Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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On tour

So, my son asked me to come skiing with him this weekend. So nice. SOOO nice 😍

Except I buggered my knee just before lunchtime. Ugh. Anyway, struggled to drive. He has brought me down to the region his Dad lives in as was catching up with mates down here. A bit odd. But actually okay. I found some dog friendly accommodation (I had left my little dog at our holiday home near the skifield.) And am chilling here. Slept very little as knee is agonising in most positions.

It is odd. But okay, to be here.

Son was quite bright and chatty this weekend and on the drive down. It’s been really nice. I haven’t spoken much with him about ‘stuff,’ and he has zero idea that I am in the dark place. But he was yabbering away on the way here, and I discovered he doesn’t usually stay at his Dad’s if he comes down here. That was a huge surprise to me. A lot of his uni friends are from here, and he stays with them mostly.

Weird, eh?

Then he told me he has only met Trinket once. Really? Only that time he got completely shit faced drunk and his father went and picked him up and he woke up sheepishly and unknowingly in her house with a huge hangover.

That was waaaay last year!

I was super shocked. And said nothing. How bizarre? He comes down here often. He just said quietly that he just doesn’t want to know her. Just doesn’t feel anything, one way or another.

I felt…empty. Empty for my kids. They don’t wanna know her. But have to accept that she exists in order to have a relationship with their dad.

Yeah. I get it.

I have been in touch with Rog. Asked if I could see the dogs. I thought maybe son could bring them to me or something. Even that maybe I could stay with them if he was at Trinket’s. He said Trinket said she would be fine with me staying while they were at his home. Them fucking in the bed our two youngest children were conceived in, whilst I was trying to sleep nearby?

Um. No. Thanks!!! That was not what I meant! Lol. I have my dog with me, and thought maybe she could stay with her ‘sister’ and ‘brother’ dogs while he was gone. Which was very stupid of me. Anyway, move on. Found last minute, dog friendly place to stay. And it is really beautiful.

And I finally realised. Trinket is not a sweet, kind, unaware person. I thought she got it as a betrayed spouse! But being betrayed does not automatically make you a good person, as was so clearly spelled out to me by Justsosad recently (d’oh, thanks, JSS.) I didn’t really see that. Until now. I think we betrayed spouses try hard not to apportion blame to the APs. They were not the people who promised to love, cherish and be monogamous with us. I tried to make sure I assigned the ownership of cheating character to my cheater. Not some random chick he just hooked up with online. I thought she was a bit dense, and believed Roger. That no formerly betrayed woman would be happy to be assigned the disgusting badge of OW. Or whore stepmum. But no, she probably knows he is a liar and cheat, but the feel-good of his love and attention cancels any doubts, if she has any. Like drug addiction. Knowing it is bad for you, but craving that high anyway. You will ‘manage’ the drug use. Right? She is totally complicit in this. She values her high of being all loved up as more important than the thirty years of love, children, school runs, sport, school management, huge mortgages, business, slogging through mud and freezing weather with a baby strapped to your back and a screaming toddler in tow, to get cows milked and calves fed, the myriad of intensely intimate moments like him so sweetly suckling gently at my breast whilst I was lactating to feed his babies, so much challenge and damn hard work that Roger and I built. My heartache doesn’t matter to either one of them. She refuses to see the signs because she is in that stage where it is all fun, hot hot (dayum baby) sex, dressing up, clothing him, trimmed body hair, finally getting him to fix his teeth and skin and (questionable, lol) taste in eyewear, dinners, days at the races, and I now see why she didn’t let him move in! Dating is fun! You get the best of someone. They try harder! They pursue you. Finding fun activities, hikes, bike rides, shopping trips, music festivals, wine tastings, food trails, and him cooking you lovely dinners, and fucking and pleasuring you oh-so-intensely! Oh! Boy! I am slow, lol. She is clever. How to draw out the fun and games! Bloody brilliant. It makes so much sense now.


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Music therapy

I’m sure we all do this, especially those of us – and this must be most of humanity – for whom music speaks to the very deepest parts of our being.

Music. That helps us express ourselves. That helps us process our emotions. That says what we often can’t find the words for. That makes the hair on the backs of our necks stand straight up. That raises goosebumps. That makes us sweat. Or our blood run cold.

A friend, many years now in recovery from her husband’s sex addiction discovery, even sent me a message about the songs playing in her car on her journey about yesterday, a plethora of triggers! Don’t listen to these, Paula 😂😮😢

I had a big music day, to try to drown out the shitty messages, of not good enough. Not strong enough. Not sexy enough. Not clever enough. Not resilient enough. Not a good enough lover. Not funny enough. Not a hard enough worker. Not loving enough. Not enough.

There are just so many songs that speak to me. Some are more recent, but this one has been a part of my soul-speak for decades.

Love Will Tear Us Apart
When the routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And resentment rides high
But emotions won’t grow
And we’re changing our ways,
Taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again
Why is the bedroom so cold
Turned away on your side?
Is my timing that flawed,
Our respect run so dry?
Yet there’s still this appeal
That we’ve kept through our lives
Love, love will tear us apart again
Do you cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed?
Get a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Is it something so good
Just can’t function no more?
When love, love will tear us apart again
Songwriters: Bernard Sumner / Ian Kevin Curtis / Peter Hook / Stephen Paul David Morris
Love Will Tear Us Apart lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

During Roger’s affair with Leanne, we watched the movie, Control, based on Ian Curtis’s wife, Deborah’s memoir, Touching From a Distance, about Ian, Joy Division, and his young suicide, just as the band were hitting the big time.

My darling Norm told me years later, that it freaked the fuck out of him. I seemed obsessed with it at the time. He thought I had worked out that he was fucking our friend, during family holidays, while I walked the dogs, while the kids were swimming in the lake, while I babysat her young son. I actually had no idea. And I never doubted his faithfulness. He was true to me, our love was rock solid. He found my fascination with the story of Annik Honore’s affair with Ian, while his young wife, Deborah, was trying to come to grips with what was happening – to her husband, herself, her world, her marriage, with a young baby – to be completely terrifying. He thought I was onto him. The truth was, I had no idea Rog was fucking our “friend” Leanne, but I “knew” there was something up in our union. Something wasn’t as it once was. I was losing my sweet, darling bear, my Hunk Lumox. I didn’t know why. And I thought I was losing my mind. The thing that did me in was that I thought we were communicating fully and honestly, AND, the sex was still exceptionally good. After more than twenty years together, we fucked hard, we still stared deeply, intensely, into each other’s eyes, we zinged, we sweated, we threw our heads back in complete ecstasy. I have never felt the highs I felt with Rog. Sex was utterly amazing. I thought I was imagining a disconnect.

And, listening to this, and some other moving music that helped me survive another day today, I had to giggle. My mind is wandering, as I haven’t had sex with another human since the 10th of March! My lunch today was one of my Dad’s homegrown avocadoes…

20180628_154155.jpg

Ummmm, sorry, but my undersexed brain, just couldn’t help it. What does this look like? It seems vaguely familiar? Something from my past that I can’t quite put my finger on. Quite literally. No fingers on anything like this at all. For months…..

Is it just me? I mean, I have seen very few sets of male genitalia. Roger is the only man I have ever slept with. And, no, his were not this black. As far as I can recall. It was a while ago, so maybe I have forgotten what balls look like…

And so, another day has been beaten into submission. Breathe in, time to do battle with the nightmares…


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Hearing it from someone more eloquent

So, dealing with the maelstrom of teetering mental health is one of the most frustrating things. I have been off and on the counselling wagon since the discovery of Roger’s affairs.

I think I used to be quite sane? More sane? Somewhat sane 😂. And relate to this post so much. SSRIs. Nope. No effect. CBT. Ditto. https://roughlynatalie.com/2018/05/10/sitting-in-a-grey-area/

Finding workable and real help is nigh impossible. There just don’t seem to be the tools available. I have a huge arsenal of coping mechanisms. Feigning brighter works for the outside world, but I have yet to trick my brain into believing my own bullshit! Which includes the recovery period after Dday. I kept trying to convince myself that Rog was truly sorry. Really wanted to fix himself to be with me. But I knew he hadn’t done the deeply introspective work required. I think he learned enough jargon to sound convincing about recovery. That he had changed. That he sounded sorry. But where is the true honesty, transparency, accountability and openness? What part of, if you ever feel this way, talk to me, did he not understand, do you think? Nope. Too hard. I will just secretly open online dating accounts, keep Paula on the hook with beautiful words and longing looks…you know, just in case I don’t land one. He was hoping I would fix myself, and sprinkle my sparkle (spackle???) back over us, magically fixing and forgetting… it never happened. Because my brain refused to buy the mindfuckery. He just looked elsewhere, for someone who he hadn’t hurt yet, to get his kicks. Rejecting the genuine, fucking hard work I put in to get well again after he blew me and my deep, deep love for him out of the water. I still find that insane. That he ‘stayed’ until I did what I thought he wanted, believed in us again. Strange. And indescribably, mind blowingly disappointing. Such an underwhelming word. Disappointing. Ha!

Is freezing here. Good time not to be a farmer x.


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Some things that are hard

Knowing he will be having a reunion fuck fest on his return from a few days away from her. Having a long day together today, no doubt. Sleeping in, curled into each other’s bodies after a morning lovemaking session….We always went hard, making mad, passionate love, multiple times if apart for even one night. Ugh. All hers now, all that passion that I still feel is mine, but know he no longer feels for me, just redirected at her body.

Trying not to think about that.

Trying to turn off the vivid mind movies of him pleasuring her. Of her pleasuring him. The way he looks during orgasm. The noises he makes. That beautiful face.

Keeping focused on me. My health. My darling boy child who has arrived home, staying with me in my new home. He’s great. And renewing my focuses to include him for a couple of weeks is great for avoiding the bottom of the self harm pit. I also know I need a good plan to be ready to deal with the bottom of that pit when he departs for what should be his final semester at uni.

Dealing with the work stress that has somehow ramped up over what should be a more consolidating period of our work calendar. My boss looks for difficulties when we are not so busy. It is deeply unsettling and causes high anxiety in all the staff. I need to have a quiet word. Haven’t had the energy to deal with this calmly and efficiently yet. My skin is still fizzing uncomfortably. My heart racing. My chest aching.

Knowing. Really remembering to know, that I am alright. He is making choices to fill the hole he created. Packing his wound with another woman’s scent and taste. I am walking this path without self medicating with love addiction, I have to actually feel all the pain xxx.


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Boy child. Feed him.

Boy child arrives home tomorrow. I did my first real grocery shop since I moved here. You know, that will feed a real human person.

And, tried to find my anger again, so…posting one of my old faves, to Roger and Trinket… sorry, I know you are not a bad person, Trinket, but WTAF???

Brings to mind the conversation Roger and I had regarding the fact that I birthed all three of his children, the old school way, and how I asked him how fucking a C-section mother was? Tight? Yep. Trinket had C-sections, and I was the woman who had 20, 22 and 34 hour natural labours, who stretched and ruined me, for him. But, hey, a non-stretched vag, go Trinket. Again, you win.

Fuck You
Look inside
Look inside your tiny mind
Now look a bit harder
‘Cause we’re so uninspired
So sick and tired of all the hatred you harbor
So you say
It’s not okay to be gay
Well, I think you’re just evil
You’re just some racist who can’t tie my laces
Your point of view is medieval
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
‘Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So, please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
‘Cause your words don’t translate
And it’s getting quite late
So, please don’t stay in touch
Do you get
Do you get a little kick out of being small-minded?
You want to be like your father
It’s approval you’re after
Well, that’s not how you find it
Do you
Do you really enjoy living a life that’s so hateful?
‘Cause there’s a hole where your soul should be
You’re losing control a bit
And it’s really distasteful
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
‘Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So, please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
‘Cause your words don’t translate
And it’s getting quite late
So, please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you
You say
You think we need to go to war
Well, you’re already in one
‘Cause it’s people like you that need to get slew
No one wants your opinion
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
‘Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So, please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
‘Cause your words don’t translate
And it’s getting quite late
So, please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you (fuck you)
Fuck you (fuck you)
Songwriters: Gregory Kurstin / Lily Allen
Fuck You lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group


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Self-care

Thank you all who commented earlier. I am still in the very dark place, but have done my VERY best to stay in the world the past few weeks.

Especially the past two days.

I made sure I was with people yesterday. I made myself go to a ‘do’ where there were a LOT of people, and my social anxiety was absolutely pinging off the roof, but I knew I needed to ‘people’ to stay safe. It was absolutely excruciating. But necessary. My skin was on fire, and I wanted to run out of the ‘people,’ SO badly.

I can’t explain the skin-on-fire thing. It isn’t like heat, more like awful creeping electrical shocks. Constant. Terrifying. But not quite that either.

So, today, Saturday, I went into the office, to catch up, in a quieter atmosphere. My boss sent me 27 emails while I was gone for just two days.

WTF?

Just make a list, and put it all in one! She did apologise, but holy hell. How to make the anxious chick completely insane! (She doesn’t know, thinks I am the most capable business manager around, ha! Idiot!)

Then, my DARLING friend, the-wife-of-Roger’s-mate, messaged me and said, “are you alright? I’m coming for coffee.”

I had not said a WORD to anyone IRL yet about not being ‘alright.’ And no signals, she just felt it.

I drove home, and this came on the radio, a song that Roger sent me the lyrics to when it came out, in what I read as his understanding of what he had chosen for us, for me, but especially for himself:

Little Lion Man
Weep for yourself, my man,
You’ll never be what is in your heart
Weep little lion man,
You’re not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn’t I, my dear?
Didn’t I, my dear?
Tremble for yourself, my man,
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble little lion man,
You’ll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn’t I, my dear?
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn’t I, my dear?
Didn’t I, my dear?
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn’t I, my dear?
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn’t I, my dear?
Didn’t I, my dear?
Songwriters: Benjamin Walter David Lovett / Edward James Milton Dwane / Marcus Oliver Johnstone Mumford / Winston Aubrey Aladar Marshall
Little Lion Man lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

So, I arrived home, and she pulled into my driveway simultaneously. Drove 50 minutes after a long day herself. No words, we just made tea, and started our usual bright banter, then read each other’s tea leaves.

Yep. it is our silly little ritual.

Then, she said, you are not alright, are you?

I lied, and said I was okay. She knew. She replied, “no you’re not. Talk to me.” Oh God! Some wetness may have occurred around the eye area right then, I’m not saying. I said, I am feeling so stupid, not alright, really, really not alright. I don’t know why? I know he is gone, and he is not good for me – to which she replied, he is not good for himself, or anyone else right now, let it out. Talk to me.

This woman is the strongest motherfucking bitch I know in the whole wide world. I don’t like to seem weak in front of her, or anyone really. The only person I ever showed my soft underbelly to – prior to the cheating years – was Rog. And she said, seriously Paula, let it out, there is nothing wrong with you! I snorted and replied that it was just too long now, I knew not to let people see the pain, the excruciating agony even a little bit anymore.

Her answer? She got up and held me really, really tightly, rubbing my aching back and shoulders, and said, “Paula, think about it! What are commonly recognised as life’s biggest stressors?” She stepped back and held out her hand, and started counting off on her fingers. “One, divorce. Two, moving house. Three, seriously ill-health. Four, death. You have had all four in the past three or four months. Seriously! This is really, really hard shit! You are doing enormously well.” I just said to her, “but what kind of loser still loves a man who has treated her as disgustingly as Roger has me? Made me mentally and physically unwell? I can’t stop loving him! I miss him so much, and I need him now more than ever. What the HELL is wrong with me?” Her reply was comforting, “loyal, loving, faithful and caring women do. It doesn’t stop overnight, it takes as long as it takes, you’re doing GREAT! Look at what you have achieved while living in this kind of hell! You’re amazing.”

Well, shucks. Amazing, hahahahah! NOT!!! I want to end my fucking life at the moment, and am taking it hour by hour, minute by minute, even second by second at times. Yeah, amazing, go me. Whoop, whoop!

if-you-dont-know-the-value-of-loyalty-youll-never-6676031

She went further, adding, “and if you think Trinket has won, you are deluded. She has “won” a serial cheating arsehole. What kind of woman takes on a partnered man, even if he lied to her and said that was not the case – he’s a proven lying cheating bastard – and thinks that is a good plan going forward, that he will be better for her than his loyal, kind, caring, best friend and loving partner of thirty years? A needy person, who hasn’t grasped who is really is yet, that’s who. Hasn’t understood the pain they have both inflicted on you. That is not the nice person you think she is, I know it isn’t her fault he kept cheating on you, but she should have known better, having lived this herself. Sad, and so unaware. And bloody unkind actually.”

Hmm, so, suicidal ideation is doing well, ha! (She doesn’t know I have been suicidal again, but hey, she does know I admitted to being in a dark place.)

She left later, and I messaged her some time later, thanking her for her care. I have always admired, and thoroughly loved and respected this chick, but HELL, I never expected such insight and loyalty from her. I thought she would be the chick who dismissed me and said, chin up, get the fuck over it, she’ll be right. Cement pill. Take the whole damn bottle!

Nope. She is kind. Empathetic. Understanding. Allowing my pain.

Fuck, I am SO damn blessed to have her. And you all, I am not out of the woods, and I imagine it will take some time, but thank you all xxx.


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The struggle is real

I have a very busy few days coming up, and I am pretty worried about how my body is going to cope.

I need to purge, as I am really carrying a bit at the moment. Buckle up bitches!

This is a place I didn’t expect to be in. When I tried to tell Roger that I thought that maybe we needed to separate, about three years ago now, he was adamant that I just needed more time, we just needed to keep working on us. So, I committed to staying with him at least until my degrees were finished, and we talked about how badly I needed to do that, for me, as I had given my all to my family, and now I needed to prove to myself that I still had it in me to fulfill the academic potential I had frittered away, and then had him, our businesses and our precious kids to keep me flat out, giving, giving, giving. He took my confidence and my feelings of being capable, clever, intuitive, attractive, cherished and treasured away with his affair with Leanne, I felt lower than low. Self esteem crashed through the floor, shattered and ugly.

But, I always knew I loved him. More than anything or anyone else. Roger is still the man I totally love. With every ounce of my bashed and battered heart, and to be honest, I don’t get it. Why?

I think I kind of know. I believe in the man he can be, the man he was for the vast majority of our three decade love story. He is mostly kind. He is mostly loving, But he is the MOST stubborn bastard I have EVER met. He likes things to go his way. He is a little bit spoilt. He has managed to cleverly wangle things to get things done, his way. And somehow comes up shining, even when he has actually bullied you into something you didn’t really want, he does it so smoothly. And when I didn’t heal on his timeline, he lied and did not tell me he was done, because, he did not want to be alone. He was fishing online, hoping to replace me with a smarter, prettier, better model, but it took a while. He did not tell me he wanted out, because I was always the back up plan. If he couldn’t catch a bigger fish, he would be stuck with me. Ugh. So, when he finally manages to keep one of the online fish on the hook, he discards me, but, I have been in the bin, gasping for air, for too long now, and I am struggling to survive the release part of catch and release. I suggest to him that I have finished what I needed to do to try to heal, and as agreed, I have had time to realise once and for all, that I forgive him, and I feel better about myself again, that what he smashed, I have rebuilt. WE can look forward to a rich and full future, reinforced by the challenges met and beaten. I am so excited to face a new part of our lives together, we survived the worst anyone could throw at us, we had launched three kids, and my vision, of that primary relationship, ours, that was more important than any other, had been fortified, and reconstructed, been through hell, and flourished. We could sell up and go forward into a new venture, and do the things we always planned for, concerts, theatre, arts, travel, sing, dance, run, climb, make deeply passionate love, live the fuck out of these years, when others were still raising families, we were done early (because we started earlier than planned) YAAAAAASSSSSS….the world was our oyster!

Our very clear agreement was that we would get through that, and reassess where we were at, I needed support and for him to believe in me. He said he would. He told me he loved me more than ever, that I was the only woman for him, that he was devastated he had broken me, broken our wonderful bond, our delicious love story, because he could not communicate with me how my new job made him feel. I believed him. He promised me. He promised me, with all his heart and kept telling me, writing to me that he would wait for me to do what I needed to do, to try to heal my heart after his affair and destruction of my trust, and the way I looked at my homes. Again, another promise made, and I love him so much, I believed him, despite all the evidence there is that says he is not an honest person at all times. Our last daughter left at home says he never supported me, he huffed, and he puffed, resenting me doing something that was building my self esteem back, after he burnt it to the ground. I kind of knew he didn’t get it, couldn’t understand what I was getting out of it, but I didn’t know he actually RESENTED my academic pursuits. I thought he tolerated it, because he knew what it meant to me. My first realisation about his deep resentment of my postgrad studies was when I had the first softcover prints of my thesis in the footwell of my car, just a day or two from final submission, and he got in my car and – honestly, he did this – refused to touch them, acted like the floor was lava – let alone open it or praise me for the huge effort in getting to that point. He seethed, spitting, “I hate that bloody thing!”

Jesus.

I drew in my breath, and thought, “wow, that is a bit extreme, Norm. Take a chill pill.”

Why did he react that way? I just thought, wow, thank goodness we are nearly there, this has been a nightmare! Days later, when I told him I was good to go, “please open this, darling bear, and read my loving dedication to you. You are my everything.”

He still never has. I gave it my all, and I thanked him for his (non-existent) love and support, and indicated that this was my gift to him, my forgiveness and healing was embodied in that hard bound piece of my heart and soul. I love him more than ever, through all the pain he has inflicted, through the years of utter despair that I would ever be whole again. I got there.

During the darkest part of the journey, when I thought I needed to let him go, for a brief while back then, I saw myself flying. I was going to do so well. Be better, be whole again. But, I pushed through that part, with his urgings to keep going, we are going to get through this, and be better as a couple than ever. So, when he said he was leaving me because he had met someone else, I thought, shit, fuck, huh? No way, just weeks ago he was telling me not to EVER give up. But, my immediate reaction was, if this is real, if he REALLY is going to go through with actually leaving me this time, I will be okay. I am strong, educated, funny, and I know I am independent and will FLY.

And then this. Cancer. And the heartbreak is worse than it ever was. I still love him, and I really miss his cuddles and his tickles, his silly sayings, nicknames, jokes, sharing the dogs’ love (geez, I really miss the two he took, soooooo much, just wanna squeeze the heck out of them both) and his love. Because despite all the utter shit that has gone down, I still believe we loved each other more than anyone can love another person. I have doubted he loved me, but I NEVER doubted I loved him, and still do. I have tried my utmost to hate him, or at least to stop this aching grief and loss of loving someone I can’t have, whom I gave the best thirty years of my life to, but, I just can’t. And it completely puzzles me. I am sure that he is kind of trying to punish me, because I didn’t heal up in the time that he had prescribed, I did not fit into his box. So, bugger you, Paula, I win, I get to be all loved up with another woman, and you can SUFFER. Suffer the emotional healing from my choices, suffer the physical damage that my selfish, no-condom fucking other women caused. Suffer being alone, when I have someone to warm my bed, and suck my dick. Women are interchangeable, I have one, and you are alone. Ha!

So, the point of my rant today is that I got a really lovely series of messages from a friend the past day or so, while I have been away. I got the bad news that my cancer treatment has caused some further damage, and have been reeling a bit from that, and how I am going to get through the next bit of my life with this in mind. She is a delightful person, and she can see the damage Roger has caused. Very clearly. And knows that this version of Roger is certainly very bad for me, in fact, she says, in the state he is now, all bullish and self assured, he is likely to be bad partner material for anyone. But. And this was unexpected, she says she wants nothing more than for us to eventually reconnect and go forward together, and thinks it is a real possibility, if Roger could just have some alone time, and do the reflection that he is completely capable of, that he won’t be capable of being a good partner to anyone until he takes that time, and feel the pain of what has happened, without using another woman to fill the pain gap, as a type of morphine for what he really needs to feel. Don’t get me wrong. I have tried hard to not think this way, he is gone. Forever. So, I was a bit shocked to hear her say this, but it is something that I know, and have felt since his love addiction diagnosis. If he chose to do the work, to make me feel safe, cherished and valued, we could have made it. Our bond, the things we have in common, our shared, offbeat sense of humour, our shared interests and three decades of special, special memories…. He did have a few weeks living in the maimai, when I asked him to leave for a while, and he says it was the worst pain he had ever felt, to be alone, to sit there with no one, and he described how cried like a baby nearly every night. I have rarely seen him cry, and the image of my darling, weeping on his own in that place, just breaks my heart, does me in totally. I want to hold him, stroke his lovely skin, to kiss it all better. But, I know he needs to feel that. To understand loss, not to gloss over it with new love. If he really knows what real love is, and not just the feel good that comes with new lust? I dunno. I just know that despite all the utter evil that has gone down between us, I still have genuine and deep love for him, he’s a part of me. I also know I need time to be me, and grow back to a full human again. I can’t tell him how much I love him right now. I want to. But I know he doesn’t want to hear it. That it is not reciprocated. Trinket has trumped me. I was an amazing woman before all of this. I didn’t fully know it then. But I think I was a brilliant partner and friend, sane even, 😉. Who woulda thunk it? Sane, clever, beautiful? Hmm, yeah right 😂

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I will be again, I know this. Just pissed the strength needed right now is to fight the cancer, and the anxiety and depression that have swung in on its coat tails that I haven’t my lover to help me through this … but hey, timing is everything, right? This has happened now to teach me how strong I really am. To prove to myself that I can do hard things. Again?!!!

Side note: Going down to see my eldest again was super cool. She astounds me really. Is such a breath of fresh air. In her mid 20s, she has developed into everything I hope I once was. Compassionate, but takes no shit; hard working, but enjoys her playtime; fantastic taste, but can deal with the right amount of kitsch; tolerant, but doesn’t suffer fools too long. And I can’t get over how damn beautiful she has become. It honestly blows me away! Then I got a tad confused, as I took a couple of candid shots of her while she was working on her sister’s hair, not particularly flattering, just real, and all my friends who saw them gasped at how like me she is. I don’t see it, and I was never that beautiful, I am quite sure. But, my old friends assure me that she is my spitting image, and she looks exactly like I did at that age. Crazy. Genetics, who knew??? The funny thought I had was that she has just come back from a weekend at her Dad’s. I wonder how weird that must be for Trinket then? To see my mini-me walking around her lover’s house? To be reminded of his cheating? The reality is, she wouldn’t think about that at all, just my weird mind, whereas I see Trinket in her children’s images to varying degrees.

I better sleep, there is some recovery to be done before the onslaught of the next few days…


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Homeward bound

Heading home this morning. Mission accomplished. Kiddo now has to make some decisions.

I got the blood results back and, as expected, the counts are through the floor. Will see what they want me to do. I have been researching what I can do, nutritionally, etc. Meanwhile, I am concentrating hard on ensuring I don’t get sick. Can’t risk it with a severely compromised immune system right now. Continue on with my extremely high vitamin C intake and keep my diet and gentle exercise up.

Hi-de-hi campers 😎


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I’m off again…

Just a quick update.

I was seen yesterday, and swabs, bloods run to start with. The thoughts are that there has been some internal damage done by the radiation, to healthy tissue, which of course is always a risk of radiation treatment. I am also anaemic, and exhausted, so waiting on bloods, they think my blood cell counts are low. Also not unexpected, but more common when chemo and radio have both been used. Results will determine if they need to do anything further.

I am just trying to take care of my emotional and physical health. I mentioned to the team that I have had some dark moments -part of my accountability plan I have when I slip into the pre-suicidal ideation phases, as in, I know I am not very emotionally safe – and have now made an appointment to talk to someone. They said it is really common, this treatment triggers all kinds of emotional responses in even the happiest people, in the happiest times of their lives. They are concerned that I am battling this at the same time as the loss of my primary, and most precious intimate relationship and support system, and acknowledge that they can see that this has been the worst pain I have ever experienced, losing what I thought was my lifetime love. So, strength and perseverance are being re-rallied, yet again.

I went and visited with an old friend on Sunday evening. She called me and I was in the area. I had just delivered a couple of home cooked meals, warming winter slow-cooked stews and the like (I do extra when I am cooking for myself, and put aside some for him every now and then) to my recently widowed father-in-law. This was after walking the dogs at an arboretum I had never visited before, and it was such a good series of things to do for the soul, as I was in that dark corner by Sunday afternoon, my mood echoing the blackness that was oozing from me, yuck! This friend is part of the old friend group in the old town, and we had a lovely red wine by her fire, her husband was in good spirits, and we shared a few laughs, swapping travel plans, and just generally excitedly catching up after a short hiatus. She assured me that they are all slowly waking up to what Roger has done, and who he really is. That she made a huge mistake in doubting my story to start with, believing the liar, she apologised profusely. I said I can’t say anything now, I made that mistake early on. She agreed and said time reveals character. That they are mostly starting to see that I have told the truth, and that I propped his image up, both in everyday life, clothing, feeding, paying bills, etc, and as we worked on trying to heal after his big affair with Leanne. I was quite surprised, as we were talking about other things when she slipped that into the conversation, coming over to me and giving me a huge hug, saying I looked amazing (WTF? Cancer is not attractive! Skinny, and balding is the new attractive? Hmmm.) Adding that I am incredibly strong, and didn’t deserve any of what was dished out, that she is firmly in my camp, and is available anytime to talk, or help with anything. Calling every last scrap of resilience here. Chin up chick! I’ve got this!

God, I miss my boy at these times. Yes, yes, the one who no longer exists, the one who morphed into a middle-aged, midlife crisis caricature, who prefers the widow to his lifetime partner, because, love is a competition, didn’t you know??? And when you fuck one up, you can just replace her with a fresh new one you haven’t scarred. NEXT! Bring me another, I seem to have ruined this one! Dammit. Ugh. I just love. Passionately. Loyally. Deeply. To my own detriment. Dumbass that I am! Ha!

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We all know cancer sucks arse (and worse, poor punctuation is bloody deplorable, meme-makers, lol!) But hey, I have a better go at this than many!

Forge on!

After all I have a plane to catch later this afternoon with my youngest daughter, to find out more about transferring to another uni to finish her degree next year. She has just sat her final exam for the semester this morning, and is in good spirits. Am looking forward to it, as is in the city my eldest lives in, and we are catching up, of course.

So, cancer can go fuck itself for a few days. I have some kids to laugh and love with xxx.