Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum



Took my almost-sixteen-year-old daughter – the youngest – laptop shopping at the weekend. We took a friend of hers, and saw a fun, British romcom as well.

I avoid these now, even more than ever. But they wanted me to come.

I guess I could say I am a cynic, always was. The formulaic nature of these always made me mutter into my popcorn, “yeah, right!” But I also secretly liked the fluff. It mirrored my own love story so often. And the British take is usually fun, with quirky characters and the kind of humour I understand.

Just don’t tell anyone! (Embarrassed, shushhhhh…..)

But now it all just makes me tearful. I didn’t let loose with any, but boy, I sure felt a few quivers of the old bottom lip! What do you do when you want to just jump up in the middle and scream, “yeah, that’s bloody marvellous, but what about when he starts fucking your friend after more than twenty years of this wonderful love story?!!! What about that, huh? Make a damn movie about that shit! One that doesn’t make the whore the ‘love of his life’ and them as ‘just being with the wrong people/misunderstood/sexless/unappreciated.’ I dare ya!”

Anyway, what with that, and a friend’s mother dying (cancer) over the weekend, and I was at his house when he was fielding calls, etc, it was probably a bit of an emotional time. Daughter and I got talking on the way home, after we had dropped her friend home.  It was the first time I have talked to her since the actual, “I’m sorry guys, I’m leaving your father and I need to tell you why,” speech around four or five years ago. We left the door open for them to talk to us, and there has been the odd small thing, but really all three of the kids haven’t delved any further into the whats, wheres and whys. I thought it best not to use them as sounding boards, but to be honest and leave it open ended, they could always ask either one of us whatever they liked. We both made that abundantly clear. I asked if she had shared any of how we are, and what happened with her friends. She said, she has, with a couple of close friends. They are sad for her, and supportive, mostly. But twice she has found friends have made the kind of comment that goes, “well, that’s no surprise, your Dad is an arsehole!” She said she thought he was an arsehole at first, too. Was very pissed off with him. But as time has gone by, she can see that he made an awful series of choices, and then realised he had screwed up and tried to fix them. He’s her Dad, and when someone dissed him, she was mad! I felt for that poor wee mite. Then I turned to her and I said, “for me, one of the saddest parts is that you don’t know how great, how in love, and how connected and special we were for those first twenty plus years, this has been going on so long, and you are so young, you haven’t ever seen what a good relationship looks like at home.” She quickly said, “oh, no Mum, I remember, you guys were awesome, I remember how you used to always touch, always look at each other with such softness and kindness, how you seemed to be kind of the same person, or at least so on the same page, you guys were ‘better’ than all my friends’ parents. Don’t worry, it hasn’t put me off guys, but I will be really careful to make sure I pick a good one.” I quietly said, “yes, I know what you mean, my parents’ situation did all of that to me, and I also thought really long and hard about giving my heart to someone to take care of, the awful part is, you can truly think you’ve got it right, but they can still explode your world, sorry to shatter your ideas about knowing someone’s character, darling.” She nodded, and said she knows, she knows that Dad is a good guy, but he fucked up – and she’s sorry. I just apologised to her for making it all seem so much harder than it should be. She said that’s a good thing, not a bad one.

She is as wise as I was at fifteen. Why wasn’t that enough?

That broke what is left of this heart. I thought she didn’t know about “fabulous us.” Bless her.

And the continuum of the damages done just stretches on and on…..



Driver, driver

Two down, one to go.

Middle child just passed his full licence, the first time he has passed a driving test on his first attempt in this process. Poor dude, took three goes at his learners’ and four at his restricted! Was tres frustrating. And tres expensive! For both of us. (His sister passed all three on first attempts, and he assumed he would also.) He is always supremely confident in his own abilities – as 17 year old guys can be.

Woop, woop!

Yes, that is an actual photo of him. Handsome guy. I know. Takes after his mother.


The freedom for me that this represents is huge. Means he can now drive his little sister about and I am not longer as tied to taxi driving every day.



This is the day

This is the kind of thing I try to tell myself constantly.

(Not to mention  a really cheesy mainstream song that has some strong memories associated with it from my school days and into my first year at university, missing my boyfriend who went to uni in another part of the country. I ended it with him because we were heading off to new worlds, but we remained close throughout my younger years, and had an on-off thing going on for about four years.)



Well you didn’t wake up this morning ’cause you didn’t go to bed
You were watching the whites of your eyes turn red
The calendar on your wall is ticking the days off
You’ve been reading some old letters
You smile and think how much you’ve changed
All the money in the world couldn’t buy back those days

You pull back the curtains, and the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying across a clear blue sky
This is the day your life will surely change
This is the day when things fall into place

You could’ve done anything, if you’d wanted
And all your friends and family think that you’re lucky
But the side of you they’ll never see
Is when you’re left alone with the memories
That hold your life together like glue

You pull back the curtains, and the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying across a clear blue sky
This is the day your life will surely change
This is the day when things fall into place

This is the day your life will surely change
This is the day your life will surely change
This is the day your life will surely change



16 May 2009 sure was the day my life changed. Let’s hope it changes again soon, in another direction. I’m working on it 🙂


The further I go, the worse I get. Unrecovery. Yes, it’s a word. Because I say so.

I really don’t know what the hell will become of me.

I am such a changed creature from the one I thought I was before this.

My discourse about myself prior to this included words and phrases like; strong, capable, loving, passionate, kind, tough, positive, resilient, yes vulnerable, a fantastic friend who would always have your back, compassionate, sensible-yet-fun-loving, empathetic, liberal, sexy, oh-so-sexy, oh-so-up-for-bedroom-adventures, fuck that, ANYWHERE hot, sexual adventures, hard-working, bright, an astute and accurate reader of the human condition, including character.

Yet, my self-discursive head chat now goes something like this, “you were stupid, you believed liars, you are now totally screwed because you can’t get better, STOP talking to yourself this way, you are killing yourself. You will never get better, the nightmares are still appalling, how can I stop them, how can I stop the mind movies, how can I stop my skin crawling at human touch, how will I ever get my sexual mojo back, never mind, it doesn’t matter, you don’t need sex, or even masturbation/orgasms to live…….” and on and on and on……

How the fuck do you shut that bitch up???

I am trying to do less blogging, but of course, you fall in the pits and that is when I find I start itching to vomit it all out here. I had a really weirdly weepy day yesterday. I didn’t actually weep. Only because I was at uni all day. I know I was already a bit vulnerable before the day begun, I will go into that a little soon. Then, in two lectures, I watched film clips that made me weepy, silly things, a young woman struggling with relationships, and packing her days from 6am-11pm with “stuff” activities, work, exercise, volunteering, trying to find meaning in her life after her mother abandoned her at 13 because in court they made her “choose” which parent to live with, and later, a flashback to the assassination in Quebec, of Pierre Laporte, in 1970.

Seriously. WTF Paula!

So, the reason I am down in this oh-so-fucking-familiar pit at present is mostly about some decisions I made recently. Some promises I made myself. Roger – hell, I’m done with the pseudonyms, I have only used them in the body of posts to appease his sensibilities anyway, always replied using his given name – and I talked a while back, and he pretty much told me what I already knew. He feels like what we talk about gives us nothing new anymore, it doesn’t help either one of us. He is probably right. But the purpose it served for me was to avoid falling in the pits. Nevertheless, I decided that if I am leaving him, there is no way he needs to be there, listening to me talk, trying to help solve my pain anymore.

So I promised myself to stop talking to him.

Only problem is, he is my only friend. He has been my only support throughout all of this. Well, that’s not quite true, my dearest old, lifetime friend, J, was fantastically patient for the first year, I leaned on her a lot. But after a year, I knew I needed to lose the crutch. Besides, she had no idea what I was feeling, and going through, she is lovely, but she doesn’t, can’t possibly, understand. She saw us together (has always liked Rog, thought he was the most awesome partner and father, and saw us have such a lot of fun together) and thought, okay, they had a moment, then you forgive and move on. And if this hadn’t happened to me, I would have felt the same looking in through the window. But not talking to him is like torture, the toxins build up in my veins, and I slowly rot.

But that hasn’t happened for me. I feel so fucking trapped by my misery, and I punch it in the face, and the genitals daily, but that MOFO is a tough sonofabitch! The frustration I feel at not kicking this in the arse is immense. I feel unworthy. I feel weak. I feel defeated. And I feel angry that I allow myself these pity parties, holy shit, the world is still orbiting the sun! I have three healthy, happy kids who are achieving, and growing, and pushing their boundaries in safe ways, looking to the world and life’s big adventures ahead. I live in an idyllic location, chooks, vege garden, fruit trees, home killed organic meat. I am grateful, but why is that not enough anymore? Honestly, the sun went out on my life the night Leanne texted me with the details of their (ended) affair. My world imploded. Okay, we all know this, most of you reading here have felt this. But why can’t I get a rebuild? A stronger life from what I have learned? I mean, Christchurch fell over because it was built without much thought about earthquakes. After the big ones hit, they regrouped and the rebuild is thoughtful, cleverly designed, aesthetically beautiful, and yes, to earthquake standards, now they KNOW they sit on some faultlines. Why does my rebuild not stick? What is it in my brain that self-sabotages?

Is the most helpless and pathetic I have ever felt in my life. Take fucking charge. Forge on. I do, but I can’t seem to keep any power up to the engines. I know I am exhausted.

The only thing that keeps me going, that has the last spark of my life glowing, is my studies. And I can’t say I love it. I am still scared every day that the facade of “success” will fall. I push myself to complete assignments, willing myself to throw myself over the finish line. But I am doing well, and if I didn’t have it, I would actually (no exaggeration) lose the will to live.

How pathetic is that?



Yesterday I found a couple of really bizarre messages on Facebook.

They were those ones that someone who isn’t your friend leaves, so they doesn’t show up on your message feed. But I found them when reading another one. Someone left me two messages. They were sent in July this year and then in September. It was obviously someone who had made up a fake page. No photos, fully private.

It was about a woman I know. She was married to TOIL’s best mate. She cheated, with her best-friend-and-business-partner’s husband. And she left her husband, two little kids in tow, to be with her friend’s husband (he also had two little kids, the same age.)

It wasn’t the first time she cheated. But we didn’t know that at the time. I considered her a friend. But when she did this, I told her I was terribly disappointed, and I could not longer be her friend. (Just not quite so politely as I have here!)

They moved away.

Years later, they moved back to the area. Thirteen years after they tore their first families apart, he told her to leave. She did, and there was another woman involved, I am still not sure if there was sexual cheating, she says not, but who cares, it’s all pretty horrid.

We got back in touch. Not much. She was sad, thought he was her “soulmate,” (cough!) but seemed to be getting on with her life. She recently finished an undergrad degree and is doing her Masters now. She has a new man, and has moved to his country. When she lived here, she lived in a nearby city, and we talked. She always got on really well with TOIL, and she seemed genuinely sorry (despite her own past) that we had this happen to us, or rather, that he chose this for us. But that was about it, I never got close to her again, I couldn’t, I knew her character too well. But we chatted, and became friends on Facebook. I even went to a couple of arthouse movies with her, and TOIL, her, me and another friend who lives over their way went to a concert together earlier this year.

The weird message was all about her, about trying to disparage her character. Seriously! It’s been sixteen years since TOIL’s best mate and this woman, P, divorced. He remarried, to someone who he was probably already starting an inappropriate relationship with for a married man (he suspected P was having an affair, and he was spending time with his current wife, who happens to be his brother’s ex – I know, sick world I live in!) and has two more children, everyone “moved on.” I have two thoughts about who sent the messages, and it doesn’t matter, because I am ignoring them. But, really? All this time later? And I know who P is, she showed us all who she is when she cheated, and didn’t care that she broke her best friend’s heart. Her only worry was that if he cheated with her, he could cheat on her – hahahaha! Aren’t they classics, these cheaters??? She has a bizarre sense of what is okay to do – a lack of moral fibre, character, whatever you would like to describe it as. Yes, I did see her from time to time, over a decade after her most public poor behaviour. I have my reasons, mostly that I saw no one, and it was good to escape my small town and go see a good movie with an intelligent woman who knew my feelings about her poor morals. Maybe I was wrong. But I am comfortable with it. No one here cared enough about me to keep me company. If we put her shit to one side, I got to escape for a few hours once or twice a year. There were no lies, and no one was getting hurt.

I mean, how old are we? For someone to leave me secret, anonymous messages, like some twelvie. Grow the fuck up.

The world has gone mad.

1 Comment

burning bridges

More Broods 🙂


Hmmm, I guess their slightly ethereal pop speaks to the betrayed. Or at least me. I could pick three or four of their tunes to reflect how I see my life now. Never Gonna Change is the other one I feel works for me at this stage of my life. I feel like I have burned a lot of bridges, and yes, there are some gentle regrets, but not enough to bother going to the effort of rebuilding any of them – most of them were pretty rotten anyway, and overdue for demolition.

I think the very worst of what happened in our circumstances is that we both know we had a beautiful thing, and we both know he gave that up for a brief moment (in a lifetime) of the easy soothing of a difficult period – for him – it was more difficult for me, and I just put my head down, and arse up, and got stuck into working through the shit. I didn’t stop and take a detour, I did the hard yards. And I didn’t even choose the path in the first place, that was him. I am still struggling with grief, and it really does infuriate me no end. I mean, give it up already, Paula! You can’t change any of this, you can only change the way you deal with it, so do THAT!


Gave you a minute
When you needed an hour
Just to push it aside
Instead of leaving it behind you

If any word that I said
Could have made you forget
I’d have given you them all
But it was all in your head

And we’re burning all the bridges now
Watching them go up in flames
No way to build them up again

Now we’re burning all the bridges now
‘Cause it was sink or swim and I went down, down, down

And we’re burning all the bridges
Burning all the bridges now
And we’re burning all the bridges
Burning all the bridges now

If I didn’t kill it
Would you still say you needed me?
Guess I walked right into it
Guess I made it too easy

If any word that you said could have made me forget
Would I get up off the floor
Cause this is all in my head

And we’re burning all the bridges now
Watching them go up in flames
No way to build them up again

And we’re burning all the bridges
Burning all the bridges now
And we’re burning all the bridges
Burning all the bridges now

Can we forget about it?
Can we forget?
Can we forget about it?
Can we forget?

Burning all the bridges
Burning all the bridges now
And we’re burning all the bridges
Burning all the bridges now