Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Difficult conversations

When you are a good girl, and were trained to make your needs smaller and smaller and smaller – and praised for how “low maintenance” you are, stating your needs is unbelievably anxiety inducing.

I moved in with Roger after knowing him five weeks.

I had only quite recently turned 20.

I was the chill chick.

Never worried about him out late drinking, shooting, etc, with the boys. Hanging out with other women. Even five years later, when our first child was born. Still the chill chick. Home alone with a crying baby and leaky, sore boobs.

I was praised for my low maintenance stance.

Well manipulated to never expect much. Well played, Rog.

If Trinket asked Roger what the date was that I moved in with him, I bet he doesn’t even know the month. Much less the date or year. I’ll guarantee he couldn’t tell you my birthday with any degree of certainty. Thirty years.

Yet, I acknowledged our anniversary date, every year.

He never did.

I never got Valentine’s flowers. Rarely was my birthday remembered.

And yet I would remember his whole family’s. Mother, father sisters, brother-in-law, nieces, nephew….

Of course, now he is on Facebook (something he did at the same time he started with the dating apps, hmmmm, red flags…I missed them again…) he has many of those reminders done for him digitally.

So. Seeing as BG did nothing to acknowledge our (albeit wrong, lol, but did he do the research to find out when we started? Nope.) anniversary, DESPITE getting a lovely gift and lovingly worded card, accidentally a day early, and a conversation about that, and even after I had a gentle conversation about whether he still needed a monthly reminder of the day he started with his ex of over four years ago, he did very little. A message at lunchtime. And some frantic where are you messages that night when I hadn’t replied all day, as I processed my disappointment at not even warranting a bunch of flowers.

Or a card.

Or a good morning beautiful, happy anniversary morning text…

And I realised I had to explain this.

But when he phoned, all worried the next morning – still without a clue – I just said I needed to talk to him about something I was mulling over but it needed to happen in person. Not via text or phone.

He got all butt hurt. I said to calm down, just a communication thing, we’d talk next time we were face to face.

He begged me to come over this long weekend as he is stuck, new opening rules, he is working and here to support his team.

I said, not coming until Saturday night, but will come over.

I took my time. And arrived around 6.30pm.

He was at his friends, Trev and Sally’s. They said come ’round. I called in with a nice bottle and they gave me huge hugs and kisses, now we are allowed to gather in groups of up to 100. BG smooched me too, all very PDA and thanks for coming, darling…

We had a lovely night there but came home to cook a scotch fillet and a salad, accompanied by a lovely red.

I wasn’t gonna start in with a heavy conversation.

This morning, after making love (bloody hell, that man!) he gazed over at me and said, “oh shit, you look angry at me.”

I didn’t, I was admiring how criminally good looking he is.

But I said, “I’m certainly not angry, but we should probably have that talk I promised.”

His reaction was, “oh shit, ‘angry’ and ‘talk’ in the same sentence are not good!”

I laughed and said, you forgot the ‘not’ in front of the ‘angry.’

And then I said, you probably know what it pertains to, right?

Nope. No idea.

Hmmm.

I just said that I needed to talk to him about the way our (not even correct date) anniversary went. That my past means that I do need more acknowledgement. That I had thirty years of not having anniversaries, Valentine’s or birthdays acknowledged, let alone celebrated. And I read praised for being low maintenance. My expectations were managed and manipulated down so low as to not expect anything.

And I won’t do it again.

That I’m sorry that my past affects this, but I know he celebrated monthly with Chrissy, and I don’t need that, but I do need some love and care on these special dates.

His response was faintly defensive at first. “I did say happy anniversary.”

I said yes, you did.

At lunchtime.

Normally I get/give a morning text. A special day, that you had 24 hours’ notice about with an accidentally early delivery, and you did nothing. I sat all day thinking that MIGHT be because you had planned a later surprise.

No. Nothing.

I did feel a bit angry then. Just as I processed what I need. I’m not angry now. Disappointed and a bit hurt, but I realised I just needed to say it..clearly. Tell you directly what I need. So I have.

He did reply that he wondered what date I meant? What was I basing a start on?

Which is a fair question.

I met him in August. The day before his birthday, as it turns out. Not that I knew that for another year.

We reconnected in May. I took that date as our ‘start.’ And I had mentioned this before.

He said, if it was a wedding date, yeah, that is shit. And I reminded him that I was never married. He said, oh shit, I always forget that. Thirty years is married. He should have remembered. And now I realise I should too. What’s the date again? The real one? I’ll put it in my phone now. And when is your birthday, sorry, I forget.

No he didn’t, because I had never told him. So I did, and that is now also in his phone.

He did send me flowers for Valentine’s. Beautiful boho flowers. Exactly my taste.

Anyway, I then got up to make us a cuppa, and cried discreetly.

Stating my needs is not something I feel easy with. It was SUPER hard. My identity that Roger constructed for me was chill chick, with zero needy needs. And I struggled to get the words out, and the anxiety flooded out as I waited for the kettle to boil. I was taught to hate needy women. And this felt embarrassingly needy.

When I got back to bed, he snuggled me and said, “I’m sorry, am a bit dense, see why I have never been successful at relationships? Not good enough, I am sorry. And Chrissy was ridiculously needy, and demanding of being celebrated for taking a damn shit. I’ve been so relieved with you, just going with the flow, I got lazy and thoughtless. You deserve better, and I will be better.”

Hmmm. Let’s see. He knows now.


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Who filed?

It’s interesting.

I’ve just been talking to three divorced friends here, in real life.

All were left for another woman.

And all four of us were the ones who had to file for divorce.

All four men left to be with the “loves of their lives.” (Two of the exes are now not with those Schmoopies.) All four of us were at least twenty years married/together.

I got a separation agreement drawn up when it became obvious I needed to be proactive when I was blindsided by another affair.

This time, he was leaving me for this better woman than me.

But, did he talk to his lawyer?

Nope. Not for over five months. All while he was driving up and down the island to be with this oh so special home wrecker.

Thirty years together. After a year and a half long affair with a friend of ours, eight years prior to the “exit affair” (how quaint, huh?) An exit affair that occurred as I was finishing my Masters thesis.

Oh, after two years of secret internet dating. Took him a while to hook one dumb enough to believe him. A beige widow of a serial cheater, I kid you not.

Seven months living together, me in a stunned, WTF just happened, stupor of half hearted repeat scenario pick me dancing.

I’d danced that polka before. I was sure he would come to his senses and remember it was me he loved all along.

Because I was deluded like that.

He needed to be with Trinket so badly, he refused to sign the separation agreement (that I got drawn up…he didn’t even consult our lawyer…) for many months, he even bought property without it signed, I actually owned half his new love nest! (But did not take my lawyer’s advice and get half of it.) His delay held up my purchase of a new home. I nearly lost it because he wouldn’t sign.

Then he did.

On Valentine’s Day. How fucking horrific.

As our then 21 year old son said about the boring Trinket, “just a new admin person, Mum. He can’t do anything alone.”

Including getting a divorce.

Who filed for you? Bet it wasn’t the cake eating cheater!

God, I loved that man. What a fuckwit I am.


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Cheating and kids

My friend, L, whose husband left her during Level 4 lockdown, for his latest Schmoopie, has had her sister-in-law call her and tell her that her adult children not wanting to talk to their father, is them “just punishing their father.”

Well, lady on your smug high horse, young adult children need to do what makes them feel safe. These are boundaries they are drawing around themselves.

We don’t like what you did, Dad. You’re a cowardly, lying cheater. You preach honesty, then fucking lie and cheat.

They’re grieving.

That is what people don’t understand.

When a cheating spouse leaves, they actually affect the children far more deeply than society would have us believe.

I know, because I was one of those young adult children who was blindsided by a cheating, divorcing father. It shifts your belief system on its axis. I was DETERMINED I wouldn’t love anyone who could or would cheat. I made my own needs minuscule, to take care of Roger’s needs. Why would he cheat on/leave such an awesome woman? Right?

Our own youngest daughter barely spoke to her cheating, lying father for at least a year. She does now, but I know she thinks he’s a POS. She has told me many times he lost all her respect by lying and cheating.

Again.

By fooling me into believing he’d changed. By online dating for the last two years we were together.

By leaving me for, in daughter’s words, “a boring person who is weak as piss, and as bad as him for doing this, Mum.”

Yeah. Kids know. They also know that they have to eat some shit sandwiches. To have a relationship with their lying, cheating father, they have to compromise their morals somewhat.

It’s why my own relationship with my cheating father is distant. We are okay. But I have zero respect for him.

As L said, blood is thicker than water, and her sister-in-law has no understanding of the hell that man put her through. You really don’t unless you’ve lived with a serial cheat, who makes you feel worthless.

Let the kids grieve. They are able to make up their own minds about a cheating parent.


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Well, I’m a fuck up

Having not really ever been an anniversary girl, I have just realised I fucked up.

Went back through our messages, and the 28th is not a year! The 18th was! 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

But, I told BG it was the 28th. What a dick I am!

The 18th should be easy to remember. It is 2 days after the TENTH anniversary of DDay. The day Leanne bragged to me, exposing her long affair with my beloved partner.

How did I get that so wrong?

Because my needs were small. Marking dates, expecting acknowledgement was a stupid thing to do in my previous life. I learned not to expect anything.

Am a bit mad at myself now, lol.


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Restart

A friend, who separated from her husband around 18 months ago, asked me what I was up to this weekend, last night. It’s a long one. Queen’s Birthday celebrated here on Monday.

She’s been seeing a guy who lives around the corner from me. She tells me it’s not serious. But they’ve been together for many months now, and have partnered each other to several events I have attended. I like him. Wonder if he might be a bit of a player? No evidence of this, just a way about him. I’m always wary of men who kind of flirt with me. He does, but I think I might be overreacting. He likes talking to me, says I am more interesting than most women he knows. A backhanded compliment, huh? Women, obviously we are just expected to look good?

Yep, that’s me, overthinkers anonymous.

Michaela’s a funny, kind, ditzy blonde at least a decade younger than me.

She asked me how it was with the barman.

“Good, a year now, WTAF!” Then I asked about her and Steve.

“No way! A year, must be going well! Go you! Yeah, same, still a bit of a rollercoaster.”

The first time I have got an indication she might like him a bit more than as a casual distraction.

I just replied, “Ditto, on the rollercoaster.”

Which is the whole reason I made sure I didn’t jump from my three decade long exclusive, committed (oh, sorry, that was just me…) relationship, into another one.

Relationships are hard. They take a lot of emotional energy. And you need to be on firm ground yourself to be able to ride the waves. My behaviour and brain had been trained into loving one adorable man, giving him every part of me, and I haven’t been fully able to stop that. I tend to give and give and give, kind of an emotional investment that was supposed to keep me safe.

It didn’t work. Instead, I just feel raped and pillaged for all I had to give. Emotionally divested.

Run over by the Roger charm bus.

I’m super wary of doing that again, being the giver, with a willing taker just sitting there eating it all up, becoming more and more entitled.

So, I’m not organising anything this weekend. BG asked me two days ago what my weekend looked like, then promised to call.

Twice.

He didn’t.

Not even once.

I know he’s got a lot on, but I am not chasing this. I am picking up my new car on Friday afternoon. I haven’t told BG anything about this whole my-friend-bought-my-car palaver.

I might join Steve and Michaela on his boat, and go fishing instead.

I have all three dogs, and staying closer to home seems like a good option.

My friend, Tracy, on a South Island sheep farm, made me these awesome dog beds, that I received yesterday. They are made out of old wool fadges, and the internal cushion is wool.

It makes me feel connected to my farming past. A large part of my identity is linked with being a farmer. These beds arriving yesterday gave me enormous pleasure.

It’s the simple things ❤🤠👌


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Flat

Feeling a tad flat.

Let down even.

Which is unfair really.

I had my terrifying job interview today. Don’t feel I did that well, which is disappointing, because I think I would love this job.

Dammit.

And, the barman didn’t say good morning.

I do often, and just left it today. I didn’t hear from him until nearly lunchtime. And that was because the anniversary gift I sent him arrived a day early. He sent a text to say I was naughty, spoiling him, yada, yada…

We have a (leap) year under our belts tomorrow.

In this iteration, at least. One year since I slept with the second man I ever have, lol. One year since the first time (and the second, through to sixth 🤣🍆💦 times) we made love.

OMG! How the hell did that even happen???

So, he thanked me and wished me well for the interview.

I knew he was a bit off. Has been all week.

Work stress.

Anyway, he admitted he is pissed at himself about some meeting prep he hasn’t done enough of.

Because I was home by 4.30pm, I offered to come over. To be there for him.

I told him (for the first time ever) that I needed a hug.

He said he did too, but not to come over, he’d be terrible company.

Fair enough.

But I am a bit disappointed. I admitted I needed him. I am pretty sure I have never done that before.

And he wasn’t able to be that person for me today.

It’s okay.

I’m a big girl who has been dealing with my shit on my own for a few years now.

But yeah, I’m flat.

Literally.

On my back with the worst cramps ever. Hot water bottle, ibuprofen and wicked pain. Lucky barman missing out on this!

Oh, and my friend L’s STBX is being a twat. Ranting and raving that their eldest (22) has turned his siblings (20 and 18) against him.

Um, no. You cheated and lied and left the family for your Schmoopie under lockdown.

It’s called consequences, dude. They are these annoying things that happen when you do the wrong thing.

She’s so scared of him still. And so surprised he does all the things that I predict he will. Cheater playbook. So predictable.

I am gonna try to sleep the pain off.

Ouch.


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I had a dream

Hmm. That dream was to grow old with the man I have loved since I was 20 years old.

It turned into a nightmare.

Saturday night’s dreams were all about him telling his duck shooting mates all about his wonderful new life, where he is ecstatically happy now, with the woman of his dreams.

Who he secretly started seeing when I thought we were healing, in recovery from his last long affair.

Now he has dumped me, that terrible person he needed to discard. 😭😭😭

I am forgotten. Thrown out with the rubbish. My hard work, commitment, humour, and deep love never counted.

They – my old friends – all nod happily and drink to the happiness of Roger and Trinket.

Built on the misery and pain of the woman who loved a serial cheater.

That is all.


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Tea and truth

Had a cuppa with a woman I have known for a very long time, the other day. She’s the mother of one of my son’s best mates. Probably his best, lifetime female friend.

Taylor, the mother, was so fun. Bought my car off me on the spot, lol.

We were sitting chatting brightly, I was admiring her gorgeous new cedar spa pool.

Then she asked where Roger was.

Ugh.

I told her, without editorialising. He met someone online, sold farm, moved to her, yada yada…

And added, smiling widely as my lip wobbled a little and I focused out her kitchen window, trying to get my shit together, “anyway, hope he’s happy now.”

Taylor looked at me and said, “really? Do you? Or is that just what you are expected to say? I’d be furious, heartbroken, confused. Not hoping he and that whore are happy! No fucking way!”

I said, yeah, I wish I was that magnanimous. I’m not. He cheated, lied, gaslighted, used and abused me. I am completely heartbroken, but you put on the brave, healed face in public. No one wants to be that dick. I’m not that zen.

Yet.

She hugged me and said she thinks I am awesome, a great friend, mother, partner, employee, problem solver. She said it hurt her just thinking about what I have endured. Her relationship is fractious, but she loves him, and said it would ruin her if he cheated.

It’s a strange thing. But admitting this, with someone I am not super close with (I even have to pretend I am more healed than I feel with friends these days, aware early on that no one wants to know, it’s too much for most to contemplate, that those lovely people, that fun, connected couple, Paula and Norm, split up because he kept cheating on her, WTAF) was cathartic.

I left it at that, and when I left a lot later, she hugged me tightly, tears in her eyes, my lip wobbling precariously..

Shiiiiiit! Get a grip, Paula!

The grief is private, it goes here, on this blog, so I can get on in real life.

I do have some truly beautiful, understanding people in my life. I am forever grateful for them.


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Love. Loathing

My up and down weekend (when will the post infidelity rollercoaster ever end?) has me home again now.

Tired.

And wondering once again how deep love turns to such intense loathing of someone you decide to completely fuck their sense of safety in the world up?

Crazy huh?

There is no way I ever foresaw Roger ever not being my best friend. Let alone hating me and never speaking to me ever.

It still aches.

I know he is long gone, and treated me appallingly. I don’t want him back.

But I’ll never stop loving who I thought he was 😭

Forging through some tough stuff right now.

Alone.

As you do xxx


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Insecure bitch

So, following my last post about some seriously awful insecurity I was feeling, all the stupid comparisons with BG’s ex, I addressed it.

We were lying in bed after making oh so amazing love, which he initiated. He gazed at me and said, “oh shit. What’s up? You okay?”

I said, “I’m fine. I’m just having a dick moment, had bad dreams, sorry.”

He pressed me further, “tell me what’s wrong, baby. Please. Don’t want you to go home with any worries…”

Didn’t tell him I snooped, but let him know I am feeling a bit insecure, and really hate being that girl.

About whether he would ever love me as much as he loved Chrissy.

He was amazing, so caring and upset that I felt this way.

All the stuff I know/Lanen said on my previous post.

“Baby. This is different.

She was a fire because she was a liar, and that makes you grip harder. It’s bullshit insecurity. She wasn’t the love of my life, she just felt good for a short while. Until her true colours showed.”

He told me he was talking about me all weekend to the lads, and they were completely rapt for him, and intrigued to meet me. No wonder they swamped me when I dropped him off at golf. I was the new exhibit, lol.

I said I was worried that I “look like” he should love me, but if he’s not feeling it….

He was upset I thought that, said he totally loves me, wants this and is constantly thinking he’s not good enough/the bubble will burst.

He made me go into work with him, to spend the last minutes here in his town before I need to go home, with me. And as he left, and I apologised (ugh) for being unusually insecure/a dick, he looked at me, held me tight, kissing my forehead and stroking my hair, and said, “it’s okay. We’ve all got damage. Yours is big, and you’ve been brave. Mine is that I’m cautious after making a dick of myself with a selfish bitch.

She never once did the things for me that you do.

Oh God! I hope you’re not doing what the last one did!

Joking!

She did used to buy me presents. That was guilt. She’d go back to Brisbane, fuck some guy, and show up all I love you, here’s some fragrance….”

I did “know” all of this insecurity crap. But glad we talked. We are on the same page.

I know the triggers were my own stupid snooping, the fact that we were supposed to be flying out on a month’s holiday together on Wednesday, and I have that scary job interview Wednesday as well.

And Dday anniversary just passed, and it will be a year this week since BG and I reconnected, and started this thing…lots of head stuff going on, fucking with my heart stuff.

I hate this so much when I get angsty. It’s so scary, and I feel such a vulnerable fool.

I never used to feel insecure. Never.

Until Leanne.

Until Trinket doubled down on it all.