Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Getting sassy

The barman is here. He got here Saturday. Two weeks off. Woohoo.

I have to work until Thursday, when I get some leave.

We sorted some home jobs, and started reorganising my barn during the weekend. Looks great!

And yesterday, he sent me a picture of my dogs on the bed with him, after I went to work.

Even the big, ex working sheep dog!

And got a bit sassy with me…

He loves my foodie-ness. I love to cook.

We are off on Friday on a road trip. Domestic tourism is huge here, with our borders pretty much closed, Covid contained to quarantine facilities only, and it being mid-winter. No tropical holidays happening this year!

I can’t wait. ❤


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Dating partnered men

When you start dating someone, and you find out they are still married/with their partner, what would you do?

Seems like a pretty obvious question, with a very obvious answer, right???

Prior to having been cheated on, I would have cut contact IMMEDIATELY. And if pushed, told him to sort his shit out, and come back to me after maybe a year of being properly single.

AKA, divorced.

When I was younger and dumber.

After betrayal, that would be a GIANT RED FLAG for me.

🚩🚩🚩

You can’t ever trust someone who would cheat on his partner (of three decades, mother of his children, etc.)

So, still sort your shit out dude, but don’t bother coming back to me as a single man! You are a pathetic, needy manchild who obviously can’t be alone.

I mean, as a betrayed spouse, you just would NEVER put another woman through that pain, would you?

And I have more self respect than that. He’s no good. Not ever dating a cheater. Especially not if he thinks he can cheat on his loyal partner with me.

Ewww.

No matter how “reformed” he says, it thinks he is. He’s a disloyal, disease infested POS.

If he can cheat with you, he will cheat on you.

It’s an old saying, but true.

I’ll never understand how someone can do this. How she sleeps at night.

How he sleeps at night.

Quite comfortably. Curled in each other’s arms.

Cunts.

Yes, no question it was him that owed me the truth, honesty, commitment and loyalty. But the OW is not some innocent, timid forest creature.

How did she do this to us?

How could she do what she hated other women for?


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Changing your brain

Betrayal trauma was something I didn’t know about.

Until I found out I had been betrayed.

And then, my normally quite rational thought process was thrown into disarray.

My brain has not, and will not ever be, like it once was. There is no full recovery. You just slowly keep moving.

It’s really, really hard.

As Don’t Lose Hope posted recently, betrayal changes our brains.

Permanently.

I have had a LOT of counselling since I found out Roger was fucking my friend, in my homes, while I was at work.

DLH explores this change from a scientific perspective, an explanation I can confirm is exactly how I have experienced and reacted to the trauma of betrayal.

In “The Body Keeps the Score” Bessel van der Kolk describes some changes that occur when a person’s traumatized, and is later diagnosed with PTSD. Some of these changes include the following:

1. In a person unaffected by PTSD, the hormone cortisol sends out an “all safe” signal after a threat or danger has passed. This doesn’t happen with PTSD sufferers. This is because the latter’s stress hormones do not return to base level after the threat or danger has passed. Instead, the person continues to experience severe anxiety. They remain agitated, they cannot relax, they remain on guard, and they tend to react disproportionately to minor or neutral stimuli.

2. A person with PTSD is primed to react to anything that might signal danger, many months and years after experiencing the trauma. This is true, even when the person has told their story, and has worked on their healing with a therapist. For as Bessel van der Kolk states:

Trauma results in a fundamental reorganization of the way the mind and brain mange perceptions. (As a consequence of trauma, the person) remains hypervigilant, prepared to be wounded at any time.”

3. In ordinary everyday life, both the right and left sides of the brain work together. However, trauma temporarily deactivates the left side of the brain. This means that whenever the traumatized person is triggered, the left brain blacks out, and simply ceases to function.

At the same time, the right brain continues to feels the strong emotions related to the original traumatic experience.

Unfortunately, because the left brain cannot function when it’s triggered, it cannot distinguish between the past and the present. Thus, the person feels as if they’re trapped in the past, reliving emotions which are scary and intense.

Knowing the above, which is based on trauma research, can help relieve the pressure to “hurry up and heal.

We need to recognize these facts, and to practice self-compassion … Because experiencing betrayal is a life-changing event.

That is, the impact is profound, it affects our chemistry, and it’s very difficult to make a full recovery.

Truth. Exactly my experience. There is no full recovery. What Rog chose, and kept choosing for me, has changed my brain, as his training of my brain as a young woman did.

My youngest daughter talked about this last night. How triggered I get about things that are similar to the way her father treated me and expected of me, and then he fucked me over, despite me being the good girl I was trained to be.

When I try to be the kindest, most giving person, and it scares me because I’m terrified that I’m repeating patterns that were ingrained into my being.

She gets it, because she is similar. Taking on everyone else’s stress, trying to smooth everyone else’s path.

Shit.


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Vanity

My Dad is a 76 year old gay man. He’s an odd duck. Never really fully accepted who he is. I’ve said it a million times, I care what happens to him, but I neither love, nor respect him.

He is the product of an oppressive, judgemental era, and the most conservative, unloving upbringing ever. The fourth of four children, a lot younger than his three older sisters.

Spoilt as the golden boy child.

Or as spoilt as you can be by grumpy, uptight Methodist-Presbyterian types of parents.

He was married to my mother for 18 and a half years, four kids. A man outted him, trying to extort money to keep his sordid sex secrets.

It was 1984. The height of the AIDS panic.

Mum stayed for a year, on the infidelity diet, then eventually, she realised it could never work. She turfed him out.

He basically ran.

We barely heard from nor saw him for around a decade. The only times we did were our mother making us find and see him.

Ugh.

I never missed him. He was an absent father even when he was there. And it all happened as I headed off to university.

The farm was sold that Easter, and I came home to a house in the nearby town that my Mum bought.

Anyway, on Tuesday night, he messaged my brother and I to say he felt like shit. He’d said this a couple of times that afternoon. So I went to his house.

He was lying on his bed, pale as the proverbial. He couldn’t really sit up and had been dry retching and vomited. I decided it was more than a visit to an after hours clinic, rather an ambulance job.

It was just before 7pm. I rang the ambulance.

At 9.30pm, the ambulance still hadn’t arrived. Emergency services had rung twice to apologise as they were flat out.

Dad was in a lot of pain, so I bundled him into my car, and drove to the base hospital’s ED.

On the way, he kind of apologised about the way he acted when my parents divorced. He said he fucked up badly. Thought it best not to be around, to let Mum look after us as she was better at it, and he was a “terrible gay” father. He realises that was a shitty thing to do, that he didn’t realise it was worse, that we had a heartbroken mother, who the boys tell me cried every day for the first year, and an increasingly out of control youngest brother.

I just said, you did what you had to for you. It’s shit. But done. You’re trying now.

I didn’t tell him it was too late for me, who needs that shit on top of it all? He has decent ish relationships with my younger brothers and their kids. Me, meh. I’m not that interested. But I appreciate he realises it was selfish and that when Mum died nearly 20 years ago, he kind of realised there was only one parent left. What was left of my mother’s family were in Perth and Northern Queensland, and whilst they were lovely, we were adults – I had three little kids – and just got on with it.

On arrival to ED, Dad was put in a wheelchair and triaged.

Twice.

My other brother, the one I don’t have a relationship with, drove down from his city.

At midnight, as he was walking into the ED waiting room, and at the same time Dad’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward, pale and lifeless.

I yelled at the reception staff, holding him from falling from his wheelchair.

He got wheeled into the closest consult room, and came around without the need for full resuss.

I went home around 3am, leaving my brother with Dad. He’s had a cyst on his left kidney for a while, and they had been deciding what to do about it. The kidney is basically dead.

There had been a bleed.

He has been in hospital since (it’s now Saturday.) Quite perky and well. But his bloods still indicate more bleeding.

I got sick. And had to have a covid test the next day. So I couldn’t go to hospital until yesterday, after my result came back negative, and my illness was much less.

I got there around 9am, with the thought that I was bringing Dad home. Waiting for a chat with the specialist.

Two nurses came in around 10.30, and asked me if I was Dad’s granddaughter.

The look on my vain father’s face! I’m his firstborn. Only 24 years between us 😂😂😂

“No! She’s my almost 52 year old daughter!!! How old do you think I am???”

Ha! My kids cracked up when I told them. Knowing how vain my Dad is. Always goes on about how youthful he looks.

To be honest, he looks okay, probably a decade younger than he is. So god knows how old they thought I was, with zero makeup on, lol.

It tickled me. Not for myself. But at Dad’s vain reaction.

Anyway, the specialist finally came to us around 2.45pm and said, sorry, he won’t be coming home today.

I asked the questions that needed to be asked, got good answers, and went back to Dad’s to pack him a bag. My brother had stayed there and went to the hospital the next day but never took him a change of underwear nor a toilet bag.

I grabbed a bag and headed back, a couple of snacks and bought him some track pants, delivering the bag around 4.15pm. And then off to the beach, I could see my barman as didn’t need to be around for Dad last night. Time for some me time. BG was still working, so I chatted with patrons over a glass of red, then he took me to the best restaurant in town. His dimples making me squirm with longing. We had delicious food, which I needed as hadn’t eaten all day, hanging around the hospital.

And home to his for some much needed loving.

Dad feels better having shaved and showered and into clean clothes.

I’m heading back soon. Towing my wee boat home. Swapping for my trailer, then off to the city. On a mission to pick up a fridge freezer, washing machine, dryer and some furniture to store in my barn until the daughter’s new home’s takeover date, Bastille Day. Appropriate for my little French exchange student.

My son and his “lady friend” (repeat Tinder ho, lol) are coming for the weekend. I have four young people to drive home to mine after a local 21st that I’m attending tonight.

I’m tired just thinking about it!

BG is now officially on holiday, and is coming to mine for a week. He has plans to do things for me, funny boy. I’m very capable. But it’s a cute thought.

Then I have 10 days off. We have a road trip planned. I can’t wait 😍

I’m at that stage of life where I am sorting out/assisting adult kids, an older parent, while working fulltime, trying to find a new job during a global pandemic, and trying to keep a long distance relationship healthy.

Fuck this for a game of soldiers!


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Sobbing on a cold floor

Lots of flashback dreams last night. Like movie reruns.

Lots of memories of being curled in the foetal position, sobbing on a cold floor.

When your darling leaves you for another woman, your heart breaks, knowing how loving he will be acting for her. How his touch, his kisses, the way he makes your heart sing, is happening for her now.

It was all just an act, to keep me tied to him.

God, I loved that man.

It nearly killed me.

Literally.

I ripped my left thigh to shreds, trying to hang on through the agony.

Then I read this.

She had bought him chocolates for Valentines day and included a card

You realize the OW is a pathetic fool, right? She is chasing an ABUSER. She is pick me dancing for his affections. Please love me! Here’s some chocolates! She is conspiring in your abuse thinking it’s going to be different for her. It will NOT be. He is an ABUSER. Her day sobbing on a cold floor is coming. Hope she’s really enjoying those bed linens now.

Yeah.

But what about the ones who stay? When the karma bus never arrives. Because apparently he loves her more.

What about them, right?


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Pick me dancing

How apt.

I was just thinking about how much I wish he’d left me for Leanne.

I know she would have made him miserable.

When the above quote popped up.

Lucky me, he “picked me” when I didn’t even know there was a damn competition!

And then I danced real pretty for several years, until I got worn out by it all.

I was having a conversation tonight with one of my daughters, about her feeling just numb to everything right now.

And I related.

Big time.

When I got exhausted from the pick me dancing, that is what happened to me.

I got numb.

After all the pain, my nerves just wore out, over stimulated. Even sexually. I went from a very wanton woman, to a frigid icicle. It scared me. I just lost all my nerve endings. I thought his cheating had broken me.

If how unremittingly horny I always am now, practically pouncing on my poor barman when we manage to get together, is anything to go by, I’m far from broken. I think there are times I scare him, lol. He has been with two women over 50, and says we have ridiculously high libidos. Very scientific study. Feel sorry for the guy, okay?

Anyway, not sure when I will next see him, as we had planned a weekend with friends, but I had forgotten I have a 21st to attend and sober drive for. I’ve now also committed to picking up the new fridge my daughter has purchased, and my Mum’s bestie has invited us to come look in his warehouse full of antiques and mid century furniture to pick a few items she can have for her new house. Naw, how incredibly cool and generous is he?

I’m tired. But thankfully it is no longer from pick me dancing.

He picked her.

Which is good, but unbelievably heartbreaking, all at once 💔


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Ramblings from my sickbed

Literally lying in bed.

On a weekday.

Jesus. Who even am I?

My lawyer has become a friend.

She is in her early-mid 30s and recently made a director of her firm. She lives at a stunning west coast beach town (on the opposite coast to BG.) Two young daughters and works from home two days a week. Always has. We always chatter away, and I am careful about her billable hours!

We were chatting the other day, I was tidying up some of my affairs, including sorting my Will. Hilariously, I’ve never had one. I died, Rog got my shit. I died after Rog died, the kids got my shit.

Things have changed, obviously.

We are busy ring fencing my assets. From future/existing (?) partners There is a big financial disparity between BG and myself, and he has no children. I thought my setting up of trusts, etc, protected my kids, but this is not so, and there are legal changes afoot that will make that even less so.

So basically, I am contracting out of the Relationship Property Act already. Making sure my assets are protected for my kids. That my partner (??? Hey, Hayley, we don’t live together) doesn’t get claim to them before my children do.

I’ve known and loved them longer…

And, she pointed out that whilst I don’t think of us as a “partnered couple” fully, that not all couples live together. He could argue we have been coupled for over a year.

True.

I have always planned to do this properly, but had not got around to it. I have gifted the youngest some funds to help her into her first home, and needed to make a memorandum to this effect, for the other two kids, who I also intend to help equally. But can’t do it all at once.

I am trying to decide on another executor for my estate. One is my brother. I considered – and still am – L. But much as I adore that total gem of a woman, she isn’t very strong. I have worries she wouldn’t advocate for my kids if put under too much pressure.

On that note, I was talking to my oldest friend the other day. It was quite enlightening. She has come full circle.

Well.

Almost.

She is starting to understand how gaslighting and grooming works. I haven’t said a word. This is all off her own bat Realising she was/is by Rog, too. She said, “I just saw how much you loved each other, and assumed he was a good guy. You’ve always had such good judgement about people. Reality is, he will never be loved like that again. You were amazing to him. And he doesn’t seem to care. He’ll take the scraps, rather than look after the real deal. Any love is good love.”

Yep.

That is the way of the cheater.

I’m sure Roger will argue he is more loved up and blissful with Trinket than he ever was with me.

I’m nothing to him. No loss.

She is starting to see him for who he is. But of course, still sees him and is polite. Allowing him to build a maimai on her farm. The ultimate Switzerland friend. I keep my safe distance for that reason.

The reason that Switzerland friends are so damaging is that they seem to ignore what horrendous pain and damage a cheater has caused. There are many allegories, but I particularly liked this one I read recently.

Would the ‘friends’ stand and shrug as they watched her torch a neighbor’s house? Would the ‘friends’ have a chatty phone call with the arsonist while having dinner with the Now homeless neighbor?

They are not your friends they are despicable.

Yeah. Friends are not friends with people who hurt you.

That simple.

I’ve known her for 41 years. And she has to be friends with everyone. It’s who she is.

I kind of get it. I used to be a bit like that, too. Social smoothing. I don’t want to, nor have to play that tune anymore. Much like how I speak up for those who are oppressed more now than I did before.

My polite button has been adjusted.

Not quite disabled.

But it’s not okay to be abusive. Violent. Oppressive. Superior.

Like the woman she is friends with – who screamed at me in a drunken stupor, when my heart was breaking, my life was being ripped from me by another woman – who recently posted all over a mutual friend’s Facebook post about treating everyone the way you would like to be treated with, “YES! So simple. Wish everyone did this!”

Lol. 🙄 🤷‍♀️🤦‍♀️

You’ve gotta laugh at how little self awareness she exhibits.

Sleep calls. The headache is less than yesterday, but still feel like 💩


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Home. Again.

Kiddo bought a house.

Yep, my 21 year old bought a damn house, on her own, and the deal went unconditional yesterday!

Kick arse girl.

Who drives me a bit spare at times!

And then sends me this as a thank you.

She is an anxious, but hella feisty one.

She saw the abuse and discard up close and personal. She wondered why her fierce mother was so heartbroken when her cheating father kept choosing other women. Why didn’t I kick that dog to the curb?

Her version, so I found out recently, is that her father is a pathetic sexually needy manchild who literally knocked the loving, loyal woman he had over, to get to the next supply.

I act healed and strong again for her now, never wanting her to see my staying with her cheating father as weak again.

But I think she kinda gets it.

She saw who stood by me.

And the ones who fled.

Those who thought I was being dramatic about my grief. She knew more of the truth than most.

Love my amazing kiddos, so much ❤👍


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Sick

Am super sick.

Worst I can remember being.

My Dad wasn’t well yesterday, so I spent quite some time getting him to hospital etc. Home after 3am. He’s got a bit going on but should survive. Surgery and a treatment plan being formulated.

I went to work but have never felt so sick, so home, covid test on way as a precaution. Blogging may not happen.

See you all on the other side xxx


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Why is it so damn hard to start over?

It’s so hard to put yourself out there again.

After thirty years of complete, total, and utter connection with “your person.”

No one ever “got” me like I thought Rog did.

I lived completely unfiltered with him.

As one betrayed wife puts it, about a subsequent relationship, you never really trust again

I just paid close attention to his behavior and noticed how respectful he was of my emotions. I do feel safe with my new husband. That said, I think I will always withhold some very small part of myself as a protective measure. I don’t ever want to experience the shock and heartache of betrayal again. I genuinely don’t expect that, but I am prepared to get myself out of dodge, if that makes sense.

Roger and I connected on an unbelievably intimate emotional and sexual level.

With BG, I’ve known him for almost two years now. And only just starting to let some of my guards down.

Just a tiny bit.

Two friends have asked me this week how the hell you get naked with someone new in your 50s.

After three children.

A breast reduction.

Cancer surgery.

Having only ever had sex with one, truly beloved man.

The answer is, after a lot of talking, checking out who he might be as a person. Running away for nine months. Is he kind? Does he seem genuine? Who are his closest friends and family? Then, a delicious lunch date…and a shared bottle of red!

I didn’t plan it.

It happened and was utterly, knee shakingly terrifying!

We were talking and laughing. He started kissing me, touching my body, gently removing some of my clothing, then after realising I was okay, started removing his.

I nearly made him put them back on when I saw what burst out of his pants! Oh, good lord! No way, that weapon was intimidating!

Instead, I squeaked, “um, you might have to be very slow and gentle with that. I’ve only been with one man, and you are considerably larger than what I have accommodated before! You’re a big boy! Shit!”

He laughed self consciously and said, “oh, okay, am I? Of course we will go slow, it’s sexier that way to start with, anyway.”

Six damn times! Holy fuck. Was he trying to break me???

Bloody hell. What the heck happened to my nice, normal life???

I lived with a man I adored, loved, treasured. For thirty years. I worked alongside him. I soothed his hurts, his aches. I bore his children, and we made love passionately, in tune with one another, throughout all of the birthing recovery, the broken nights’ sleep. The discovery of him long term cheating on me with a so-called friend.

He promised to never put me through that kind of pain again.

I worked hard to try to believe him, fighting my instincts that he’d always omitted facts, always told me only what he wanted me to hear. That he was still chatting with and inappropriately meeting new women.

Sadly, I was right. My instincts were on the money.

Damn.

For those horrific seven months that we lived together, still making unbelievably hot, passionate love, while he openly dated another woman, my experience is very like Spaghetti Sam’s in that one respect.

He made no effort with our two uni aged kids at home that summer. His focus was Trinket and winning over her kids.

No trips. No activities. No walks. No talks.

My youngest tried to protect me, asking me to move into her flat with her when she witnessed a domestic violence episode that scared (and scarred) us all. I stayed, worried about my son. Rog was driving hours and hours to see Trinkey at least twice a week. I wasn’t being kicked out of my own home, when he wasn’t even there a third of the time.

I still look back on that terribly traumatic time, and wonder how I survived it. And realise why my trauma runs so deep. When you visit the other woman, and tell her he’s cheating on me with her, and yet, she keeps going, keeps breaking your already splintered heart…that is next level mind fuckery.

No wonder I don’t trust BG. In the sense that I wonder how genuine he is, if he even likes me, or is just settling for convenient…

He is currently working on allaying some of my insecurities. My shit about not measuring up to the “grand passion” of his life, Chrissy.

As he said, as I drove him home last night, “she never made any effort with my friends. She was all about control. Don’t see those people, don’t drink that, don’t do naughty, fun things, that’s not allowed. Focus on just me. You don’t need friends. Whereas, you are the opposite. You encourage me to keep in touch with friends and family. Join me in the naughty, fun things. Ask me when I last was in touch with people. Nurture my relationships with Linda’s kids. I’m proud to show up with you. You always fit in with whatever crowd is present. Posh, working class, young, old. I never worry you’ll say the wrong thing, or judge them, or not be able to hold your own. You are my other half. Cheesy, but we are kinda interlockable. I am so lucky to have found you. I should shake that cheating arsehole’s hand, gifting you to me. You made him, and he chose to leave the best thing ever, for what? A boring suburban widow? Good luck with that life, dickhead.”

Yep. He’s got all the words, this one.