Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


Today’s affirmation

My amazing mate, who sends me these, early every morning, lives in a time zone that means she is sending at or before 5am.

She wakes up, has her own shit to deal with (cheating ex lives with his ho-worker and they share custody. Ho-worker is not always kind to her boys) lives in a tiny apartment in a less desirable part of the city, to go to work as the head teacher at an early childhood centre. In other words, no money for lots of love, dedication and effort.

And she does this first thing every single morning, on waking.

Selfless. Resilient. Strong. Loving. Kind. Amazing.

She is mostly incredibly positive and I am amazed and inspired by her ❤


Keeping it real

I made a new friend recently.

Not generally earth shattering news. But this one is turning out to be quite an interesting woman.

She approached me, and not a lot later, asked if I wanted to catch a movie sometime.

She drove over to my town – we have more restaurants and a cinema – last night after work. We went for dinner and a movie. She’s lovely, and seems like my kind of person. She is actually living in my hometown, which is a little weird, as I have found it can be a little toxic, and have kept healthy boundaries around a very clique-y, nasty group of middle aged mafia mothers from there. EJ mentioned how she “didn’t fit in,” and how there are zero fucks given, on her behalf. I kinda sensed this about her. A bit of a kindred spirit on the outsider front. I have never “fit in,” either. And have little desire to dance pretty for the mean girls. In fact, she mentioned my former lifetime BFF by name, not knowing I knew her. Interesting, because her words reflected exactly what I know about her. This is the woman I considered my best mate, from childhood. Who sent Rog a congratulatory text the day she and I found out about Trinket. Even he was horrified at her lack of loyalty. He knew he was cheating again. I have learned to enforce very strict boundaries, she is no longer any real part of my life. She has since apologised to me. I accept her apology, but, whatever. Damage was done really. I see how socially ambitious she has become. And it’s very unbecoming. We haven’t cut ties, I just rarely engage in any real way with her. I make little effort to keep in touch.

And she makes even less 😉

Anyway, the night got me thinking about men. Why do I not want anything to do with them? I thought I knew and loved one of the rare good ones. Had done due diligence. Bahahaha. Fuck, good one!

Other than the fact that I LOVED being loved. (And hot sex. I miss hot sex. So badly!) Or believing I was loved. Why another man right now? If ever? I loved the thought that my love had my back. I knew I always had his, and just never considered he could or would be anything else, that he would turn on me. I can’t tell you the depth of the pain at knowing he would protect Trinket, but throw me, the woman he watched agonisingly birth and nurture his babies, to the wolves.

Some American data, regarding repartnering. Why do men serial date? Why are they so desperate to find the next one, rather than be single, and enjoy that state for at least a while? Roger is not unique. Trawling the online dating sites, desperately trying to replace one wife appliance with a new model, that is common for men especially.

Remarriage is more common among men than women. Among previously married men (those who were ever divorced or widowed), 64% took a second walk down the aisle, compared with 52% of previously married women, according to a Pew Research Center analysis of 2013 Census Bureau data. One possible reason for this disparity is that women are less interested than men in remarrying. Among previously married women, 54% said in a 2014 Pew Research Center survey that they did not want to marry again, compared with 30% of men.

54% of women say they have no interest in remarriage. Hmmm. I wonder why?

Could it possibly be because women do the heavy lifting in marriage? We work, do the domestic work, pay bills, shop, nurse, taxi drive (both children and drunk husbands) constantly worry, organise and plan for the entire family, and men lap it up. Not having to do even their own basic self care.

In my own son’s words, Dad just replaced one life admin person with another. Is it any coincidence that Trinket’s work experience is all admin? It is all she knows. How to serve others. Bet she is great at faking orgasms, too. A “skill” I never bothered (or needed! 😉) to acquire.

Why reward selfish behaviour, huh?

No fucking wonder women don’t wanna do it again, more than they do!

Except, of course, there are the Trinkets of the world. Who are happy to be the whores who break up long-term marriages, so they don’t “have to be” alone.

Fuck knows how you live with that.

Quite easily as you have your third orgasm of the day, I guess 🤣. Go Trinket. I don’t matter. My life’s work doesn’t count. The way he treated me will NEVER happen to you, because hey, he makes you cum.

My flatmate has discovered the man who pursued her for over six months, who has introduced her to some exciting new sexual stuff, is turning out to be a fuck boy.

What a giant fucking surprise. God, they are so fucking predictable.

Not cynical at all. Lol.

So, here’s to quirky, sassy, genuine women friends, who opted out of the popularity contest. Love them. Cheers, EJ, for a lovely night out. And helping restore my faith that there are some real people out there.


What is romantic love?

CrazyKat posted about how love, and even the ability to love, is irrevocably altered after infidelity.

She is incredibly wise, and her post brought more tears. Grief at all I lost. Because the man I have always loved with everything I have, climbed into our daughter’s bed with his ex-girlfriend.

Then kept doing that for fifteen months. While I worked, and thought we were trying to get through a rough patch, having zero idea that he was fucking ‘our’ friend, in our homes, and on our property, fingering her in our car, performing cunninglingus on her, in our children’s beds, fucking her in our holiday home bed, getting his end away on our couches….

Then, more lies, more secrets, more cheating. Tens of thousands of text messages to other women. Hookups. Flirting. All while promising me he’d wait for me to heal.

Kat describes the loss poignantly. Her thoughts on waking to hear her husband tell her he loves her.

The first thought that ran through my head was… he would say the same thing to any warm bodied female he happened to wake up next to, and I’m sure he has. I know he said it to the other woman. I wish it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when he tells me he loves me, but it doesn’t. Five years into this healing journey and the truth is, he stole a portion of my ability to feel his love for me. Whether that love is deep, genuine, true, or not. I wouldn’t know. I gave him everything for 30 years prior to discovery, and he still told other women that he loved them.

This. All of this.

I used to go to sleep, encased in his arms, wake up still held, snuggle into his chest hair.

After Leanne, the hit of unbearable pain as I woke, every morning, remembering I wasn’t special, he just needed any warm body to hold…

When Roger told me he loved me, after the affair with Leanne, it was hard to believe those words. Had he said them to her? He still maintains he didn’t. Yeah right, so why did she buy herself a wedding dress? He still doesn’t admit to most of the other women, so why would I believe him? We told each other we loved each other every day. Ouch, sorry heart, that burns, the sting, and the heat that creates. This is a love addict. He craves ‘love’ and affection. Physical closeness, sex and attention. Of course he tells these women he loves them.

So, when Kat talks about the damage done, the loss of “love innocence,” using me as an example, she knows.

I know from speaking extensively with Paula that this is part of her fear. Fear that she will never be able to trust someone again. That she has lost the one true love of her life. I know how she feels. I am with my husband and I still have those feelings. Things are frankly just different now. I lost my love innocence the day the other woman called my phone. I lost my faith in my husband’s ability to love me in the way I love him, or even, sometimes, in the way I feel like I need to be loved. People will tell you… lots of people, that my husband loves me. They can see it. In front of people, he is demonstrative. With friends and family he often showers me with affection. He does this at home when we are alone too. I used to take it for granted. I thought all those ‘I Love You’s’ were his way of showing it. Now I know, for some people, I Love You is an easy phrase to toss around.

She also experiences this grief and loss. Yes, she is healing nicely. She and BE are still together, facing the effects of his addiction, their reality together. She still has her best friend beside her, albeit their relationship inevitably somewhat different than before.

Not better. Different.

Roger was like BE. Openly affectionate. Quietly spoken. “Loving.” People love him. He seems kind.

He’s not kind. He’s using that to get what he wants in return. Affection. It’s not kindness. It’s manipulation. “I love you, Hunk Lummox,” was a certain way to get a passionate kiss, for me to melt into his eyes…

Anyway, it’s interesting and terribly sad to hear about this in other people’s lives. I always knew. I always knew cheating changes EVERYTHING. You upset the apple cart and those apples can’t be unbruised.

So, in Roger’s case, you get a new load of apples.

In other news, my shoes, dress and headwear arrived yesterday for Derby Day. We have a runner on the day. This Saturday.

Yes. We.

We still both have shares in a horse together. And I am bracing myself, as the syndicate have booked a table on the poshest lawn. Yep. I am going to have to sit with Roger and Trinket. FML. But hey, it is what it is. I am staying with lovely friends. They were couple friends, and I don’t think they have seen Rog since he left me. They are pretty staggered at what he did. Ah well, aren’t we all? Lol. I love spending time with them, and Anabelle has mentioned she wants to try a new restaurant and cocktail bar with me. Okay. I’m your girl!

Last night, we had an impromptu BBQ. Workmates and a few others showed up. I made delicious salads, and our Argentinian tech built a fire in my garden to asado.

One friend turned up on dusk, after riding club, with her horse. Boris. He’s in my front paddock right now. So excited to have a pony on this property at last 😍🐎

My huntaway 🐶 was super thrilled there was a party…

So, there you go. Life goes on.

But I am changed. Deep, DEEP sadness lives in me. I believe Kat nailed it. I am not likely to love or trust again like I did. I gave it absolutely everything, and I lost. I lost my best friend. Whom I told everything. Whom I loved.

I lost my love innocence. It is never gonna be the same.

And it was one year yesterday, since my sassy MIL died.

Lord, I miss her.


Just leaving this here

I will just state here that I don’t necessarily believe Roger has full blown NPD. But he certainly does exhibit the following, and I venture to label it as covert, passive aggressive narcissism.

It is highly unlikely that anyone (even those people you tried to explain Narcissism to) HAVEN’T ever experienced someone who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Narcissists are ALWAYS flying under the radar with many disguises. They are the most CHARMING charmers, and just so nice to people who are in the position to do something for them, or to people who don’t have a personal connection or primary role in their life to see reality of who and what they REALLY are. Once you get emotionally close to a Narcissist, THEN AND ONLY THEN do you get to see them drop their carefully crafted and charming mask that hides the out-of-control and abusive creature hiding behind it AND that is after they have TOTALLY fooled and conned you into their world.

Greg Zaffuto – Author – From Charm to Harm and Everything Else in Between with a Narcissist

I also read an article on divorcedgirlsmiling regarding the agony of why is he being better for her, when I worked so hard for him? The reality is more likely just impression management in the new relationship, and the two to three year ‘rule,’ which really hit home. Rog is busy looking like an amazing partner, stepfather, son-in-law right now. Honeymoon period, of course. Which will be prolonged because Trinket was clever enough not to have him immediately move in with her, he has to keep impressing her, by dating her. She doesn’t have to immediately be his toilet cleaner, cook, taxi driver, bill payer, life admin person. Well played, indeed!

It hurts though. A lot. That I was so giving. And Trinket gets this lovely life with him, that I fucking paid for with my sweat, tears, blood. He often told me (keeping up his kibble supply) how selfless and chill I was. How much he loved me for all I did for him (hint, that’s not love, that is bait, keep doing that shit, Paula, it works for me!)

It just is the way it is, trying to radically accept the injustice is hard, but absolutely necessary.

And in the best news of all, I slept SIX straight hours last night 😍. First time in nearly ten years! I hardly slept at all the previous three nights, and after doing some good stuff for me, I knew I was going to get a little bit of shut eye as I settled into bed around midnight. And woke up after 6am! Woooooohoooo. I ache all over, lol. Inactivity for that long hurts my body!

A cool change at last, glorious morning, I think our thermo blast is finally over.

The vista out of my bedroom window as I sip my cuppa in bed this morning

I better get moving, get my physio exercises for injured shoulder and knee done, chooks fed, etc, and on my way.

Have a lovely day, my pretties 💖

1 Comment

Climbing out. A how to guide?

Obviously, I still struggle a lot more than I would like to think I ‘should.’

In my day to day life, I am actually incredibly functional. “Fine.” I don’t refer to my struggle, I am personable, hard working, pleasant, fun even. I put the unbearable here. Because there is nowhere for it in real life.

I was warned prior to embarking on EMDR as trauma therapy, that things would most likely get worse – possibly a lot worse 😱 – before they got better.

Oh yep. They have. The ideation is back again. I lay awake all of last night fighting the urges. Picturing my children’s faces. Drawing on their loving and quirky words. They really are good sorts, who show me a lot of love.

And I wondered yet again why I am not flying yet? And read this cool little passage from Spaghetti Sam.

A commenter over on Chump Lady pointed out that another way to protect yourself and to try to wade through the good and the bad was to listen closely when a person describes why they are no longer with their ex. Do they give you a short and to the point answer? Or do they offer up vague explanations with little to no detail? We grew apart sounds so much better than I cheated and he/she threw me out. She’s turned the kids against me sounds a lot better than I walked out on my kids and haven’t seen them in three years.

Generally, if a person has nothing to hide and is not the one at fault you’ll hear things like: He beat me. She slept with my best friend. He had a gambling problem. She drank too much. He had an untreated mental illness. She had a drug problem. He gave me an STD.

If they’re the one at fault though, it’s not uncommon to hear: We grew apart. I needed to find myself. She didn’t appreciate me. He wasn’t supportive of me. I loved him but I wasn’t in love with him. It was complicated.

Yep. I know how I was painted. To Trinket, but also to some friends. I did not help my cause, because a few years earlier, I wanted out. And told one of my best friends. She told Roger’s best mate. So, when he begged me to stay, and I did, embarking on a very difficult journey, I wasn’t able to retract that story. I was set up so well for, she doesn’t love me anymore, etc.

I kick myself every day for that. And for not being able to communicate to Rog that I might just be getting better. I did not want to promise him something I might not be able to deliver. I needed to be absolutely sure, and I indicated that I wanted to talk to him about it all after the thesis was submitted, would he please wait for me. I did tell him every day that I loved him. He promised me he would wait. He wrote notes telling me I was the only one for him. He’d wait forever. I have them. So I know I received these promises. Except he was never waiting. He was out, sourcing my replacement, ensuring his bed would never be empty. You know, “Just in case.”

And THAT is the source of so much of my pain. That I believed I had time, openness, honesty and a plan to try to get better.

From what HE did. He never tried to do better. Be better. He just sat behind a screen, literally charming the pants off anyone gullible enough not to dig deeper.

He just sat there, trolling for an easier option. No work on himself. I am gutted he didn’t love me enough to try harder to fix himself, learn why he did what he did.

But I bet he’s told Trinket he learned so much, will be better for her. Because she earned that, right???? 🤢🤮

I was given a very awesome kick in the pants this morning. A very wise woman, whom I LOVE, asked some blunt questions. And she totally nailed it.

I have been ruminating on why you, your personality (from what I know of you, only what you have shared obviously) if you still don’t blame yourself for not healing faster, or for not getting out on your own terms, for living together so long without truly reconciling, or truly splitting up. If the love story is a deflection from reality. Do you feel like somehow it’s your fault, or you lost. You thought he would wait, but he obviously didn’t. I feel a lot of competition with you guys throughout the time we have been chatting, quite a while now. I felt the competitive feeling and poor me attitude from Rog while we were there. Not hard to see as he often said stuff like, “see, she’s not nice to me.” or “see, I can’t do anything right.” With that attitude he wasn’t going to do any of the heavy lifting, or any of the lifting. Do you blame yourself for holding out for your own needs, and then losing him? or for staying knowing you should have left? I’m sure you are dealing with all this in therapy, and I am someone who always tries to figure things out. I know in our earlier conversations/comments on the blog/whatever, that you wanted out. You said you thought you just couldn’t get past it and you were staying for financial and practical reasons and because D was still home… and even said at one point she asked you stay while she was abroad… not leave while she was gone. Do you blame yourself because you didn’t just do what you feel you should have done once you realized you weren’t thriving by staying? On YOUR terms, not Rog’s terms. I’m not trying to tear open wounds, or blame you for anything, AT ALL, because obviously no one blames you… but I think you blame yourself. You lost him. But what was your end goal when you were staying because of financial reasons? Did you really think the healing was still about you? Because from an outsider’s point of view, it never was. Yes, you bettered yourself. You took charge of your own life, to fuck with Rog, and got your degrees. All that was for you. Why do you think once the paper was done that you were ready to make things work with Rog? Had you truly gotten past everything through researching and writing the paper, or because potentially he was out the door? A challenge? It confuses me because I would have thought you would have been more ready to leave at that point. Sorry for being so blunt. I care about you so much and I know facing our own demons is the only way out. By demons, I mean the things that hold us back from being and having what we really want, is about truth. Being truthful to ourselves even if it hurts. You are so much. So many things, you just you, by yourself. I think Rog is the deflection. He doesn’t deserve you, and you know it. I know you still love him, but he’s toxic. He never played by the rules… he’s a cheater. You were playing a game with a cheater. But you knew that for quite some time. I know I can’t help you heal, but I do think Rog cheating and leaving on his terms has been a huge blow. Trinket is the distraction. She’s nothing but a pawn. Anyway, I’m just blabbering on because I feel so useless and I know you are just trying to talk it out. Please know I care deeply about you and I want you to feel good, safe, strong. xoxo

Yeah. It’s blunt. But true. And said with love.

I do blame myself. I do feel like I walked through the fire only to find – more damn fire. I did not communicate my healing part of my journey correctly. I am furious with myself for again putting his needs and wants above my own, and it still failing! Yes. We always had a bit of a power struggle going on. I deferred a LOT! He likes his women to be beneath him, obviously. It’s why he chose a mousey, older replacement. He never wanted an equal, and the kids have all identified that he was … intimidated by/mad about my education He did nothing, but wait, and have a pity party because I was so hurt by what HE did.

So, the end result of that is that I MUST climb out. TODAY! I must be awesome. I must be happy, successful, productive. I bought my first new designer lingerie since he left. Got refitted for bras, for me, no one else will see these. OMG, my slimmer body looks fantastic! Who even is that sexy old chick? 🤣😂🤣

I look back on how damn hard we both worked. Farming is hard yakka. And my work ethic is huge. Today, I spent the day drafting sheep, doing weeds, planning my regrassing and autumn fertiliser programme. I did a feed budget, and calculated how many cattle I think I can now winter, with that hay in the barn. I looked to see what weaners are making. I looked at increasing my ewe flock. And I delivered a ram a few hours away, and caught up with a fabulous friend who is making and selling candles in secondhand crystal she is sourcing. I’m burning one now, and it is insanely good

So, my own pity party must have a reprieve. I have to do better, be better. After all, there is only this one precious life.



I am self aware enough to understand I have slipped into one of the pits again.

It happens a lot. Has done for years.

The struggle is to let it wash over you, to not fight it in the kind of way that I see as akin to getting caught in a surf rip. Just let it carry you, knowing once you are out to sea, and clear of it, you can then swim back to safety.

Of course, every time I anticipate seeing him/them, I know I have to mentally prepare myself for this, it still hurts an unbelievable amount. Like, no less than from the very start.

Trying to let go of my love for this damaging man is like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket.

The good news is, she wasn’t at my hometown race meeting.

The better news is, neither was he. My spidey senses were either lying to me, or he came up for the day on Friday, and went home before the meeting. Whatever it was, it was hugely relieving. I actually got to catch up with old friends without being on edge.

It comes at a price.

I got home and emotionally crashed. No amount of adrenal support supplements, rescue remedy, diaphragmatic breathing, or beta blockers can shield me from this, it seems. I realised I had been running on adrenalin and was now crashing badly. Thank God I was driving, and had not been drinking. I would have been in real trouble then. As it is, I battled the suicidal demons for several hours, and yep, used every tool I have learnt during this longest, darkest winter of my life.

I don’t get it. I really don’t. I used to have such a good life in so many ways. My brain had managed to deal with the traumas somehow, and now, trying to put them back in their boxes, and nearly stack them back in that mental storeroom, is like herding cats.

Oh, I’m full of antiquated analogies tonight!

The problem is, of course one day I will have to spend time around the man I have loved with every part of my being, and the woman he loves more than me. Faaaaaark. How is that even a thing? And how the fuck could she inflict this on another betrayed partner???

Of course, it’s pointless, waiting for an apology I will never get, from a very damaged woman…

I already know his apologies were hollow. He wasn’t truly sorry.

He was just sorry he (finally) got caught.

And friends repeating crap about karma, well, that doesn’t help either, no matter how nice the idea is. Life is not just. It just is. Full of all the crappy people getting away with doing shitty things. There is nothing new there. I’ve experienced this over and over during this lifetime, and up until now, I have always got right back up!

We have events coming up that will dictate that we have to be in the same place, at the same time. We share children. We have two (at least) graduation ceremonies to attend. First this May. I will have to mentally brace myself to face the woman who stole my life, my heart. To see them all loved up and sharing a life. I feel so nauseous 🤢.

Worse, next weekend, I will have to share a table with them, as our filly is entered on one of the biggest race days of the year. The syndicate has booked a table and no way am I not going. You race horses for decades, and to get one this exciting is incredibly rare. I will be out of the country for the race we are aiming at, a fortnight later, so yeah, fuck off Trinket. I have to be there.

In these pits, you really do question why. Why did I martyr myself? For a man who just could not value me, or protect my heart from all this damage? What is actually wrong with me? Honestly! Slap that bitch upside the head, will ya??? I had no idea really prior to this, about how horrendous this kind of traumatic response is. Or that wise, thinking, loving women really could be so damn stupid!

So, to try to stay in the world tonight, I count my MANY blessings.

I bought a new backpack, and other travel supplies yesterday, during a fantastic sale. I really am going backpacking in Europe in two weeks!

I had a nice day out, with old friends, who were lovely and inclusive, even if some are Switzerland friends, and I don’t need them in my daily life. It was good to just get along without acrimony or judgement for 5 damn minutes!

I have put cancer into remission, somehow, despite being in the worst emotional maelstrom you can imagine! Fuck you cancer!

And, I did it alone. Sam’s post touched so many nerves. I made my needs so small. I endured painful things quietly, rather than upset my love unduly. The man I trusted, expected to always be there for me, because, you know, I fucking gave him my life, my future, my heart, surely he could pay back his end of the bargain, just a little, after he broke my heart, especially after he gave me the disease that caused the damn cancer, because rolling on a condom to have sex with a mean cunt is too hard, right? Worth making the person who loves you scarily ill. Fuck yeah! Too right it is.

Anyway, as you all know this is where I bleed. As I lie wide awake at 2.40am, as I type. It’s this to avoid the demons winning tonight.

Tomorrow, I will get up and keep fighting. I promise.


Game day. The prep

Went to a soiree last night, celebrating 100 years for the local racing club.

I made myself go.

My first fulltime job was riding trackwork, for a trainer based at this large training centre. It holds a special place in my heart. I met Roger at a Christmas race meeting there. One of the fillies I currently have a small share in is trained there. She has kicked off her career in an exciting way, holding a nomination for The NZ Oaks in mid March.

This was a night where stalwarts and characters of the club got to share some stories, and it was very interesting hearing them.

I chatted happily with many old friends and acquaintances.

Everyone was so kind. Commented on how fit I look (hint, not fit, just slim, lol.)

I talked with a dear older friend who then told me all about his brother’s recent terminal cancer diagnosis. He is 80 this year, and we agreed that it is awful, but we all have to die of something. Lord, I find the cancer stories hard. He does not know about my own cancer journey. I squirm internally, guilt for surviving so far? Guilt for internally making his brother’s diagnosis all about me? I dunno. It is just waaaay more uncomfortable than it used to be….

The most interesting chat was with a couple of women I used to see a lot of, when we were dairy farming, and lived next door to my sister-in-law, Roger’s eldest sister, Jane. The one who later totally loathed us, and spread vicious lies and rumours around town when Rog sold our farm – the family farm. The one who hosted Roger and Trinket overnight, when we still lived together, 5 minutes after I’ve Met Someone Else, after 11 years not speaking to us – utterly gutting. The disloyalty was unbelievable. Trinket can have her. She used to be one of my closest friends. These two women last night were two of her BFFs. They are great fun, nearing 60. They hugged me tightly and said, man, you look utterly gorgeous! How are you doing???

Of course, I lied, smiled brightly and said, “great, thanks so much!” Then the one who is the mother of the twins I had such a fabulous time reconnecting with just after New Year (they are the girls to the right of the picture of us all posted on that blog post) got chatting. She said, “You know we don’t have anything to do with Jane anymore, right? Huge falling out. She lost the plot, totally bitter and horrendously nasty.”

No. I had no idea. Wow!

Then she asked me what the hell happened? Why the split? She said they all saw us as so in love.


Yep, it’s not just me. Other people saw it too. Fuck he’s good.

I told her about the internet dating and that he had relocated south, chased a suburban widow. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “After all you did for him? After you stayed after Leanne? After you stuck by him when you didn’t really agree with him selling the family farm? Fuck’s sake! Men! What an arsehole. No wonder he ran away after serial cheating on you.” I said yeah, it’s been a very rough ride. I still love him, but don’t want to, of course. And I’m still standing. Her response was super cute. She hugged me tightly, rubbed my arm and said, “Better, and stronger than ever. Always knew you were a special one. What a fucking loser he turned out to be. Always so charming and likeable. Bullshit he is!”

Naw. People are so nice. Lol.

Anyway, that was my ego boost. Today I go to reclaim my space, and have some fun with friends.

Yeah. He will be there. Sure of it. I felt his presence all yesterday, was wound so damn tight, thought I might actually snap. I always feel him nearby. It is unbelievably painful. And I have been preparing myself to face the maggoty old Trinket if she has the ladyballs to show up on my territory….which is why I am basing myself away from the old crew.


Leave a comment

Another anniversary

There are so many. But this is the big one. And the first one alone.

I moved in with Roger less than 9 weeks after we started seeing each other. I knew I never wanted to marry, so moving in was a HUGE deal for me, my “wedding” day. It was just a few weeks after he cheated on me with Leanne, on his birthday, in January, as I sat at home waiting for him to pick me up to go for a birthday drink. Instead of realising that was a giant red flag, I thought it was a slip up, that he was getting her out of his system. “I feel awful. I didn’t mean to. She just showed up, I did it in anger. I don’t know why I did that. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you, Snooks. I’m so, so sorry.”

Joke’s on me, right?

A triptych a friend’s daughter just painted. LOVE the words. Real eyes realise real lies 🖤

It was the 19th of February 1988. And it was the day before the biggest local race meeting of the year. Today is not the 19th. But it is the day before that meeting. I have been invited by some friends to join them, a different crew to the one I usually attend with. Rog always hired a marquee spot, and I would prepare BBQ food, antipasti, nibbles, drinks, etc.

This time, I just have to show up, with my smile. How refreshing! But yeah. Anniversaries are always tough. There are a few. There is the late December one, of us meeting and swiftly falling madly in love. DDay in May. Then two years later, in April, when he met Leanne again to fuck her. Another DDay, in August, of I’ve Met Someone Else. Good old Trinket Day. Good old MatchdotCON.

Then the March ones. Of the last time we made love, and the day we moved, when he held me close, kissed me deeply, and drove out of my life.

Of course, there are others sprinkled throughout the year. July 1992, when I left for the UK. December, when I returned, 6 months pregnant with our first child. Birthdays, dates when I made new discoveries about Leanne, and dates like the 10th January (first time he fucked Leanne) then June, when I know he bizarrely stayed home when I took the (disappointed) kids on a fishing trip, so he could go and fuck her, you get the picture. So many, it sometimes seems like no part of the year is untainted. Especially when an affair spans more than a year in duration.

So yep. Big girl panties. They sure are getting a hammering, lol. But dammit, I must reclaim these dates, my life. This is where I live. They are making their own damn traditions down there. I am fighting hard to build mine – to stay in the world, here. To try to stop the tears eventually…


Emotional Sunburn

Reblogging this, from SSA.


This is EXACTLY how I felt after DDay. That he might hit me again on my sunburn.

And like the sayings about broken trust…

…it is very, very difficult to rebuild trust. It takes a long time, commitment, transparency, honesty, openness. You have to be patient. Loving. Honest.

Too hard for a proven cheater in many cases. Certainly too hard for my one. He cheated when I was a whole, unbroken person. Why would he possibly not cheat when I doubted and struggled due to…him cheating?

Ugh. Cheaters are the worst. Understatement much?



EMDR is hard.

I worked on a lake house memory last night. We’ve moved up the distress scale. It was a memory of an afternoon/evening spent there, with just Roger, Leanne and myself. And for the first time during the processing, tears absolutely poured silently down my cheeks. My body shook, and the pain in my tummy and throat were nearly unbearable.

I didn’t manage to move the memory’s distress level down at all last night. It is sitting in its secure receptacle, in an inaccessible place. Kirsty made encouraging noises, but I could see she noted how long and how immovable these trauma memories have been for me. I am concerned. This is going to be a very long, very expensive process.

The positives are that she does underscore to me how high functioning I am despite dealing with multiple high level traumas. I just think you kinda have no choice. She said a lot of people are not as capable of achieving what I do when under this kind of mental angst. That feels like I am winning at least a small part of this battle.

We discussed the funeral, and the level of anxiety I felt. At seeing them together. I said, she didn’t come. Kirsty expressed surprise. But said, ah, she feels guilt and won’t face you or your old friends. What a life she has chosen. What a way to live. Loved up down there, pretend he never had a life before her up here. How is the cutting?

I hadn’t cut for 12 days. Until I arrived home, picked up and stacked 120+ bales of hay, danced to loud music to try to shake off the grief last night (haymaking was a Roger thing, I loved the smell of his hay scented sweatiness, then a couple of beers, a lot of inhaling him, and intimacy in massaging his aching body, always with a happy ending, me climbing aboard, getting him to completion to help him sleep well after a big, achy day of making hay.

So, there was some blood produced after my shower, to literally bleed out some of the pain.

As I sliced beside my tattoo, covering my surgical scar for cervical cancer, I noted my feelings about that. The weird mix of fear that his whoring would literally kill me, juxtaposed against my suicidal ideation. How could I both fear death, and yet invite it?

This morning, I did my usual chores, chickens, dogs, laundry, swept the floor. And sat, weeping into a cup of tea on my doorstep, staring at my lightly bruised legs (solo hay gang injury 😂) finishing off with my “beetle crushers” (Roger’s description when I bought them with him.) I bought these in Argentina, and they are great little lightweight boots, a bit reminiscent of a tame version of my prized cherry Dr Martins I owned when I first met Roger.

So many tender memories hurting like fuck today. I wept more, trying to swallow the lump in my throat on my way to work this morning.

Gotta get on with the day. Grief is so all consuming. I just don’t get enough sleep.