Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Do unto others … as others have done unto you? WTF?

Had another shit day, and now night.

It is one year today since I handed in my Masters thesis, and the relief I felt, the pride I felt, in that achievement. The thoughts that went through my head that night, as I sipped champagne, and felt the first stirrings of hope for our future in a long time.

I talked to my friend, who is going to have Dad live with him. And I was honest, saying, hey, I REALLY need him gone. Like, yesterday. He was great, and said, no worries, he can come to my place tonight, for dinner, and he can stay the night. Respite care, lol. The room will be ready by the weekend (fuck, that is ages away…) So, when I came home from work, I breathed a sigh of relief to see his car was not here. Ph-fucking-ew! And, after the dogs had a run, I popped down to the local cinema, and saw Mary Shelley (which I really enjoyed, despite the subject matter, BTW) and when I arrived home, Dad’s car was in my driveway.

SHIT.

So, I came in, and made a cuppa, and offered him one. He said no thanks, and then asked me if I am okay. I went, yeah, but to be honest, just looking forward to having my space back. He came in for a hug, and I raised my arms in front of me, stepped back quickly and yelled, NO! I just can’t! He pulled back and burst into tears. Fuck. I just can’t do this shit. I am the one battling suicidal tendencies, I don’t need his shit. He is bloody too hard. And I felt like the world’s biggest arsehole.

So, I took myself off to my room, and edited my daughter’s latest geography essay, feeling like crap.

I thought a dose of Chump Lady would help, as I have been a people pleaser my whole damn life, and needed to feel I am allowed to say no when I am being taken advantage of. I haven’t dechumped myself for a while. So, I dived in.

And this comment totally said what I was feeling, about people who have been cheated on, and then turn around and cheat. With other people’s spouses. Thanks Golfgrrl.

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Trinket to a tee. Feels special, because of the attention heaped on her, and oblivious to the hurt she has contributed to. I have always said, it is not an AP’s job to be faithful to me, but it sure as shit is pretty fucked to know you are involved in hurting someone else’s family the way you were hurt. To make someone feel so shit about themselves, they worry constantly they are not strong enough to stay in the world. I know he would have cheated on me anyway, with someone else, but no way on earth would I stay with a man who snuck around, and has told the lies to his partner that Roger has. Even I would see that if he lied to one woman he professed to love so much, he could not live without her (yep, he did that to me when I wanted to leave him, we were ‘meant to be’ you know) that he was not a good bet.

Do to other people what broke your heart. Sounds like a plan. Go with that. Break a leg. And a few hearts along the way.


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Bugger!

Well, I fucked up.

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I really fucked up. And yeah, I know, be kind to yourself, Paula. I am shit at that.

So shit.

I was under a lot of pressure yesterday, lots of shitty work stuff went down, and then I arrived home to my Dad STILL AT MY FUCKING HOUSE!

Nope, I just can’t do that. I don’t even like the man, and he sits there expecting me to feed him. Which, this time, I actually did.

Ugh. He was coming for one night, eleven days ago. To escape an abusive situation.

I have just talked to the guy he is moving in with, and he says the room will be ready by the weekend.

FAAAAAAARRRRRRKKKKKK!

So, in order to survive, and not send him back to the fucktard who hit, pushed him to the floor, and kicked him eleven nights ago, I am making myself scarce.

In my own home. Did I mention it is farked???

After dinner, I got online, booked an Airbnb – last minute – and went to the beach town I mentioned in my last post, to stay the night.

And this is where I fucked up.

I contacted Roger, as we had had a really good online exchange earlier, about a business problem, and I STUPIDLY (OMG I am SO STUPID SOMETIMES!) thought he might be able to lend an ear, a friendly ear. I did ask. If he was available for a quick chat, and that I understood if he wasn’t – it was night time, and I assumed Trinket would be hovering about in the background, so did not want to impose.

Turns out, although he did say it was okay to talk, and I thought it started well, he ultimately took it as an opportunity to give me a good parental dressing down. Told me off. Talked about boundaries and how I need to take a holiday (lol – the cheater is now turning this on me, boundaries, holy shit.) Um, I can’t afford any time off work, the house has a lot of expenses mounting up right now, with a wall torn off my lounge room, the cold creeping in in the middle of winter, and a fireplace to be dismantled, reframed, new fire installed, and everything restored. I have a new fridge about to land in the country, and have paid only half of that, and lighting also about to land, and have also only paid half of that – let alone the electrician I will need to install said lighting. No, I cannot take time off work. So, naughty me. And, all the stuff I talked about with my therapist just that very day came undone. About my values, how he controls me with his words, and my response is always to try to please him, to get the endorphin hit of his praise, to soothe him. Man, will I EVER learn??? My therapist talked about how he has always subtly done this, and I took the bait, and made myself smaller and smaller, until it was all about him, and what he wanted – cue, buying an unprofitable farm without consulting me properly. That started us down the spiral. I lost my voice somehow. I had created this version of myself, where I thought was strong, independent, thoughtful, and loving. But, the reality is, because I had no assets, no economic power coming into the relationship, and a whole family behind him, I worked harder, and harder, and harder, to prove myself worthy of his love and support, to ingratiate myself to his parents and siblings, whom I fell in love with too. Then he fucked our friend in our homes for eighteen months, while I was establishing a new career, and trying to contribute financially to our family. When farming before that, I worked as hard as him on the farm, and then came home and took on the domestic chores and childcare, whilst he watched TV, had a long bath, dried and clothed himself with clean laundry I did, and ate dinner that I prepared, never him.

And somehow, after he fucks around on me, tells lies, doesn’t disclose the truth, agrees to never hide anything from me ever again, to be open and honest always, when I did not leave him because he begged me not to, when I thought it best for me, because I couldn’t bear to see how sad he was, the puppy dog eyes, and I redoubled my efforts to heal, struggled, drowning in grief, I am in the wrong.

So, I am FURIOUS with myself for putting myself in the position I did last night, I know better, but did it anyway – talk about self destructive! If only you could take these moments of insanity back, and expunge them from existence…

And what’s worse is, they WERE (or he was, who cares about where she actually was, because at the end of the day, this is about him and me at the moment. And any woman who takes on a man who has made the mother of their children. their life partner, lover and the person who truly loved that man feel the way this man has made me feel, well…there really are not the words) in the same town, so my spidey sense was on the money, I wasn’t being weird. Well, I am always weird, but, you know… and that makes me feel really creepy and quite sick. Maybe that was what made me do it? Fucked up spatial (un)awareness. The bad juju. Ick, ick, ick, I feel sick. Really sore tummy today.

So, feeling so worried about myself, I talked to two friends who know. And they were amazing. Both said I have done nothing wrong (which is what I need to hear when I am mentally beating myself up for being a giant fucktard.) And that I just need to be supported and loved. One, very, very wise friend keeps trying to convince me that he is not, and cannot be truly happy. I am yet to be convinced. I am completely sure he is ecstatically happy with his life right now – I can’t predict the future, but he feels 100% sure that he has made the right choices. And yeah, a night like last night just underlines that for him. Ugh. Whereas, I was supposed to feel free and rid of this man who made me feel like I was never good enough. Yet, I am the one with the mental health team, the mental health bill, etc. Once again, such damned injustice!

I feel so unloved and rejected. Can recognise that I am feeling very sexually underdone, I know it is me wanting to equate sex with intimacy and love – because that is what I do. And I can’t just go out and get laid, because of my rape hangups, and my need for love, not just a fuck. So rejected after all the bloody hard graft over thirty years, but especially the last few, trying to come back to him, when I wanted to leave. It always has to be everything on his damn terms.

And, youngest is such a cutie. Has no idea I have had a really hard moment, but timing! She just messaged me saying a friend of hers was opening tonight for an internationally famous drag show, in our largest city, would I go if she can get tickets.

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Oh God, yes! I need a belly laugh.

And, to brighten your day, here is a picture of my dog, at my work, with my workmate, on the quadbike. I think she is living her best life, right?

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Woo woos

I am having really weird juju tonight.

I can’t explain it. Just this bizarre vibration or tension I feel. It feels like he is nearby.

And that is really odd, because I am unable to go home as my father is doing my head in. I don’t even like him very much, and never expected him to still be in my house! So, I got in my car and headed to a nearby beach town. A place I normally feel at ease in. Am holed up in an Airbnb here. Which is really cute.

My oncology appointment kinda depressed me today, followed by a good therapy appointment, where we discussed who I am. What my core values are, and how values and behaviour interact. So. To get out of my head, I came over the hill, to the beach. Had a cocktail and a salad and sitting here shivering with these odd feelings. And I realised, I don’t ever not think about him. And it has always been like this for me.

When he went into the bush, hunting.

Away fishing.

When I went to the UK for 6 months.

At work.

I can’t turn my thoughts away from him. So I am probably just being ‘normal – for me.’

But it is a weird feeling, shuddery, like he is nearby. And not all that well? I have always had this bizarre, embodied connection to what he is doing, where he is, who he is with. Ugh. Creepy. And quite insane.

So stupid really. Probably just because this is the city where he came during his (unbeknownst to me at the time) internet dating period. To stay in a motel here. Who knows who with?

So, just gonna blah on here to get it out of me.

Love. Loving someone who makes you feel sick. It’s a shit of a thing.

We discussed this in therapy today. How frustrated I am about still loving this man I feel such a deep connection with. And why I do. It is so destructive. And I know better. Never thought I would be this girl. This stupid girl.

My therapist asked me, yet again, why I kept compromising who I am for him. And it came out that for more than twenty-five years, he was able to make me feel so treasured, so special, so loved. Because he knew that was what made me malleable, agreeable, able to do as he wanted. I ache to feel that way again.

Loved.

Ugh.

Youngest daughter told me on Friday that when her Dad finally showed up at her flat, one of her male flatmates was quite rude. He said to her, “wow, is that your Dad? How the hell did he get your Mum? Punching. He ugly.” To which daughter turned to him and said, “really? Not cool, dude. I look the most like him of all of us.” But she told me this story, no doubt to try to make me feel better.

I didn’t. I just thought how shallow people are. I am no raving beauty. And Rog is a perfectly fine looking, older, bald man. With great bone structure, and kind soft eyes.

Whom I miss. But am glad he is safely tucked away in the arms of another woman right now. Because that is safest for me right now.

Feeling very vulnerable tonight. And hella horny. What a combination. Glad I came over here. Can wake up to the sound of the ocean, and go for a walk on the beach, then head straight to work. I am so lucky to have this option. To practice self care when I need it.

I also looked up more info on narcissism tonight. To remind myself of the idealise, devalue, discard that these people do.

And some stats about how many people on the dating apps/sites are liars. And the numbers were staggering, according to Psychology Today, “A study of over 1,000 online daters in the US and UK conducted by global research agency OpinionMatters founds some very interesting statistics. A total of 53% of US participants admitted to having lied in their online dating profile.

So, Rog telling Trinket he was single was not that surprising. The sites are crawling with liars. And is the major reason I won’t take his advice, and put myself out there in that way. It makes me feel so sad for the genuine people who really just want to love and be loved.


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When you can’t go home.

When you do The Good Things for your mental health, when you are in a suicidal phase, I’m sure it is the right thing to do, but you do have to be very mindful and aware of the potential fall in mood after The Good Things are completed. I always drop, and I have to keep planning the next way to swerve away from the darkness. It is actually exhausting.

I had a lovely weekend with my friends. Avoiding my father, who is still at my house after he was attacked by his … ex? partner? fucked up ex-partner? … Friday a week ago. My friend and I got him moved out of that house, but that friend still has not cleared out his spare room enough for Dad to move in. Aaaaaargh. I have a barn full of his furniture, and he has taken up residence at my home for now. He also has a heavy cold, and sore throat now, and it is the last thing I need, to get sick with no immune system to speak of – I am not eating at home, and I am a bit OCD with the hand washing, etc.

I am avoiding my house, mostly because he drives me spare, though.

So, after my Food Show weekend, I took some gourmet cuts of meat to my (recently widowed, ex beef farming) father-in-law’s house and had a cuppa with him last night.

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It is his birthday today, so there was a card from me and the kids with it. He seemed pretty pleased to see both it and me. Which was lovely. He had a nice lunch earlier that day with his daughter, sisters, and nephew, to celebrate his birthday. After that, I had a quick wine with a friend in the same town before heading home, and thankfully, Dad was already in bed.

I am a bad daughter.

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But, the reality is, I have never had a great relationship with him. He was an absent, angry father. And he cheated on my mother with men for several years before she ever knew, and eventually divorced him once she found out, and I just will never forget how that made my mother feel, and the fears it raised in me about STIs. Amazing how your greatest fears always seem to come home to roost! I had always discussed with Roger how important it is to me that I am NEVER unknowingly exposed to STIs, as you can’t protect yourself against what you don’t know about. Which was my reason for always talking about condom use, and ensuring that he understood that if he EVER did anything stupid, and shagged anyone else, that he ALWAYS wear a condom. And did he ever? Even ONCE? Wear one? Nope. Not once. An eighteen month long affair, including many days where he fucked her, and came home and made love to me, with the woman he dated for a couple of years, who cheated on him before me, so, yeah, a fairly high likelihood of harbouring diseases…. And I think it is quite probably a really good part of the reason I have only ever slept with one man.

Yeah, right. Good one. Paula. (As I deal with a preventable cancer, caused by an STI I had no way of avoiding….) Life is a right funny bitch sometimes…

I do care about Dad, don’t want to see him in a bad place, but I neither love, nor respect him. I recently bought him his first hearing aids (so I don’t have to have my eardrums burst with the volume he listens to TV at!) He is not a bad person, but is rather pathetic, and doesn’t really help himself. I would NEVER confide in him about anything.

And today, more oncology tests and check ups this afternoon, so I came into work early this morning – also great for escaping Dad!

I also downloaded an shareable calendar yesterday, and will fill in the lake schedule, and send to Rog ASAP. The dreams I am having lately are really weird, lots of (exceptionally good, oh God, I am missing it SOOOOO much) sex, but also lots of cancer. Every night, I dream he has more skin cancer surgery, and little by little, parts of his body are disappearing. It is a little unnerving, even after all the years I have been dealing with nightmares and bizarre post-infidelity dreams and nightmares. I am sure I am just projecting my own subconscious cancer worries onto him, but it is pretty weird.

 

 


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Change of plans

I was supposed to go to my old high school friend’s house many hours away this weekend.

I really could not face it. So used a scratchy throat to excuse myself.

She is also a BS, and a little … not quite bitter, just disappointed, and in the interests of protecting my mental health, and ensuring I did something more positive, I chose not to go.

Not long after I made that call, another friend, in a closer city, invited me to come up and stay. She was going with another mutual friend to a food show.

I said yes. And got dogs organised, and am here. We had a lovely day.

These two women and their families stayed at our holiday home a couple of years ago when their camping holiday got rained off. Rog and I went and stayed too for a few nights. Such fun! The other friend, Angela, just hugged me tight and said, WTF??? You two always seemed the ideal couple. You looked to have such good fun together, finishing each other’s sentences, so connected. Why???

I just said, yeah, I thought so too. I love him. Always have. I thought we were good, too. But a big affair a few years ago (she already knew) knocked us about, and, sadly, he kept lying and cheating, and he chose one he liked better than me. I had no clue again, and thought we were working on us. Nothing I could do. I’m beyond devastated.

And we moved on. We planned dinner at a gorgeous restaurant, so went back to her nearby home for tea and banter between show and dinner. Her quite merrily drunk husband, arrived home from a rugby game and bear hugged me for what felt like 10 minutes.

When I finally caught my breath again, he looked at me and said, “holy shit, Paula! It’s been what, a year since I last saw you? How much bloody weight have you lost???? You look amazing, but don’t lose any more, okay? You okay?”

I laughed and said, oh, a bit, but not for ages. He asked if it came off after Rog dumped me. I said yeah, mostly, same as last time. Dramatic and sudden loss. I’m okay (liar!) He just held me again and said, “well, the man’s a fool. Who’d give up a gem like you?” Then asked to see my new tattoo. Lol. On my groin. Over my surgical scar. Um. Nope. Don’t think so, Gerry. Then took his shirt off to demonstrate lying on his shakti mat for his bad back.

Did I mention he’d been drinking? 😂

He grabbed my bum in another bear hug, telling Angela I still have a firm arse. Thanks skinny jeans, you liar! 😜

So, groping over, we headed out for dinner, which was delightful, and good for my safety plan, avoiding the dark. Even managed a few swerves away from talking about it too much when asked a few questions.

The things you do to stay alive and as healthy as possible. I KNOW, rationally that I have a good life. Just wish I could get over the utterly agonising heartbreak and appreciate it fully. The volume button is stuck on numb and painful.

Baby steps.


12 Comments

Advice

Hi team.

I have been chatting with a friend who was also suicidal after DDay. She also has two adult daughters. (I also have an adult son) and she asked me if I have told the kids how bad I am feeling, that I am on suicide watch by a mental health team.

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I replied that although I think it is important that kids realise life is not all roses, and we all have issues, sometimes really serious ones, I haven’t.

The major reason I haven’t is, because the youngest one, who is just 19, is the closest to me geographically, and the others both live a long way from where I do. And I don’t think it is fair to put that on any of them, but especially the youngest, as she has had her own mental health struggle this year. I don’t want her to worry, and feel responsible for my life. How would she feel if I don’t make it, would she feel she had failed? Let her siblings down? Let me down? I just don’t think it is fair to do that to her right now. But, I will ask some advice both here, of my readers, but especially of my therapist next week. I do think kids should know that parents are fallible. But this feels too much.

The friend who suggested I talk to them, was admitted after an overdose. I have not carried anything out – yet – but I am doing the mental planning that goes on, and keep pulling myself out of that place, working hard to deal with the pain that feels too overwhelming. Those are the moments of panic, where I feel I am losing my grip, hanging on desperately, reaching out for help, because I KNOW I can’t leave these kids.

I just feel quite conflicted about what to share. I also worry about the boy who cried wolf. I know that is not me, I am genuinely in a difficult spot, but you don’t wanna be that boy… or be seen to be that attention whore.


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The morning after

Has been a shit of a day. I got to work and my boss’s husband had a pile of dead weaners in the entrance. He made a really big mistake, and had these sold, when they started getting sick after he performed a procedure on them. This is a preventable disease, that he did not vaccinate for, and should have when he performed said procedure. He is utterly furious with himself. It is completely heartbreaking watching them die (they are being euthanised mostly now), despite the earliest treatment. No one likes to see an animal suffer, and he is beside himself at what he did. Very distressing.

Add to that, the not unexpected low that came. I was not a happy camper yesterday, but of course, people are busy wishing you happy birthday, and you are busy pretending-like-a-boss to BE happy, thanking everyone for their kind thoughts. Posing with cake like it’s the best thing EVAH!

It was the most miserable birthday I have EVER had. Hands down. But hey, let’s go out and celebrate, etc.

Okay. I’ll play that game, of fake it ’til you make it.

‘Cept I did not make it, I just plastered the grateful, happy fake smile on and basically grinned and bore it. The effort has taken its toll today. I am in the office alone, and there have been a LOT of tears, and wracking whole body sobs, howls. I have vomited with the pain three times, and when I was driving to a meeting, I screamed, and raged, and tried to vent the anger and frustration I feel. And to try to reduce the pain.

I am on the edge. The hamsters on the wheel are plotting again.

So, I started in on the safety plan – I am the closest I have been to having to ring the crisis team.

I told a trusted friend. And CrazyKat. My literal lifesaver, sorry Kat, don’t wanna put that on you! She talked to me online for a good couple of hours, or more. Have I told you before how wise and caring she is? Maybe just once or twice?

She really is a true voice of reason and understanding. I honestly don’t know how she does it, put up with this bizarre version of me. This is NOT who I thought I was.

Do you all remember that crazed and devastated version of yourself after DDay? That one who regularly crawled into the foetal position and howled at the injustice and utter agony of the betrayal? Thinking it would never end. But, once that started to subside, you begin to KNOW you could never ever ever feel so devastated and ripped apart as that ever again?

Well, I thought so too. I thought if he EVER betrayed me again, it would be a simple thing, you lace up those boots, and you run. As fast and as far away from that clusterfuck as possible.

But, did anyone tell you that the betrayer would play this wicked and mindfucking game? The one where they look like, and sound like they are completely devastated too. Completely remorseful, sorry, utterly agonised at the pain they inflicted on the person who has loved them more than anyone ever has, or is ever likely to. Promising total honesty, to be a completely open book. Then, just as you get to the finish line, when you have put yourself through hell to trust, grow, educate and finally thrive again, they would do it again, only this time, you have no choice, you get dumped like the leftovers they find in the fridge a few days too late. Treated like you are rancid and of absolutely no worth to them.

Hmm, thought not. Because I never saw that coming.

CK reminded me over and over of the things that are triggering me. I am constantly in pain about how he gets to walk away, in fact, skip away, quite damn merrily, into the sunset with a brand new woman. One he hasn’t tarnished yet, one who hasn’t done the work I did to heal from the affairs a man she adored chose to have. And Kat reminded me that I am a little bit “unique” – which is kind of a euphemism for a bit more fucked up than the average bear, lol!

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She also reminded me of something I have kind of overlooked/made excuses for…

When I asked Roger to leave for a while, two years into the recovery period, what did he do? Did he sit down and really have a good, long, hard look at himself? Did he sit with his pain, and try to become more self sufficient, more well rounded, more able to self soothe?

Nope. He went and met with Leanne again, bought a curry, and drove to her house, hours away, and fucked her. Was this to learn anything? No, it was because he could not comfort himself. He went back to a very scary and damaging woman, who he consciously identified as a damaged and damaging, vindictive person, and he fucked her. Because he could not sit with the pain.

Kat reminded me, he cannot heal himself. He has to have a woman at his side. He has to have someone telling him what he is doing is good and he is golden. She even said he is not happy. I actually don’t believe that. I don’t believe he currently has the emotional depth to identify that, rather, in his hazy, happy dating world, I believe he is very happy, in his new role as rescuer and saviour of Trinket from her sad life with an arsehole. Lots of cuddles and adoration. No one questioning him. He gets to look like a total hero in comparison to dead husband! He targeted her carefully because of her brokenness, even if he did not realise that about himself. I feel for her in many ways, but also am angry, and frustrated with her naivety as she is so easily convinced because of her past, and those comparisons.

So, again, working hard on the mindfulness, and how to survive this patch. How to come out of the darkness, and flourish again. I have visualised my kids at my funeral, and having only Rog and Trinket to parent them, to love them, to love any future grandchildren, if any. To be there to talk to in the middle of the night, with a screaming baby in desperation (was that just me? My Mum was always there in those wee, small hours – only needed her a couple of times in those spots, but she was there, and always answered her phone.)

I recall my therapist’s words, that my young brain was wired by Rog, to respond to his stimuli, much like an addict. I bloomed under his praise, with his physical touch, responding instantly to the allure of the positive feedback I got from him. I have to keep working on short circuiting that crap, forming new tracks in this damn annoying brain.

I can’t leave my kids here without me. Not yet. It’s too soon. It was too soon when my Mum left.


10 Comments

Made it

I didn’t post about this yesterday, as I couldn’t bear the ‘happy’ part of happy birthday wishes.

It was my birthday.

I was quite pregnant on my 30th. Roger ensured his AP flew in from Melbourne for my 40th party, and I made our cottage beautiful, with gourmet breakfast foods, fresh linen, scented candles and little luxury chocolates, etc – all for the woman who was fucking my love. Man, I am stupid! For 50, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. My first without him. My first where there was no extended lovemaking session. My first of however many are to come in this new life. I will definitely give 60 a miss, if I make it that far… birthdays ending in zero suck balls.

For Roger’s 30th, I recall it being a huge night, had one of the worst hangovers ever 😂. His 40th, we put on a massive garden party, complete with homemade outdoor ‘Flintstones’ fire, delicious food, fairy lights and uplights strung throughout our garden full of beautiful, mature trees, a stage set under them where the band we hired played live music until the wee small hours, and I danced barefoot until milking time, when he flopped into bed, and I milked alone, letting him sleep. For his 50th, I had a group of close friends come to our lake house, and I catered and we enjoyed a very relaxing BBQ. It was lovely, and the friend who has now judged me came in and squeezed me so tight, telling me I was a top woman for dealing with what Rog had so selfishly dealt out. His words were almost exactly that. That he admired me for being able to carry on, as not many would. And he hoped his mate deserved me and stepped up and never hurt me again. Ugh.

Rog has never remembered my birthday. (Hmm….) This year, he sent me a happy birthday message on Monday. Which was kinda sweet, but utterly hilarious. I was amazed he got so close, lol. And kinda shocked if he was going to acknowledge it he didn’t ask any of the kids before sending that message. Ah well, he tried, right? 😉😂

Kiddo number 3 made me book a dinner for friends at a lovely restaurant. I was mad. I did not want to. But I knew she was right. 5 gorgeous women came, one drove a few hours to do so, and three of kiddo’s mates came too. Kiddo and my new bestie, someone I have known since I left school, organised a cake.

I am so grateful. People care. I know. Bella, whom I posted about recently, was one who ensured she was there, she did not know any of the others. But told bestie that she was so proud of me. Ugh. I feel like the special needs kid. Needing extra attention and praise. Just to do normal things, things that just happen every day to people. Like birthdays.

Special, indeed.


16 Comments

Broken heart reality

Because of the pain I am currently suffering, I do try to help myself with research into how to heal, how to make my life better. I have no control over how other people treat me, and I do try to live a kind life, and until this, I imagined myself a very resilient person, who had lived through and recovered from some big stressors in life.

worth

I have a really caring oncologist, who thinks outside the science square. He is worried about me, because my cancer has occurred during such an emotionally stressful time of my life. My immune response is pretty bad at the moment, and in the weather we have been experiencing, and the delays to getting my woodfire installed – that is another story, when they pulled the old one out, it was found the cavity was non-compliant, I have a builder coming to try to sort it out, money, money, money – I am concerned about not getting sick.

I have read a lot about the effects on the immune system of these kinds of traumas, and specifically, heartbreak and divorce. I am at risk, and my results are subsequently all over the place. Last week, my numbers looked to be improving, this week, they have plummeted again. My battle for mental wellbeing and peace is reflected in my physical battle with the effects of the radiation.

That aside, the physical pain I feel is sometimes overwhelming. Still. I have asked my shrink about this, why am I still experiencing such a lot of indescribable physical pain? I feel like I am being squeezed to death. I knew about the emotional pain, and I did experience some intense physical pain after Leanne, but I never expected this level of physical pain, it is more than last time. Not just the constant aching, but the shooting pain through my heart, sometimes my shoulders, often my knees and hands. So weird, and surprisingly painful. Those are some of the moments when ending the pain just seems the only option. My stamina for the pain is being eroded.

suicide

So, I always thought I was capable, resilient, and that someone leaving me for another woman would mean I could see, and feel that they were not worthy of me. Instead, this agony is dragging on, and I do a LOT of self care, and self worth building activities. In my head, I know to be stronger, and ignore those lies that I am not good enough. Trying to get my emotions to follow my very sensible head…herding cats

 

 


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How you make other people feel

Dr Maya Angelou. So many beautiful and wise quotes, so little space.

Possibly the one I relate to best at present, after years of struggling with this one:

when someone

 

is this one:

maya-angelou-quote3

 

Because, although I really do completely love Roger (the one before cheating, I guess), and I don’t blame Trinket for being naive – in fact, I think under different circumstances, ie, those that did not include her fucking my partner – I would really like her, she sounds like a really sweet woman, I know how their selfishness, and his lying, have made me feel. How desperate and rejected I feel after all the damn years of dedication, sacrifice, compromise, total love and loyalty – and then unbelievably hard yakka as I healed from his affair with our “friend,” in my “safe” spaces of home.

Last night, I slept for more than two hours at a stretch. And during that three and a half hours, the dreams were vivid. More of this stuff. More of the rejection and frustration that he just WOULD NOT LISTEN when I told him I had healed enough to commit fully to a new future for us. That I understood he had been chatting to a widow (when he confessed at that point – I did not know there was ten months of online fishing, and twelve thousand text messages to other women at that point) but it was only three weeks, so please just put that on hold, and see what I was like now the intense pressure cooker of the Masters was completed. I BEGGED him to please give me three months, to stand with me as we planned for the next phase of our life together. We had been looking at business and lifestyle options in a picturesque region, and a flame was lit under me, that moving might be just the ticket for us. I started getting excited about moving, about starting with a fresh venture, and the past could be boxed up better, and stored away from our everyday life if we moved from the homes, and the damn hard work of carving out a living on the farm he had desecrated with Leanne. He refused, point blank, to consider that I know my own mind, that I knew I had struggled to get the best damn thesis I was capable of producing, First Class Honours, dude, I worked my damn BUTT off, to tell the stories of these people who had their spaces of home, and identities shattered by the actions of their significant others, and how they have begun to, or achieved new ways of being, a new imaginations of self and “home.” This was my healing document, FFS.

Nope. Fuck you, Paula, my loyal and hard working partner of thirty years, who bore my children, worked alongside me, building a life, brought up my children, worked your butt off to recover after I betrayed you. You can just fuck off now. I’m done with you. I have a shiny new toy to play with now. I get to call all the shots, your opinion just doesn’t count. Go have a nice life now, won’t you. It fucking sucks that I had no say. No say in him moving us to that place. No say in him fucking our friend for 18 months. No say in avoiding the diseases he passed to me from Leanne. No say in whether I could forgive him. All these choices were removed from me. He took away my agency in my own damn life.

So, to finish this wee rant, Dr Angelou’s wisdom yet again, as I fight on, to recover, and avoid the darkness. And by God, is it a battle I do daily to stay right here, fighting for my kids and my future, I really am struggling today:

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