Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


23 Comments

Distance

I have been thinking about this post for a few days – so unlike me to almost plan a post! I have been reading about people’s struggles with the skank who decided to fuck their husband. There are many different instances of these women – and I am using a gendered label here because I am addressing my own situation, and those of the women whose blogs I read. Hey, it works both ways, but I will describe it thus, because it seems so many of the bloggers are women who have been cheated on.

Bear with me.

You see, I am a lot further – in terms of time passed – from the cheating that happened in my life than many of the bloggers I read are. That doesn’t give me any grand wisdom, or sense of being more healed, or anything else you might think might happen. But it does mean I have had longer to process this crap, and to live around it. I have noted how damaging the skanks are (I HATE the term “other woman” – they are not women, they are skanks, and putting them in the same frame as women is insulting to us all) the ones who obliterated the lives of many a loving wife and/or mother by thinking it was somehow okay to fuck around with a man who was supposed to be committed to someone else. Hey, I am no cheating husband apologist. The person who “owed” us faithfulness was the man we were committed to, not the skank. However, these skanks are hideous excuses for humanity, scraping up the scraps the legitimate (can I use that word?) relationship leaves behind. As tempted commented to me the other day, they are carrion.

So why do we fixate on these scum? And we all do. We all know how these skuzballs get under our skin, and fuck with our heads. And those are just the “normal” ones, the ones who are embarrassed, or do feel ashamed and scurry away to hide under the nearest rock. What about the ones that Nephila, nothate and I had? The “friends.” Or the ones who go full Fatal Attraction on us? Or both (as in my case.) What power do they have over us that makes us think constantly about them?

It’s pretty simple really. Our self esteem is smashed into unrecognisable shards and dust. So we wonder what was so fucking special about these skanks. They might be prettier, they might be thinner, they might be more intellectual, they might be better in bed. In reality, mostly from the literature and the anecdotal evidence I have seen, they are rarely any of these things. In my case, she was skinnier. But I can’t think of one other way she had anything on me. But did that stop me from kind of trying to “compete?” No, I ran and ran and ran, and I got skinny. Did that make me feel better? Hell no. I felt skinny. That was nice, but I wasn’t any happier. I am a mile over that skank in life.

And that was when I got it. Look who they had turned me into. I was competing with someone on looks, brains, love, everything really. Who the hell is that? I was never one to overly compare people. I celebrated difference. I liked that I wasn’t beauty queen material, but that I have my own allure. I am different to “most” – laugh here, who are most women? – women. I have red hair, fair skin, curves, I think outside the square, I am kind, passionate, love animals and the environment. I have a keen social conscience, I am and have been an activist and am not afraid to speak out. I don’t buy into the cult of celebrity. Why was I becoming a pawn in this game? I didn’t need to compete, and I didn’t WANT to compete. I am mighty and pretty darn awesome the way I am. Hey, we are all growing and changing, but I was buying into the beauty myth, the rat race, and a myriad of other crappy positions that western society encourages us to scrabble for.

So I decided to stop with the nonsense.

It wasn’t easy, I haven’t stopped any of the hurt, any of the recycling of the past and the agony that accompanies it all. But somehow I was able to evict HER from taking up too much tenancy in my brain. She is nothing. Even if she “won,” what exactly was it she won? An ageing, cheating, lying farmer. Good luck with that. The harder part to let go was that even letting HER go, I didn’t want her to “win” by splitting up. I know that even if she didn’t “win” him, she was absolutely certain that we would split. And that was the whole intent of her actions both by letting me know about the affair almost two months after he ended it, and by continuing to harass us for nearly three years afterwards. I didn’t want to walk away, because that meant she would have manipulated me into the exact position she aimed for.

Then I woke up again one day and thought, “so what.” So what if I leave, and she wins? How does that affect me? I mean, in my HEAD I had known this since D-day, but I had struggled with so much anger, and so much need to be heard, to be understood, to be apologised to by her. Eventually, it wasn’t there anymore.

That was the day I realised I no longer cared. She had no hold over me, us, or anything anymore. The battle was a hollow one anyway. I have never since then been tempted to look at her Facebook page, her LinkedIn profile, Twitter feed, Googled her, had to fight the urge to give her house the drive-by if I was in her city – all of which I did, or wanted to do in those first years. I no longer fantasize about torching her house, or spraying FILTHY CUNT in large letters into her manicured front lawn with weed spray. She has no power over me anymore. That is freeing. Does this mean I would be sad if I heard she had been the victim of a home invasion, raped, beaten and slowly, tortuously murdered? HELL NO. But I no longer actively wish that on her, or think about it much at all. I worked out that no injury visited on her would equal the one she visited on me. All I ever wanted for her was happiness and love. Now I am glad she has never experienced either, and I know she hasn’t really, as she has never had what I had, what we had, true, deep, passionate and connected love that made our hearts sing. I know that was what she wanted. She will never have it because she is a sociopathic bitch. TOIL told me some stories about the way she treated people that really made his mind up at the end, she is just nasty and horrid to people. She never makes them feel warm, loved or appreciated, but is always there to kick them when they are down, or even when they are trying to help. I just wish that that zombiefied, undead, unfeeling bitch had never crossed my path again, as this idiot felt sorry for her!

Advertisements


11 Comments

Duck!

So, I popped my head up above the parapet today. I attended the funeral of an old school friend’s mother, making him an orphan, as his dad died in 1989. It was one of those brilliant life celebrations. She wanted happy faces, lovely woman. And as someone very involved in Pink Hope, she had a hot pink casket, and we released pink balloons as the hearse drove her off. I don’t do pink, so was scratching around thinking what the heck am I going to wear, when I found a hot pink lipstick.

But, I digress, that’s unusual!

This guy is single. He was messaging me on Facebook a bit, and I thought it all “old school friends” stuff. Then he invited me to meet him in his city – in a different country! I laughed and showed TOIL, and he read the messages, then told me that old friend was trying to hook up with me. This guy is an old friend of TOIL’s also. I was a bit horrified, as he was a good friend, but not attractive at all! And we have announced no separation. What is up with people?

I was cornered at the funeral by J. She asked that I go out to her house afterwards, and I felt it would be terribly rude not to. When I got out there, she had two other couple friends, yes, drinking wine 😉 . She had a little birthday gift for me, which was cute. Then one of the couples left. And the other woman, A (who is actually a really nice woman) and J told me that the wife, L that had just left had just been caught cheating. I wasn’t surprised, this girl is an entitled person. The funny thing is, I never really warmed to this girl. She is stuck up. But J thought she was great. J used to tell her husband how she was in awe of the love, blah, blah, blah (these two were great ones for PDAs and baby talk in public, ewwww!) The husband is a bit of a lad, but has been an incredibly attentive father and husband. And I felt sick for him. I said, “does he know?” The answer was yes. So I asked if they knew if he was okay. J answered, somewhat sarcastically that “apparently they are fine, and in love, and carrying on building their new mansion.” This poor chump has financed her into so much, Euro cars, high end designer clothes, European and American holidays in the past year, a tropical island one every winter. She got sick of their previous home, and insisted they build a new one, and so far the prep work has been done, and the contractors engaged at the new site. Word is it will be pretty swanky, L has to have the latest and greatest. And yet she thinks she can screw around on the bank.

Just disgusted with humanity. Or certain parts of it.

Hey, it’s not like I thought cheating didn’t happen before it did to me. But now every time I poke my nose out of the cave, BAM!! Another one bites the dust. I literally have not been anywhere social in the last two years and NOT heard about someone screwing around on their spouse or partner. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with people?

Think I will just stay low in my cave, the real world sucks.

DUCK!!!


12 Comments

I can’t be arsed

Well, the posts have dried up somewhat here. I am just, you know, blah. Again. Always.

It was my birthday yesterday, my sixth since D-day. And I am pissed that I have made no progress! I hated yesterday. Hated it. I had made plans to go see a foreign film on my way home from uni.

But I couldn’t be arsed.

Can I have that tattooed on my forehead?

I can’t be arsed.

New record required, this one is stuck badly.

My old bestie got in touch, wanting to do something. Like I don’t hear from her for literally months at a time – and she lives nearby – and when some excuse to drink wine comes along (hey, she drinks wine with someone most nights of the week, I wouldn’t have thought she was short of reasons!) she plays nice. Hmmmm, cynical much, Paula? I should be bigger than this, I should have just accepted her gesture, but that is how I have always operated in this life, letting people treat me like shit, and forgiving them and playing nice. That is not even who I thought I was. I was woman, did you hear me roar! But I have subjugated myself for years, trying to please everyone else. I think it started with getting pregnant “by mistake” and feeling like I had to pull my head in, take my medicine, be a mother, in the traditional sense. I had to grow up fast, and I got to be Ms Responsible, as TOIL was still pretty free to come and go. That is not to say that he wasn’t a good dad, but he wasn’t the one who gave up his freedom to the same degree. All my friends were travelling, partying, getting fantastic, or at least quite satisfactory careers off the ground. I was at home, milking cows, feeding calves, toddlers and babies. Buzzkill much?

So I told her I was busy, that I couldn’t catch up.

And felt guilty. I sat at home, picking gingerly at an antipasto platter. I felt guilty because I was J’s buzzkill. TOIL asked me if I wanted to go out somewhere with him, he made suggestions. I said, no thanks, I can’t be arsed getting showered, hair washed, made up and dressed, then drive anywhere. The effort. He looked at me sadly all evening. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He grabbed my foot on the couch and rubbed it. This is what he does when he can’t fix anything. It drives me nuts that I am not happier. I used to pretend, trying to fake it ’til I made it. I can’t be arsed anymore.

Apathy is an insidious “thing.” I know this, I have fought apathy my whole life, about anything. I was an activist, I stood up for causes, for what I thought, for the people I loved, and for those without a voice of their own. I expressed opinions, I was mighty, and I roared often! Now, here I am, just Ms I-can’t-be-arsed. How pathetic!

So, I am going to sign off with the best of intentions to sit on the can’t-be’arsed-arse and start the first of these assignments!


7 Comments

Cosy

It is cold here. Temperatures in the negatives first thing in the morning and snow on the small mountain I skirt around to go to uni one way around, and work the other side of. I have never seen snow this low. Never on this little mountain. Snow is a rarity where I live, a fresh dusting one night every few years on the mountain range I live near, and that causes much excitement. Usually melted by the afternoon.

I was doing my usual mind meandering on my way home from work tonight. Sometimes I wish my mind was a blank canvas, and I didn’t constantly THINK. But I know this is me, always has been, always will be. I think. Thinking is like breathing. You die if you don’t.

Tonight’s gem I dragged up was about music festivals. I think it was triggered by a song on the radio and what the males in the family are up to this evening. Goes something like this. My eldest daughter and I went to quite a few music festivals together in her early teens. We have similar taste in music, she of course introduced me to more, and I educated her ;-). One of the first ones we went to together was at the end of his affair. And it was in skankola’s city. TOIL suggested we stay with skankola while we were up there. Yep. You did read that right. He really did. He suggested that his daughter, and his partner, supposedly the love-of-his-life (he still tells me that) stay with the woman he had been secretly fucking for a year. Isn’t that cosy? I wonder why I said no?!! I just thought it bizarre, and I didn’t even have a clue they WERE fucking.

I mean really, who was this guy even???

He has taken our nearly 18 year old son and his mate up to the same city tonight to watch one of our local football teams play a visiting West Ham United side. Should be a cold but fun night for them.

I wonder if he ever thinks of staying with her, or remembers that he suggested we do? I doubt it. He has pretty much, in many ways, forgotten about her. He has forgotten that he fucked up our whole lives for a selfish, trashy low life, piece of shit, some regular bad sex and a lot of being told how fun and great he was. Funny when he was the least fun or great he has ever been. If I wasn’t so permanently scarred by what he chose for me, he would never give it all another thought. He even told me the other day that if he didn’t know better, he would think it was all a weird, fucked up dream, “did I really do that shit? No way.” The time between then and now has made it all fuzzy. For him.

Just my little piece of sunshine for today. Off to watch the youngest play hockey and drop off a little lamb to my god-daughter, yes, the one whose mother I no longer really talk to, my former best friend. But my god-daughter Instagram and Snapchatted (basically cyber begging me 🙂 ) asking me if I had one last weekend, and I would never deny her. Fun times!


29 Comments

New rules

A man I live with read a post on my blog yesterday. He told me about it. He asked that I change names/use pseudonyms. I think that is reasonable. I will slowly go over old posts and edit these. Bear with me as I do if you are looking at anything in the dusty old archives!

I must admit, when I first started blogging, I asked those questions of myself. I guess I came to the conclusion that I didn’t care. I wasn’t telling anything but MY truth, so where was the harm in using real names. I guess I have changed my mind – rather, had it changed for me. But I am okay with that.

I live in a small country. I haven’t come across a lot of people blogging about infidelity in the way I do, from here – that is not to say that we don’t have infidelity – good lord no! I guess I had time on my side, all of the hurtful stuff happened six years ago so I doubted any “real” people involved would stumble across my still-bleeding internet corpse. But, maybe he has a point.

So I am going with it.

I haven’t decided on how I will label the players yet, but as soon as I do I will make the changes. I won’t change me though, I am still Paula, at least I was last time I looked in the mirror (and into my soul ooooOOOOOOoooooh!)

That man is a technophobe. So much so that he doesn’t, and never has, used social media. I never thought he wouldn’t know what a blog contained. He knows I have read these for a long time, and he also knew that I eventually started one. He didn’t get that it would be quite graphic (despite me telling him) and that is is basically a version of a twelvie’s Dear Diary. I think he was a little shocked – and probably a little hurt – although he denied this. But why else ask if I could change names? I am doing this out of respect for him. Not because I feel bullied into it, or that I did something wrong in using my truth, including names. In fact, as I type this, the only name I think I will change is his. Leanne deserves to be named and shamed – as if, lol! I have no problem if anyone thinks they know who these characters are. I am not ashamed of the role I have played in any of this.

So, there you are. Maybe I still “rescue” him. I don’t think I do. I think I am just respecting his right to privacy. Even though he didn’t respect my rights to good sexual health, love, trust and a lifetime partnership based on that love and trust.

(Oooooohhh, who made that snarky last bite???)


Leave a comment

Eez-eh!

Love these guys, and one of my favourite festival acts ever! Have fun! So many pertinent lyrics, huh? 😉

“Eez-Eh”

I ain’t easy
And I make you mad
Least I ain’t sleazy
I’m just trying to put the world to right
If you want to, I’ll take you out
And I got the feeling that I’m gonna keep you up all
Gonna keep you up all
Gonna keep you up all night

Tired of taking orders
Coping with disorders
The wrong men have the power
It’s turning my milk sour
We’re tired of taking orders
Coping with disorders
The wrong men have the power
It’s turning my milk sour
Turning my milk sour
Turning my milk sour

I ain’t easy
And I make you mad
Least I ain’t sleazy
I’m just trying to put the world to rights
And if you want to, I’ll take you out
Cause I got the feeling that I’m gonna keep you up all night

I ain’t easy
But I ain’t that bad
No rhyme or reason, I’m just trying to set the world alight
You got problems, well so have I
And I got the feeling that I’m gonna keep you up all
Gonna keep you up all
Gonna keep you up all night

There’s cobras in the moshpit
Finally we lost it
Everyday is brutal
Now we’re being watched by Google
Gotta keep it simple
Sending out a signal
Everyday is brutal
Now we’re being watched by Google
Being watched by Google
Being watched by Google

I ain’t easy
And I make you mad
Least I ain’t sleazy
I’m just trying to put the world to rights
And if you want to, I’ll take you out
Cause I got the feeling that I’m gonna keep you up all night

I ain’t easy
But I ain’t that bad
No rhyme or reason, I’m just trying to set the world alight
You got problems, well so have I
And I got the feeling that I’m gonna keep you up all
Gonna keep you up all
Gonna keep you up all night


19 Comments

Replay

Ha! I had a blogging moment last night, wrote a post and it disappeared, the only evidence it ever existed (and I am not going crazy, thinking I had written one, but hadn’t) was the title. I gave up!

Just a meandering post about triggers, mental imagery and how even after five years, two months and two days, and a separate life from TOIL, I still get them. In fact, it might be more relevant to talk about the times I don’t, as I really have had little (no) respite from any of the mental film-festival-of-fucked-up in all this time.

Yesterday’s was a moment that I realised was probably delayed from the few days at the lake. I don’t freak out about sleeping in that bed anymore, but it still goes through my mind, what they did there. I mean, it is pretty sick. I took her there alone, without him, I don’t know why she came? I don’t think it was cover for the affair, as she wanted to uncover it, not keep his secret. I wonder if she was scoping me out, trying to find my underbelly, where she could put the knife in most successfully? I wonder if know that she is a cheapskate, so I guess it was just free holidays. I mean, I get why she came when HE was there, but why would you come and holiday with just me and the kids???

So, the times that we were all there together, I just feel so stupid, and actually really sick about. I mean, he says they never touched while I was there, but I call bullshit. I can imagine that when I was out of the house, that they walked past each other, dragging their fingers over each others’ arses, maybe pants, feeling out the “goods.” This MUST have happened, I mean how can you stay with someone for a week, that you are besotted by, and not cop a feel? Maybe sneaked a quick kiss. He has always denied this. I remember one time we were there and he refused morning sex with me! I mean, in 21 years, he had never refused sex, let alone use-that-morning-hardness sex. He told me it was because our friend (cackling like a hyena here) was in the next room, and the “soundproofing is not so great down here.” I grinned at him with “let’s just do it in silence then, that can be hot!” He wouldn’t. Turns out he had promised her that he wouldn’t fuck me while we were all under the same roof. (Ha, we did, take that bitch, not then, but we did it that night!) I mean, WTF???

I was driving home from uni last night, and felt that hotness, that battle to keep tears at bay, as I remembered (and when I remember, I SEE it in 3D, full Technicolor) how they fucked in our son’s bed. I was at work, and she gleefully drove down. When she arrived, I could see TOIL smile, and grab her hand, as they bounded up the stairs, for him to eat her out on our boy’s bed, then fuck hard. All the while, I was at work, earning for our family, stressed about the kids, and how I was going to get to pick them all up that night and shop, and get dinner, and…… All he was doing was fucking in our son’s bed. So disgusting.

I have a theory. Not a particularly original one. But I believe I have put up with a lot of crap from a lot of people I should have ejected from my life over the years, but as a pleaser, I have instead, “played nice,” forgiven and carried on. This time, I believe all of this pain, and the replayed stories are my psyche’s way of protecting me. I know whenever I think of my friend J, I remember one of the times she wan’t there for me, couldn’t empathise with what I am going through, like the time I was facing nass-tee treatment for cervical cancer, caused by the HPV they infected me with, and she said, very flippantly, “oh, just have an hysterectomy, you’ve finished your family.” I think I do the same constantly about TOIL. I know he is not the guy he was then, but I refuse to let him anywhere near me again, and use the replays of the shit he did to keep me on track in keeping him away.

Not useful.

Not useful at all.

Hey psyche, I get it!