Hi-de-hi campers. I have reached the teaching recess at uni – PHEW!!!
Only two assignments due soon – one near the end of the break – a short review (shouldn’t take too long) and a start on some fieldwork for a bigger 3000 word one. I also need to make a proper start on a research project for a cultural linguistics paper (something I am completely new to) with my language consultant. I am working with one of the vets from work – she is Swedish, and promised she would help me if I bring wine!
So, work is getting crazy – I am hoping to get ahead while I am not attending lectures as the wheels are starting to spin pretty fast.
In between all of this, I am coming to some interesting conclusions. I mean, they’re not new, but I am firming up some ideas about all of this infidelity crap. Slow learner.
It’s been five years, three months and one week since D-day.
I have really struggled with recovery, whatever that even means. And I have beaten myself up about my inability to “be okay” this far out, with a truly remorseful man, who I know had a long, slow brain explosion (what even is that, a sloppy, overflowing brain melt???) I read about the occasional person who seems to be able to carry on with the person who ripped their heart out – but I am not like that, and I SOOOOOOO wanted to be. I wanted to prove to Leanne that I LOVED HARDER, that I was BETTER than her, our love was MASSIVE, and would overcome all. I wanted the world to see how strong I am, how AMAZING our love was, “see, I love him so much I can forgive him for making me ill, completely fucked in the head, and I will GROW from this.” But most of all, I wanted this. I wanted to have the love and the man I thought I always had. I still wanted that. I still loved the man, for God’s sake! I wanted our wonderful love story to carry on.
But, I am Paula. I forgot to factor that in.
I write people off when they hurt me. I mean, not usually straight away, they have to keep stabbing me a few times before I’m done, but when I’m done, that’s it. I think that although I understand why TOIL kept replying to her texts in the beginning, even when I said, “starve the bitch of oxygen” (he was trying to PROTECT me – well, partly, partly he was trying to prove to himself that he could go without her, that he was like the alcoholic who could go to bars and not drink, and partly he was so great, he could MANAGE crazy.) I even understand why he re-visited the fucking her when I kicked him out (“why have I fucked up my whole life for some fucking whore? Is she all that after all? I better just try it out one more time. Maybe she is okay?”) But those two years of work were immediately undermined by the distasteful speed at which he hooked up with her again.
Anyway, we’ve all heard this record before.
I just got to a point, eventually, where I knew I was too hurt, PERMANENTLY hurt, to allow myself to test with a bare skin touch whether that ouchy fire was still ouchy. And people don’t get it. They think I am vindictive, not forgiving enough, that I think I am so almighty that I think I don’t make mistakes. I judged myself (still do too much) by those standards. I mean, TOIL is a lovely man, he is kind, patient, funny and just self-deprecating enough. He even looks just like a guy I used to adore, admire, respect, LOVE even.
But he fucked my “friend” in my homes, vehicles, on my property, in my kids’ beds, on my furniture, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. I can’t unsee that in my mind’s eye. I can’t undisease my body. Yes, I seem to be cured, but it still happened, I will need to be vigilant with my sexual health forever now. If I ever have sex with anyone else, I will need to let them know that I am an HPV carrier, and that condoms don’t protect against that. (To be fair, most men don’t give a fuck – how does that affect them? It will really only affect a future partner after me. Men. You gotta feel sick about them.)
And I see the people who carry on with their reformed cheaters (the real ones, the genuine ones who really have learnt and changed, TOTALLY understanding and remorseful, with their guard turned right up high about boundaries forever after) and I am jealous. Jealous as hell.
But, if I’m honest, doubtful. Extremely cynical. How will they ever love properly again? How will they ever feel safe, be able to trust enough not to be paranoid of women/men talking to their partner for “too long” touching their arm, maybe electronic contact (for work reasons, a genuine friendship, that kind of thing.) How?
I also see the others, the ones who carry on, but neither they, nor I am convinced of the genuineness of the reformation. I have found out some more about the recent couple (the ones I got in “trouble” with TOIL about for mentioning here) who had cheating happen to them. Apparently the woman (cheater) who is now home with her husband, and they are carrying on (at least in public) like “nothing is wrong here, nothing to see here,” well, when she left her husband for the OM, he left his wife and four kids – they swiftly moved to another country! He then took Ms Skanky-Pants to meet his parents, and they shut the door in her face! (I would have loved to see that – she is such a pious bitch, better than everyone else – she would have been most upset that Mummy and Daddy didn’t welcome her with open arms – I mean, twu wuv is so overpowering, they HAD to be together, why don’t they UNDERSTAND???) Fairly quickly, she was back with hubby. I mean, it’s a small town, I didn’t even know she had left! Meanwhile, Mr Cheater had lost his family – they live in another country now (good fucking job!!!) She posts on Fakebook all about the lovely things her husband does for her – LOOK! We are out to dinner at the swankiest new restaurant! And now we are on a tropical island! Look at my brand new BMW SUV! Poor chumpy man. You can’t buy love. You can’t even buy fidelity.
And that is the problem. That is who I am. I don’t trust people who lie. Never have. I am like that. I write people off.
I wish this wan’t me. I wish I could push the crap into one corner, and know that the wall around the crap is now high enough, secure enough, and there is an armed guard to ensure it won’t escape. But, I don’t trust the guards not to fall asleep, I don’t trust that the wall won’t crumble, and someone will miss it, and the hole will allow the crap out.
But most of all, that wall around the crap is so damn UNSIGHTLY. I can’t stand to look at it, and I know I can’t move it out of sight either.
So, my love wasn’t better than anyone else’s. It wasn’t bigger than anyone else’s. I don’t even know why I thought it was?!
Love does NOT conquer all.
It conquers a whole lot, but it doesn’t conquer arseholery.