Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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The bach

https://wp.me/p4yTTX-WK

It’s such a trigger. I wonder if that has been a part of this latest mini breakdown? I also got my period, and having never really had them before, I don’t know if I am an emotional bleeder, lol.

I did think how ironic this is! I rarely menstruated. Only a very small handful of times during the thirty years with my love. Lucky him, huh πŸ˜‰.

Now I have them all the damn time! I must start noting dates as I have no idea if they are regular, having never had them.

My boss’s elderly widowed aunt was in the office earlier. She’s lovely. Asked me about my NYE plans. And dammit! My lip wobbled. Fuck! I’m right on the edge here. She came and hugged me, saying I have been such a champion throughout, to let some tears out is okay.

Ugh. Get the fuck over him, Paula. He hates you. He’s an abusive manipulative, manchild who never loved, treasured, adored you like you did him….truly, madly deeply.

The emphasis on madly 🀣

I feel sick. I have a little itchy infection on my cutting site. Of course. Of course it is not the answer. I know this. But it seemed to help keep the full on suicidal ideation at bay, and I need to use everything I have to not let my life be ended because a man was selfish, and broke me into tiny, sharp shards.

I really and truly used to be a bright, happy kid. A fun friend. I never, never, never thought I would be fighting for my life like this!

I have so much empathy and understanding for our friend, Nigel, who lost his battle to live after his wife left him 15 years ago. You are so sure the pain is finite, you will get through it.

Until you have to live it. It is next level grief.

It is taking a looooong time, and the potholes are getting deeper.

As my username suggests, as Florence preached, the dog days are (must be!) over, the horses are coming…

Happiness hit her, like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back

She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

[Chorus]
The dog days are over
The dog days are done

The horses are coming
So you better run

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers

Leave all your love and your longing behind
You can’t carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
‘Cause here they come

[Bridge]
And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had
And what was left after that too, oh

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[Verse 2]
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back, back, back…
Struck from a great height
By someone who should know better than that
[Chorus]
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
‘Cause here they come

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers

Leave all your love and your longing behind
You can’t carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
‘Cause here they come
[Outro]
The dog days are over
The dog days are gone
Can you hear the horses?
‘Cause here they come
The dog days are over
The dog days are gone
Can you hear the horses?
‘Cause here they come


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Waves of paralysing anxiety

Wowza. Mighty sick of these! Been a very scary day. I woke up, completely paralysed by this totally bizarre anxiety. Yes, vivid dreams and aching, ripping, searing grief.

I REALLY need something to work soon..hopefully EMDR will be the key.

When this happens, I know I need to push hard. To give myself a moment to acknowledge how fucked up I am, but then to somehow crowbar myself out of bed and the house. Lord, it takes some strength! I try to channel the positivity and potential I felt when he first left. I am gonna fly! (Soon??? Please, lol.)

It’s completely irrelevant, but I sometimes wonder if my Normie, that seemingly loving partner I believed in for over two decades, my love, my heart, was able to see me – supposedly the woman he adored, admired, gave his heart to, the mother who did everything I could for his babies, worked in the shit, pulling calves out, coming home to provide nutritious, delicious food – in so much pain, caused by a man, what would my Monkey do? That guy, did he ever exist? How could he possibly cause his lover, HIS heart, so much distress? It’s part of the mindfuck. Did he exist? If he did, where the hell did he get buried? I know I will never understand how the switch was flipped.

Of course, this is not really about him anymore. Not at all. It is about me, trying to find that resilience I always believed I possessed. That has somehow been seriously derailed by the trauma he inflicted on my psyche. I need to overcome it, become me, fully functional again. I don’t know why I am finding it so hard? It is terribly perplexing.

Anyway, I got there, made myself do some quick jobs here, then to get somewhere where I knew I had to act ‘normal!’ I call it peopling. I made a list and went shopping. For a gas bottle, for duct tape, for an ironing board for the loft. Groceries, just a few. Shavings for my chooks. Then, for shoes – just a pair of replacement Coverse for some worn out – for my daughter. I ended up buying a different pair and a freaking bikini for me as well 😱. Bikinis and me haven’t had a close relationship for many years. But hey. I did it. And am now wearing as I fix the water and mow last of lawns before I leave after work for the lake tomorrow. I know I can’t stay there (at our holiday home) in this state (OMG I am really, really bad today so concerned, so shaky, so completely out of sorts) so am taking a friend – actually, come to think of it, she was the work colleague who asked me what the fuck I was thinking when Roger took his ex girlfriend and the kids to the lake house without me, all those years ago, the first time he fucked her, when I was the dumbass who trusted him implicitly, OMG, that is quite serendipitous. We’ll be staying at the next bay south with other friends for NYE. I don’t need all those triggers, all that affect, all that pain of yet another whore who sleeps with him in my house.

The next day I need to pick up a van I have booked to take some young people to the nearby beach town to a day long music festival. I know I cannot be alone then, either. So have planned ahead, and will spend the afternoon with some friends who have a magnificent home on the surf front…hence the bikini. I find micro managing who I am going to be with is my accountability plan.

Bloody hell! I’m a freak. Honestly, most often I can blog the worst of the pain out in the morning, and put my decent, healing face on, and get on with trying to kick arse.

When I got home, I lay down and closed my eyes in this heat, trying to calm down some more. Awoke, meditated, practicing mindfulness, repeating some mantras. Reminding myself I AM okay. I AM going to get better. I AM worth something. My self worth DOES NOT decrease because Roger kept cheating on me, preferred other women to me, knocked me out when I called him on another of his lies. I feel pretty worthless today, and I know that is a lie.

My baby girl told me yesterday that her trip down to him is only for one night. To see her friend, and pick up her sister, deliver her father his Christmas present. (He was up here recently but did not see her, instead dropping off her present at her workplace. Weird. Oh well, at least he did that.) I was encouraging, saying it would be a nice trip and time to reconnect a little if she is ready. She rolled her eyes. “No, it really won’t Mum, I just want to see if he’ll pay half of my car insurance.” Ugh. Yuck. No. (I had thought she was going for a few days. Nope. Not interested in staying long.)

In other news, I did an online day skippers course, hoping to use our boat which is stored up here, to go fishing sometime with friends. It’s now in his name. But I asked if I could possibly use it as he isn’t. Not looking likely. Which is fine. His prerogative. I have been researching a cost effective, safe, small option for me to purchase. I love to fish. Will keep you informed.

Blathering here to stay safe. This was a BIG fall backwards today, I have been working furiously all day to stay well. I know if I didn’t have kids, I would not be here to write this. So grateful for them. So grateful I was able to reach out to one friend from the blogosphere who was there for me today πŸ˜™πŸ˜™πŸ˜™

I’m sorry to put it here, but this is what this space is for, so I can survive. Love to all. Keep going!


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Being alone. Not lonely

I recall, very clearly noting that the one man in my research cohort, talked often about being lonely.

None of the women did.

I found that very interesting. Is there a gender bias towards men not enjoying their own company? Roger sure used to go on about it. How he wanted someone (hmmm, red flag, not necessarily me?) to share his life with.

We have probably all seen statistics about how the happiest group of men are married, and the happiest group of women are single.

I took another look at this. (God, I love the linked article, about how women FEEL so intensely. I have wondered how the hell Rog just got to walk away, starting over with a new-to-him, but used model…just doesn’t FEEL like I do, maybe many women do. Just, NEXT! I need a new woman, I broke this one, she’s faulty now…)

Why are women so often so much more devastated at relationship loss (moi) than men (Roger) are? I know part of the reason was investment. But also the way we are socialised to commit. I found it interesting reading this, to note that recent research does identify not just socialisation, but brain function, too.

As well as a more finely tuned ability to feel emotions, to empathise, we tend to self sacrifice more. In my case, I now believe it was too much. I enabled shitty behaviour, because everyone else’s happiness and comfort was more important than my own. I am, surprisingly, a bit of a rule follower. I recall a high school social science teacher telling my BFF (who was Head Girl) that I was a rebel. She retorted that, despite my punky appearance, I was actually a highly empathetic human, who liked to do the ‘right’ thing. I was kinda blown away by both comments…

“Putting others first

This inequality of happiness means that it is harder for women to maintain a happy state when faced with social expectations and constraints. Research into stress shows that women are more physically reactive to social rejection compared with men, for example. This means they are more likely to prioritise the needs of others over their own – and over time this can lead to resentment and feeling unfulfilled.

Females in general prioritise doing the right thing over being happy, whereas men are better at the pursuit of pleasure and hedonism. Studies have also found that women tend to act more ethically than men and are more likely to suffer feelings of shame if they are not seen to be doing β€œthe right thing”. But female morality also leads them to engage in more fulfilling and impactful work. And this ultimately brings them greater joy, peace and contentment.”

I was fully invested in making it work with him. I never looked externally to another person to be the solution to my unhappiness after Leanne. I looked within myself, within my coupled identity.

I loved him.

Despite all of the shitty things he did to me. I stupidly loved only him. I don’t really think I will love again. Not really. Not with that intensity. Not saying I’ll never enjoy another person. Just that the hole left probably can’t really be filled in any truly satisfactory way.

I have always been comfortable with my own company. That’s not to say I am anti-social. But I like being alone, as well. I have never constructed being alone as loneliness.

However, after reading the linked article, maybe there is some traditional loneliness there? I know I ache, like the article states. My neck and shoulders are damn tight and sore again right now. I know I miss Rog as my confidante. I used to share everything with him. We talked about how we were each other’s best friend. He has Trinket now, so no change for him. I have no one really to share my thoughts with. Hence blogging, lol.

I don’t feel lonely though. Just alone. I like not having to be accountable to anyone else.

But intimacy, fuck. I REALLY miss intimacy – and hot sex! Like, A LOT.


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I run

I am also a runner.

A frustrated one at present, until my meniscus is fixed.

The strength. The fear. The power in these words.

I am not an indigenous Australian. Or even an indigenous New Zealander. Yet, I felt this piece reverberate in my bones. The long, agonising ache. The urge to run from injustice and pain and suicidal feelings. Hell yeah.

I run.

Just not as badly as Roger keeps doing. Into the wide open legs of other women to try to heal his hurts. I was always here.

Fuck I hope she was worth it.


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The external pieces of your heart

Kids are like pieces of your heart, walking around, mostly on two legs, outside of your body. You feel their joy, laugh heartily with them, and ache mightily when they do.

So, how the hell does your heart cope with your babies being around the woman who knowingly fucked off on their mother, with their father?

I have known and accepted the inevitability of this from the start.

And it sucks balls. Harder even than Trinket sucks dick.

But, I have been UBER careful about this. I avoid talking about them to the kids. If I do, it is about their dad, I kinda have to almost ignore Trinket’s existence when communicating with the kids.

The funny thing is, they all have zero tolerance or respect for her. All have separately said she must be a very stupid woman to take on another serial cheater.

Huh! Yep. Cheated again!

But hey, she climbs on their dad, in the bed two of them were conceived in, so, they swallow that shit sandwich.

Sort of.

I think the eldest has seen her a bit. But even she says if she visits her dad, they don’t spend much time with precious Trinky. The middle says he rarely stays at his dad’s, rather at his friends’ places when he is down there, and actively avoids her. The youngest has so far (it won’t last, she’s going there soon) has point blank refused to meet her, but I doubt she can continue to insist on a no Trinket zone for much longer.

My wee girl seems to be internalising this at the moment 😒

My heart hurts having to have her around my babies. But I know I have no choice. I also know the stats on children of cheaters being much more likely to cheat themselves. That concerns me, but I look at myself and my three siblings – children of a cheater – and as far as I know, no cheaters. And some of us have been the loyal betrayeds.

My heart aches thinking about our kids making small talk with, laughing with the woman who derailed our recovery (don’t worry, I know it was him, she was just the convenient tool he used…)

I still contend that had Trinket not shown up, we would have made it. But, he is good with words and fake sincerity. “I have never, and will never, love anyone like I love you…” Hey, I’m also cognizant of the fact she probably did me a favour, as he obviously never did the work to learn to be honest and open. He never valued me enough. I was not really ever loved the way I thought I was. The way I love him. Ugh.

But, much like that truly wonderful period, when I quit my job to come back farming, and Rog had ended things with Leanne – that blissful, ignorant almost two month period before DDay – I totally visualised the end of my Masters intensity as being a time when we would fall into each other again.

Instead, he fell into her vagina.

Must be some special cunt.

But, I suck it up. Because you have NO FUCKING CHOICE! Just like the whole shit situation. No choice in it being over. No choice to avoid STIs. No agency for so long in my own life.

So, as I prepare my heart for my girls going to hang with the bitch who is living my retirement dream (kinda, hey, she gets to live it with a cheater, worrying if he’s chatting to other women, if he really loves her, or it is his desperation at avoiding being alone fuelling his love bombing charm offensive, paying his bills, doing his laundry, cleaning his house and his BnB…) I ask myself not WWJD, (πŸ€£πŸ˜‰) but, What Would trinket Do?

When I met her that time, In The Beginning, she admitted she HATED the Other Women. Especially the one she thought her husband was going to leave her for. I wonder, did she ever think about her precious babies having to spend time with, perhaps come to love the OW? As her fucktard’s new partner? Sharing your children with whores. That fucking sucks! Not for the kids. You don’t project onto them. But it fucking sucks for the loyal, loving, faithful, betrayed spouse.

I can’t explain how heartbreaking it is. To share your most precious and beloved kids with cheating whores. And keep your mouth shut as you bleed internally with that pain.

So, yesterday I downloaded the list of registered EMDR practitioners in my country. And sent a couple of emails last night. Hopefully I can get some respite soon from the agony of loving someone who loves someone else. Despite knowing not to love him!


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A(nother) day at the races

We went to the Boxing Day races. My brother and sister-in-law and 13 other friends. (My lovely young SIL, in the green, thought we were going to small town races, not the ‘big deal’ ones in our largest city! Did not bring a dress. I loaned her one of mine, and a hat.) I booked a couple of tables. We are here early, starting into the bubbles. It was pretty windy, and our umbrellas were later ‘confiscated’ by security. Which was a shame, but we purchased sunscreen and carried on!

I can’t explain what happens to me around all the fun, positive things I do. The taint. About how no matter how much fun I am ‘having’ (or appearing to have) how utterly miserable I feel. That he loves someone else, not me. Ugh. And how hard I fight to overcome the grief. It is terrifying.

But it is also bloody frustrating!

I got chatting to a very beautiful, elegantly dressed older woman, a friend of a friend at one of our tables. She asked me about my Christmas and family.

Then asked about my children’s father. Ugh.

She shared that hers left her, and drifted further and further from their kids. Her daughter took a photograph just before he left of his shoes discarded by their pool, and him walking away in the distance. Said it was incredibly symbolic. It was decades ago. She said she then dated a series of bad boys, later partnering with a widowed guy, blending their 2 kids each into a family. He eventually moved for business to the Islands, and sent her money for his kids. This worked for her, she says the relationship had pretty much run its course. She brought his kids up, he was also a crap dad, and she and all the kids remain close. She is a landscape designer, and does high end work for wealthy individuals and corporates. Interesting woman. When I told her he left me for an older chick he met online, that it wasn’t his first rodeo, and that he had been secretly internet dating for nearly two years, as far as I have been able to ascertain, ending a 30 year love story, she looked at me a bit tearfully, shook her head and said, “what the fuck is wrong with these guys? And what about the woman? What’s her fucked up story???”

I just shrugged, and said, obviously needy and easily duped into believing his sob story that he was single, etc. She asked how I am doing, and I said I know I am better than this, I will get through it, but if I am honest, it still hurts like hell, every day, but I know he is a liar and a cheat, who keeps lying and cheating, and I must eventually get better, and be better without him. That I am surprised and disappointed I’m not already feeling lighter and happier. That I love him, and wanna slap that silly girl that is me.

She gave me a hug and said, “it gets better. I never loved mine like that, but it must get better.” I agreed, we laughed and drank to a happier future, and she told me I must come hunting (to hounds – we hunt hares, not foxes here, we do not have foxes, and hares are a pest to the farms hunted across) with their group of friends. I’d love to, but honestly do not know how I would fit it in at the moment!

On the way home, all of us tired, but (kinda) content, Joy Division’s Love Will Tear Us Apart came on my car radio and my heart lurched painfully.

https://youtu.be/zuuObGsB0No

When 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?
You’ve 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

You cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed
There’s a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Just that something so good
Just can’t function no more
Then love, love will tear us apart again.

I guess this post is just to illustrate how hard I work at positivity, trying to reclaim my life, put the sadness behind me, but how I am still struggling mightily to do so, every single day.

On that note, a horse I have a small share in is racing in Trinket’s city on New Year’s Day. I’m going down with a couple of friends, but admit I am a little nervous. I need to be strong, confident and proud. To face the woman who stole my love. Shame he was obviously never in love with me.

I had to ‘phone a friend’ – I am aware that this is a very difficult time of the year, as Trinket and Rog do ALL the loved up things, and I keep my eyes forward πŸ‘€ I am quite worried at my lack of progress. Might be back to trauma counselling in the New Year. Too damn hard to live like this! DAMN YOU HEART!

Back to work I go! Hope everyone had some loving and lovely times over the Christmas period with family and/or friends. Love to you all here xxx.


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Pain management

Pain is a right nasty bitch.

I have not been able to sort mine out yet.

Finding ways to cope with it are hard. I am very cognizant of reality. That I am better off without him, that he is a selfish manchild who didn’t give a fuck about hurting me.

But all that cognizance does not manage the pain. I know few people have any idea I am in so much agony. And that most would judge me as somehow wrong for not being healed. So you carry on, pretending like a boss that you are a together, thriving woman who is doing magnificently.

Some of my pain management includes staying in touch with that small handful of incredibly supportive people, who do understand that there was no magical ‘pouff’ moment where you stop loving, you stop hurting. I had several people ‘checking in’ with me yesterday, on Christmas Day, to ensure I was okay. ❀ So damn appreciative of those gems.

I also read in the wee small hours, to reduce the urge to cut. To remind my stupid heart that this was a runner. A man who could not deal with consequences. A man who used me and my love to ensure a constant supply of kibble until he had fully secured a future source. I mean, who gives the spouse they betrayed candles stating Love Always, looks at real estate in new locations, taking her to visit blocks of land by the ocean to visualise a redirection and fresh start for them, and writes cards expounding that they are amazing, so proud of them, so beautiful, the love of their life, whilst chatting online and via text to a woman he is planning a new life with???

The exit affair guy. That’s who.

Leanne was the midlife crisis affair. He was ‘confused.’ He rarely seriously thought he was leaving. They were, in her words, “just having a bit of fun,” they deserved it, right?

Trinket was targeted, pursued rigorously and hunted down as the replacement for the partner he broke. “I’ve broken this one, bring me another!”

He knew he had the right type. He’d test driven a few…. A kickass farmer who he knew was too independent for him to manipulate. A strong single mum with horses and young kids with behavioural issues. So he settled on his target. An easy mark, and worked on how to feel more attracted to her. A previously loyal woman, married to a cruel man who kept hurting her, but she stayed. A charm offensive was launched. Then the stupid current ‘life’ partner shows up on Trinket’s doorstep and, in her shocked state, reiterates what a nice guy he is! FFS, Paula πŸ€¦β€β™€οΈ!!!

Perfection!

He told me, after explaining that she wasn’t all that physically attractive (but he was trying to negate that, build his attraction feelings about her, by looking at photos of her that he showed me of her in her younger years – “I guess she was kinda cute, Snooks, look at this?” 🀯😱) that he knew there was no reason they would not work out. She was into him, and he knew he had her completely hooked with his sweet charm.

Lord, I hate how manipulative he is. Stop the pain now, heart. He’s a user and abuser. You KNOW this!

How to heal a broken heart. Do this. Get better. Stop hurting over such a user.


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Toughest day?

I think today was my hardest so far. My daughter was amazing. Playing with her younger cousins and being so bright and helpful.

My first Christmas without all of my kids here. One at her partner’s family, another in Europe. Just the baby girl here. I am INCREDIBLY grateful for my brother and sister-in-law for driving so far to be with me. I held it together all day. But have had a big bleed before bed, to try to take the edge off my intense pain. My gut is churning and the heat off my skin right now is intense.

Tomorrow we dress up and 16 of us go racing. My SIL is borrowing a dress and hat.

Hope everyone’s Christmas is magical, and if not, hope you all feel uplifted and strong xxx.


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Opportunity

This blog is where I put the (still) intense pain.

But it isn’t all I am. It isn’t all I do. I also work hard at recovery. Accepting the pain and recognising the trauma. A lot of people who have been in similar positions tell me around three years of trying to steady the ship is to be expected.

I am grateful too. I am comfortable, have a lovely home, have discovered so much support and love. Even after all these months, I have wonderful, loving friends who stay connected, check in with me, love me. I take every opportunity I can. Travel, yes! Weekend away? Hell yeah. New, fun fitness thing? Why not!

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/oct/06/divorce-survival-guide-seven-truths-after-relationship-ends

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, a woman I am friends with, who lives in Sydney, is one of my ‘team,’ one of the most positive, loving, fun women I know, is my former BFF’s little sister, and one of my Masters research participants, who sends me daily affirmations, messaged me. In tears.

She rarely gets upset at her circumstances. But she was in the supermarket, trying to buy groceries for her and her two boys to have a nice Christmas dinner when her card was declined. Her pay had not gone through. She had to walk out without any food.

She is physically a very beautiful woman, but her internal strength and beauty, oh man! As an early childhood teacher, and centre manager, she earns a pittance. She LOVES her job. Is passionate and was born to care for and acculturate little humans. Her partner was fucking his coworker for a year or two and he eventually left around four years ago. She, like me, had thought he would ‘snap out of it,’wake the fuck up to all he would lose. Of course, like Rog desperately wanted to do (but I’ll give Trinket her due, she made him buy his own place – not that it matters, she pretty much lives with him anyway) he moved in with the OW. My friend shares custody (so her precious boys spend half their lives with fake tits, the white trash with three kids to three other men, but home owner, that her ex sponges off.) As such, no child support, of course.

What could I do for my friend? This is the superstar I tried to get work leave over New Year to go and road trip ’round the NSW coast with for a few days, but could not get that one day off for. Grrr.

I offered my credit card, an international bank transfer would not solve her problem in time for Christmas. But, she sat down and made a plan. She has seen some much smaller, cheaper units in a nearby suburb. She lives in a third floor, light, airy, but already tiny two bedroom place now. But moving will save her around $30 to $40 per week. Problem. She has no money or credit available for the bond. Which is where I can help. I offered to pay her bond.

I have offered financial help before. She is proud, and always refuses. She is doing an online course to become a celebrant, hoping to supplement her income, and working towards being self employed, an eventual move out of the city, to the beach. I offered to pay her course fees. She found a way to make it happen.

This time she accepted my offer. With a caveat. It has to be a loan, until her bond is returned from her current lease.

My heart broke for her. She is the 7th of 8 siblings, several of whom are actually very wealthy. And knew that she couldn’t ask any for help, she felt they would refuse. There are two divorced sisters – one twice – but both left their husbands (one two husbands) and it was their choice, so have limited understanding of this journey. The infidelity. How it tears you down. Obliterates your self esteem, and takes all your agency from you.

We did not choose this.

And few understand how having your power removed makes you feel. I do. It fucking sucks. Rebuilding is necessary, but hard.

Having a tribe to support me is my biggest blessing. I take heart from the kind gestures, try to eliminate those who are disloyal.

Roger’s cousin’s wife is delicious. She sends me lovely comments and loving messages from time to time. They also live in Australia, and the last time I saw her in person was when Roger and I took a rare and spontaneous trip to their city to go racing. We also chanced upon some glorious art exhibitions. It was glorious.

And about 6 months into his affair with Leanne.

Ugh. Tainted memories.

Anyway, she DMed me on Instagram after I posted a pic of my new buffet.

It’s nice. She has shared how deeply shocked and disappointed they are in Roger, and for me. I appreciate that. Rog was a groomsman at their wedding, and we kinda “grew up” together – albeit via distance – as young wives and mums.

Merry Christmas all! I have my brother and sister-in-law and their two little people here. Setting up last night was so precious! The drove a day and a half. I can hear them stirring! Santa!


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Self harm. Not just for the kids

I hadn’t mentioned this until recently. Because, you know, shame.

I have been doing this off and on ever since my cancer surgery. I came home, and as the emotional pain began to overwhelm me, I knew suicide was beckoning again. And discovered that cutting helped release that tension.

Just a little bit.

A little bit, when walking that tightrope can save your life.

I had never really heard of adult cutting, like, a supposedly grownup person, with responsibilities and shit, starting to cut for the first time.

But, it happens. It’s a thing. Always staying ahead of the trends, that’s me, ugh.

I look at those lines, freshly scabbing over, or tiny silvery scars, and see them now not as failure, but as survival lines. They are part of how I have managed to still be here, for my kids.

So, an acquaintance sent me this video doing the social media rounds of three pearl wearing, mature women singing Try Not to be a Cunt, it’s Christmas at the top of their lungs! (I struggled to share at first, so I also share the Fascinating Aida version, as back up.) Wouldn’t it have been great to send to Trinket? Husband poaching cunt.

(Yeah, yeah, I know. Real men can’t be stolen, etc… but it’s so much easier with willing vaginas circling…they are not to blame, but also not blameless.)

I mean, it’s a given that Rog is. Watching my fucking agony as he smirked at his fucking phone screen, sending her pictures of MY dog! The new dick pic is dog pics apparently. Trinket said he caught her attention on Matchdotcom because his profile pic included the dogs. Women bait. Best ever.

I begged him not to share my life with her, don’t bring her to my homes, don’t finger her in my car. Ya know? All those things he did with Leanne, and he knew nearly killed me. So, the love of his life (his words, even on the last card he wrote me, fucking off to the open legs of Trinketville, leaving me and my aging father to do ALL the cleaning of the empty house, schlep the planter boxes he said he wanted, but left (heavy MOFOs!) he just drove off, with a long, lingering kiss on my lips….) has no actual feelings of her own. Ugh.

So, Christmas Eve. (Also Leanne’s birthday…nice.) Here you are. I’ll leave this here for you. Every single Christmas Eve – without fail, three decades worth – we danced, holding each other, grinning like idiots, kissing madly, to this. It started our first year together, stumbling home after the pub, and carried on. After babies, it would be him stumbling in as I looked after the kinder at home. He’d come to me, fragrant with whiskey fumes, and I would light up like the damn Christmas tree, we’d stumble around to what I always realised was a ridiculously inappropriate anti-love song. About dysfunction, drug addiction, alcoholism and abuse.

Our song. Fucking perfect.

Then he’d fall into bed, waiting for me to do Santa duty (it was ALWAYS me, never us) then mount him hungrily, rounding his Christmas Eve off just perfectly. Go me! Fucking Stepford Wife that I was.

Fairytale Of New York
It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I’ve got a feeling
This year’s for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true
They’ve got cars big as bars
They’ve got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It’s no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas day