to us all, oh, I would just float off, without any money, never thinking we would have to sell the farm, and that he would be worth half, and have to pay child support, oh no, the REAL world, WTF? He could see her unkindness, and how his children would be treated. An inconvenience. I will give him one thing, he is a good dad. So, he wrote off the gallop off into the sunset idea pretty damn quickly. So, that’s when you end things, right?

Wrong.

That is when you make damn sure you have your cake……. and keep eating it, cake supplied by me, and small crumbs supplied by her. Fat bastard!

It took him six months to end it. He says once he woke up and realised he was that arsehole who was cheating, and being a fucktard, it took him six months to extricate himself from her claws. She clung tight. Up until then they were, “just having fun.” But once he started backing away, she started with the threats, the blackmail. Hell, it was pretty bad, she, who is actually in a better cashflow situation than us (single, corporate, one child) actually got $10k out of him, to keep her quiet. But she still threatened to expose him even after he paid her. Finally he cut the ties. Then she realised he meant it, and she texted me with all the details. I think we deserve a refund.

So, this is winning. I won the competition. The competition to keep a cheating arsehole. A competition I didn’t even know I had entered. Yay me! 

Snap Out Of It! Arctic Monkeys

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From Later with Jools Holland. You could take this so many ways 🙂 Took six teens to their Auckland gig a few weeks back, who had an absolute ball (legendary mother who takes many neighbourhood kids to the Big Smoke for international acts – when really just a rock chick at heart!) I remember going several years ago on my birthday to their first NZ gig – pretty sure it was during his affair. Back when I used to have genuine, unadulterated (unadulteried) fun.

“Snap Out Of It”

What’s been happening in your world?
What have you been up to?
I heard that you fell in love
Or near enough
I gotta tell you the truth…

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake baby
Snap out of it (Snap out of it)
I get the feeling I left it too late, but baby
Snap out of it (Snap out of it)
If that watch don’t continue to swing or the fat lady fancies having a sing
I’ll be here waiting ever so patiently for you to
Snap out of it

Forever isn’t for everyone
Is forever for you?
It sounds like settling down or giving up
But it don’t sound much like you girl

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake baby
Snap out of it (Snap out of it)
I get the feeling I left it too late, but baby
Snap out of it (Snap out of it)
If that watch don’t continue to swing or the fat lady fancies having a sing
I’ll be here waiting ever so patiently for you to
Snap out of it

Under a spell you’re hypnotized
Darling how could you be so blind?
(Snap out of it)
Under a spell you’re hypnotized
Darling how could you be so blind?

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake baby
Snap out of it (Snap out of it)
I get the feeling I left it too late, but baby
Snap out of it (Snap out of it)
If that watch don’t continue to swing or the fat lady fancies having a sing
I’ll be here waiting ever so patiently for you to
Snap out of it


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Learner’s block…

Here I am, yet again.  In front of a screen, trying to self-motivate about an essay I am struggling with. An essay that seemed like a good idea at the time, but has kind of gone down a dead end road. The research has come up with a million ways to go, but none of them seem to be heading where I need to go to answer the question. I’m so tangled in it that I can’t even see what the question is anymore. I know what the paper is, but I’m not sure what the lecturer was after when she wrote the question, I thought I did, in the beginning, but the further I dive into the essay, the more murky the question has become, not less. I guess this is learning, this happens.  Usually, since I have been back at uni in this incarnation, I have found these start to flow quite well once I have written a plan, made some notes, including a few key quotations from the research. This time, I have found myself floating further and further away from the topic. I keep trying to steer it back in the direction I was originally heading, but it seems to have a faulty rudder.

So, I take breaks, re-gather. Part of the problem is that I have chosen a topic that has a bit of a dearth of written work on it really. I have taken the least number of books home from the library, and found little electronically, other than anecdotal pieces that I am trying to tie into the content in a seamless manner, with an academic slant. It is not so seamless yet! I guess that is what editing looks like! First draft only, and still not complete, so chill out, dude. But it is messy, and I see it and it is not coming together at all well. Normally this close to a deadline, I am well into the editing stage, and I have another big one lined up with a deadline just days later, and life keeps getting in the way.

Kinda like my recovery. I never expected it to be easy, or smooth, or even brief. But I don’t think I expected quite so many loose ends, or quite so much pain to still be a daily part of my life after I worked so hard. I knew it would never be a smooth, scarless wound, but I probably expected it to have started to silver up some more than five years out, instead of the craggy, red, raised mess that it still is. Then I wonder if this is why I am so lost on my academic path, also. Is it just a cluttered mind. Or is this who I am? I think it is partly who I am, I have never been a neat freak, or one to walk from A to B without zigzagging all over the place, like a dog, smelling all the new smells, wriggling along the route, distracted by that pretty flower, that particularly stinky poo. But I always had my eye on the prize. Now I am so unsure of what the prize is, is it there, or is it all a ruse, is it actually over there, or is there a prize at all? Just. Stop. Overthinking it all!

Had a really great chat with Rog this morning, before he headed out, before I opened my laptop to ostensibly give the old essay a kick in the guts. About loss, mostly loss of direction. We chatted about our – particularly my – loss of where I am heading, heck, it isn’t like I was the girl with the list of goals stuck to my fridge, ticking them off as I nailed them, not at all. But there was a certain amount of joint comfort in knowing we were heading down the same path together, even if the destination was a mystery, now we walk far apart, sometimes heading down side roads, alone, in the dark. The safety of having the guy (or girl) that ALWAYS had your back, that you TRUSTED completely, no matter how awful the monster was going to be that popped out and chased you. That has gone. I feel alone all the time now. I know he keeps reaching out for my hand, to try to comfort me, and sometimes to receive the comfort I always had on hand, without fail, before D-day. I seem to refuse to take his hand, both literally and figuratively. Even at the funeral on Friday, he tried to clasp my hand as I fought sobs, the silent tears tumbling down my cheeks, and I just felt alone. And cold. And angry. At the world, but at myself for not being able to let my guard down, to be comforted by the man who loves me and wants to make it all better for me, and for him. I constantly ask why. Why can’t I drop the walls. He has done nothing but try to show me how totally gutted he is at what he did, how truly disgusted he is, how truly understanding of my pain, my loss, my deep sorrow he is. He is one of those who gets it. He got it early on. I think the fact that he looked at what he was doing, and deliberately put an end to it, for reasons that make a whole lot of sense (saw his mental breakdown as that, and realised he had totally screwed up, and could well have ruined his own happiness in the process) to us all, BEFORE I ever latched on to any clues that he might be having an affair (I really never did, not until SHE told me, months after it was over, and only then did I look back and connect the dots) made it easy for him to want to make it right, to come back to me fully and with huge remorse and regret. I can’t see why I can’t accept that what he did was a “blip” and normal transmission has resumed, actually, it could actually be in HD now – better in that we are so much more conscious and aware of …… well, everything really. 

Mmmmm, in my next post, I will address what I have been meaning to for a while, the equation he had to solve, should I stay with Paula, or start over with Leanne. The question he asked himself at about the six month mark of his affair, and the process he used to quickly answer it, and how it took him quite some time to extricate himself from her web, the one he so kindly helped her spin.


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Blah…

The blah-ness of post D-day life is hard to take, huh? The humdrum of this life. I used to bounce out of bed, eager to see what the day would bring. And I didn’t even know I was doing it. Until it was over. Now I notice. I notice what I don’t have anymore.  Blah! I am SICK of noticing the crap. I want to put a line through it all, start over. That is what I strive for, that line, that line that I can’t retreat over when I feel like crap.

One of the problems is I seem to be the shit magnet wherever I go :-). For example, at the funeral on Friday, I walked into the marquee, filled with about a thousand people, and the first person who came almost running up to me, was an old neighbour. And then out of his mouth spilled the most appalling story.  I knew this guy for a long time, not a friend, more of an acquaintance, but a nice enough guy, probably a far too nice guy, a bit of a walk over.  Anyway, I knew he and his wife had separated, seemingly quite amicably some years ago. She moved to a nearby beach town, they had a holiday home there, so she moved in there, with one of their four daughters. The eldest is a uni, and the two younger were at primary school and stayed with their dad. Now, this guy had given his ex-beauty queen wife – who had never had a paid job since they married (is a registered nurse) nor worked on their dairy farm, while he was very hands-on – everything she wanted, beautiful new architecturally designed home, latest model cars, fashion, holiday home, international travel, basically, she had never wanted for anything material. She is not a bad person, just spoiled, a girl who married what she perceived as a lifestyle, but I don’t think she ever loved him, and I don’t think she ever realised how empty life is when everything you want is provided, you never have to fight for anything, earn anything, be disagreed with, her life is unsatisfying, so she left (I never knew details, heard rumours of other men.) Recently they had reconciled, but she was still seeing other men! Long story, she wanted cake. AND she wanted to eat it. It has gone really badly pear-shaped, with her getting violent, and ultimately getting arrested, having protection orders against her (she hurt him physically quite badly several times) and losing custody of the children. He feels terrible, admitted he still has feelings for her, but that divorce is now inevitable. My point is, in a group as large as that, on a day when I was mourning the too-soon death of a young mother and friend, EVEN THEN I was attracting the shitty stuff in life! I made soothing noises, but was completely floored as to why me, why did he single me out and spill his guts. I have no idea if, and/or what he knows of my situation, but although I felt deep sympathy for his situation, I believe he has attracted some of this by being a chump, but also, WHY ME??? 

Just when I feel like I am coming out of a funk, “the universe” conspires to drag me back under? Do I have KICK ME tattooed onto my back? My forehead? I don’t think I am putting out the “I am the person to dump your shit on” vibe! But I must be, so once again

BLAH!!!