I wonder why I didn’t blog in the beginning? I never even thought to look online for much help. I mean, I did Google affairs, etc, but never really thought of the blogging community. I wonder if I thought it would pass, the feelings I felt in the aftermath of the demise of The Greatest Love Story Ever Told – ahem, MY love story guys, NOT the stupid affair, that was just shits and giggles (mostly at my expense, I fear!)
When I eventually did start with the internet shit, it was on sites about reconciliation, sites that “proved” that you could Have a Better Marriage, see, look at US, my husband’s affair made us BETTER, SEE, SEE, LOOK AT US, don’t we LOOK so happy [jabbing husband in the ribs, hissing, “look happier, stupid-cheating-liar husband!”] I thought it was helping, but in retrospect, maybe I was asking myself to do something I have never been good at – no, not forgiving, I think I am okay-ish at that (friendships that I should have terminated years ago, but I FORGAVE the person for things maybe I should have talked with them about, and maybe moved away from?) but moving on without the baggage weighing so damn heavily.
In the beginning, although my heart was so very splintered, bruised, stomped on and burned, I thought I loved this man too much to walk away from his “mistake” – (it was an accident, my dick accidentally fell in her vagina) sorry, he never said or suggested anything like that, but a mistake I understand, this is a mistake. But fucking my friend, in my houses, all over my property, while I am at work all hours given because YOU BOUGHT A FUCKING LEMON OF A FARM THAT DOESN’T MAKE ENOUGH MONEY FOR US TO LIVE WELL ON, that is no mistake, or it is a series of really fucking huge ones, and you are a VERY fucking fuckity fuck-ing slow learner!
Anyway, this post is about how much anger and venom still gets spouted here. I am not really like this IRL. I look okay. I ACT okay. I just wish anyone here reading about my crap could see there is more to me than pain and regret. I used to be fun. I used to HAVE fun. I used to think we were going to be okay. I thought that for at least three years, probably longer. He is so damn sorry, and so damn patient, and he loves me so damn much, but I am not better. We do not have a Better (non)Marriage. I cannot write a bestselling book titled How My Partner Fucked Around, Shared His Hopes and Fears With a Class A Whore-Posing-As-Friend and We Are Now So Fucking Great, Suck It Bitch!
So, I wish I had posted as old Paula, that kind, sexy, loud, funny, loving, go-getting, kick-arse bitch that she was. The one who he fucked hard in haybarns in the rain, bent over the bonnet of his ute, or slowly, tantalisingly pressed up against the interior wall of the stables, sweat pouring down her naked body as he licked it off, the one he literally ripped the clothes off in the middle of an open paddock and went down on in a thunder storm, who rode him like a cowgirl, who he took and seduced with a candlelight gourmet dinner he lovingly prepared in the maimai, the place of choice they fucked in mostly, in an attempt to reclaim it as “ours” on a cowhide rug in front of the fire, the one who did anything and everything for and to him. Then you might see me. The one who still exists only in my head. Then this whiny person posting here wouldn’t look so bloody pitiful. I miss old Paula, I liked her, she was great to have a few drinks with, dance a little, talk to for hours, she was a great listener, despite being a loud mouth who talked too much, a rare combination, a loud-mouth-who-actually-listens.
So, to all my friends here, this isn’t me, this is a social construct, this pathetic excuse for a “recovering” betrayed partner. Old Paula was mighty, and I don’t know how to resurrect her, I thought she would just “come back” with time.