Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


It got old

I think I have almost come to the end. Blogging. There’s nothing new to say, and I have moved no further towards healing than I was before I started.

In these past five and a half years, I have ridden the roller coaster. At first, for the first year or two, although I never wanted to get on the ride, I mostly felt kinda positive about it. I thought our “special bond,” our “amazing love,” (choke, gag) would get us through this mess. We seemed to be doing well. He “got it.” He was really, really, really sorry, really, really, really embarrassed, really, really, really open to fixing what he broke. He was voluntarily transparent, he tried so hard to make me feel safe and loved again. He attended all counselling I suggested, he even read – well, a bit – but more than many. He listened, he held me, he “understood.”

But, am I healed? Am I anywhere near the feisty, bright, “sparkly” redhaired go-get-’em girl I was before this crap?

Nope. Not even close.

Until about a year ago, I was sure time would heal. If I could see him live more authentically, if I could plan MY future a little more than I had, if I could get my children happily launched in life, I would be okay again.

Why am I not better? Is this the real Paula? A person incapable of making herself happy?

Maybe. Interesting, because I thought not until this crap. I am not as strong, as resilient as I had been in the past, as the person I imagined myself to be.

This journey he crashed-started us on meant we would have both learned so much, and yes, he has.

I seem to have learned “miserable.”

I don’t think I have learned much more than that there are a lot more selfish people in the world than even I had accounted for. And some of them look just like you and I! People can be shits because they have no empathy/feel lost or entitled. But “good” people don’t. They have this little inner voice that says, “hell, that looks like fun/a distraction/like I could enjoy that” but then it is closely followed by, “hmm, yeah, right, that will solve ALL my problems, huh? You idiot!” And just like that, we don’t do the selfish/dangerous/maybe-fun-but-probably-dangerous act. All the other “stuff” we talked about in therapy, read in books, blogs, etc, none of it is new to me. I already knew cheating fucks people’s lives. I admit I thought you recovered though. Something I still haven’t managed, in fact I feel worse now than I did at any time in the first four years. And just typing that has formed this huge lump in my throat, and the tears are bloody well falling again.


So thank you all of my dear friends here who have sympathised, shared, loved, cried and tried to jolly me along. I have appreciated you so much, and I doubt I am gone, gone. But the posts are now (maybe always were!) monotonous, negative, and of no use to either me, nor any of you. ┬áSo, while it is not my job to blow smoke up your arse, the opposite sure is a real drag. I think I will draw it mostly to a close. I will still be lurking about, commenting if I can’t keep my mouth shut, and definitely reading about your journeys.

I’ll take the below advice.

PS, I have my ┬ásemester’s provisional results in. I need to skite madly. This lonely life means I have no one to share with. This year I got 5 A+s and an A. (Bloody Anthropological Media – ruined my perfect record ;-)!) So, I know I can do other stuff, to “achieve” (I knew this before the affair, before the university re-start) but it doesn’t feed my soul like my life with Roger did, like the pedigree herd I bred, like the gorgeous family we created.

See ya – for now at least xxx.



You know, you would think after twenty-six years – the first twenty-one of which seemed to be pretty smooth, like we could communicate – and two and a half years of different types of therapy, that two people would be much better at communicating and avoiding conflict.

Wouldn’t you?

Well. Apparently not. Apparently you get worse.

Our middle child, our son, finished high school this week. He still has exams to go, but it is another milestone passed. We had his leavers’ dinner on Thursday. I actually really enjoyed it. When our eldest finished, I endured that dinner. He has a bunch of great kids, talented kids, as classmates. They are a tight-knit group, as my final year at high school was, also. Interestingly, I felt a little more emotional about this one than I did his older sister, four years ago. I think it is about the fact that this means my full-on parenting years are drawing to a close. Next year I will have just one child left at home. And for half of the year, she will be on foreign exchange. The four head students all performed, the head girl, a self composed song, the other three a lovely little musical number – all awesome kids, academic, sporting and cultural stars. And damn nice humans with it. My boy’s year lost a delightful girl this year, just a couple of months ago, to a terrible car crash. The deputy head girl – a talented speaker and actress – made mention of her in her very eloquent, very entertaining, very hilarious speech. Our lips all wobbled badly. Then she recovered well and we all carried on. The speaker after her was the Dean of their year, a truly lovely woman, dedicated teacher and total mother hen – the kids have loved her. She delivered some motivational words, words for the kids to take forward with them. I loved them, and I recalled my own leavers’ dinner, and thought how there may well have been similar words delivered, but I can’t recall them. Youth, not only is it wasted on the young, but inspirational words often are, also! Amongst her beautiful words was a moment about how to treat others, with respect, and to respect yourself. Always. At least, that was the part that resonated most with me.

Of course.

Rog knew I had heard them, had no doubt reacted emotionally to them. I didn’t show anything on the outside, but inside I was dying. Did he acknowledge this when we got home? The next day?

Nope. Just bury your head in the sand and forget you heard/saw any of that. I know why. He is sick of my emotions after five and a half years of them. I don’t really blame him for that. But I brought it up this morning. We had no kids home, and I thought we could talk. I just said I was disappointed he didn’t acknowledge some great words, that he must have known would affect me, trigger me. He replied that he felt awful when hearing them, yes, he is an arsehole, but he can’t change what he did. I replied that I wasn’t asking him to do anything but say, “wow, Mrs W’s words were pretty great, they really affected me, I know they must have affected you.” He got a bit angry, saying that he hates bringing any of it up, because I am still so upset. I said I was mostly upset because after all this time, I am frustrated that it still hurts so much, but I can no longer talk about it often, as it is yesterday’s news, and I have made little progress, and he seems to ignore my feelings, hoping they don’t exist. He agreed, and said that he knows that I am constantly triggered and upset at “life” and that he knows that I have been far more damaged than he ever imagined I ever could be when he lost his mind and felt an affair would solve the problems he wouldn’t share with me. And he can’t fix it. He is a fixer. He then asked, “should we separate now?” I answered that I still don’t believe that will make my life better, and I feel we can mostly do a good job of getting on well enough to launch these teens. But that I always feel like my feelings are ignored. And I talked about lying, both to your face, and by omission, and how the whole of our time together I thought he was 100% honest, but he has lied throughout. He looked at me and said, “I don’t think I lied to your face, until the affair, when I discovered, to both my relief, and horror, that I am a damn good liar.” I didn’t go there, but I know he has lied to my face. Not often, not well, usually. But he lied about fucking a prostitute when I asked him, he talked it down to a drunken hand job. That was an outright lie. He lied by omission a whole lot more. I feel like I don’t know how to take anyone at their word anymore, and I can’t seem to take that much needed leap of faith, to start to trust humans again.

Staying together the way we have lately, as flatmates would be fine, but he still wants to be able to cuddle, to be close to me physically. I can’t. I can’t do that without some emotional support. I told him this. I can’t stay here, and be his “teddy bear” for the physical comfort he so desperately needs, without him providing emotional support for me.

He understood. Apologised.

We are just both so damn frustrated with this non-recovery.



Another step has been taken.

Last exam for this year has been completed, last research project submitted. That was yesterday afternoon.

Today I did a twelve hour day in the office to try to catch up on some of what has been piling up as I studied. I love my boss and her support and patience as I climb this maybe silly little mountain. I worked for her when I was happy, when she saw how in love we were. She would often comment on the hilarious, loving texts he would send me most days at work.

While he was fucking my “friend” – maybe after he fucked her, maybe before. Definitely after, and before he texted her. Because she was texted every day, multiple times per day. And me too. He was good at keeping us both on the hook.

So, I can’t go to my friend’s mother’s funeral four hours away tomorrow. I want to go, but there is no way I can take a day off work in our busy season, especially after my boss has been so fantastic this past month while she hasn’t had me there. I am sort of like her PA as well as my other roles. I need to give her a few months of full-on attention. She knows my story, she was one who held me as I fell apart. She came to my country, engaged, ten years after her first fiance died, and she grieved for the boy she loved. The second one was a multiple cheat, shagging all his staff. She gets it. We don’t discuss it anymore, but in the last week, she has told me at least four times per day that she loves me! I mean, really, amazing. I owe her.

I will go to work again tomorrow, and hope my friend feels she is doing the best she can to farewell her mother. We are inaugurating her into the Motherless Bitches Club this weekend, with a girls’ weekend at my holiday home. I say “we” – I mean myself, my oldest friend (who I have kept at arms length for quite some time, but haven’t fallen out with) and her. My old friend, J, and myself had our mothers die within two years of each other, both when we were 30 and 32. Our old uni friend, L, had hers die this weekend. (Note we didn’t “lose” our mothers, they didn’t “pass,” they died.)

I can’t wait. I need some chill time, wine, laughter and friends. Let’s hope I can recreate that like I used to have.

Before I lost my joy.