Disenfranchised grief

Have recently been talking to a couple of women, whose long, seemingly happy marriages, ended when their husbands cheated.

And then their ex-husbands died.

Their second time around, disenfranchised grief. Both say they are feeling it again, but that this grief hits differently. The cheating/leaving grief was never “final,” and this time is very confusing.

I can imagine. I have thought about this. A lot. I know I would struggle if Rog died. Whilst I know “closure” is a load of bollocks, there has been no “closure.” I always imagined we’d talk. Be close. Know each other. And take some comfort in that.

But I’m still completely heartbroken, wrenched from my love and life, through the actions and choices of others.

I lost my soulmate. My confidante. I don’t have another person in my life that I have no filter with.

Despite all the crap, he was my person. And I miss having a person.

I accept that.

But death? I just don’t know.

I do know that I am still waaaay too affected by him. I do know that him moving so far away was amazing for my mental health and healing. I do know that contact drives me off the rails of this healing journey.

I do know that being in the same room as him has pierced my healing aura. Disrupted the force!

I do know that I have, stashed away in storage, a mountain of love letters and cards from him. Love bombing words. From the very beginning of us, in the mid-80s. Raving about how wonderful, sexy, beautiful I am. Lol. Yeah, right. I imagine he saw a frumpy, old woman in me the other night.

I also know that I either couldn’t look at him, or I looked right through him. I don’t even know which it was. It was like an out of body experience. Except the experience has left more scars on and in my body.

I hoped he saw steel. Strength.

Because, I am different. Different from the soft, loving girl he knew.

I am a new woman. Forged from that trauma. The trauma he kept inflicting.

But maybe he just saw my brokenness.

It matters not. I’m trying to just get normal transmission to resume

Whatever that is.

All the feelz

Been a tough week.

Can’t really explain why, there are multiple reasons.

Today was really chill and nice, though. We went antiquing.

Yep. Like an old, married couple.

Was really nice. We found some cool places, and some cool stuff. Didn’t buy anything, but feel inspired.

Discovered the cutest wee, modernised, but chic, shopping precinct in the “big” (not big at all) town near BG’s coastal settlement.

But the weirdest thing happened.

BG got chatty. He’s busy making plans. The latest is, he’ll hand in his resignation late June, to finish up around November. I’m just going with it. No expectations. See what actually happens.

He wants to help me both financially, and knowledge-wise, in my new venture.

And hey, this is gonna take a while, the lease is signed, but the building is under construction. You’re probably sick of me going on about it already.

The surprising part was, Mr Don’t Get Too Invested, said this. “You don’t know it, but this is the first time I’ve gone this far down this path. To actually pursue a future with a partner. To plan a ‘forever’ – whatever that means at our age. I never got anywhere near this with Chrissy. I know you think she was this great love. That you’re following that. But we were never anything even close to this. I really, really love you.”

And, driving around today, he told me he had given up on a partner. He’d been online for a year after he healed from Chrissy, and had just got to the point where he just accepted that he didn’t want to try the partner thing anymore. Happily single it was to be.

I explained that I was done. I had zero desire to be partnered again. So, it was weird to meet him, and that I came back after deciding I didn’t want to date anyone, be with anyone, after two very chaste lunch outings with him.

And here we are. Both not keen to have a partner. In a relationship together. What a pair of total dickheads we are.

And how flattered am I, that he says he’s the most invested he’s ever been? I’m still watching out for red flags here. Is he truthful? Roger told me this stuff ALL the time…

Is BG a liar, too?

Trust. Broken.

Don’t Lose Hope writes insightful, informed, empathetic posts about recovering from betrayal trauma.

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One of the saddest parts about it all, about what the man I loved so much chose for me, is the permanence of my inability to trust anyone now.

His lies, his deception, his repeating the damaging behaviour, whilst promising he’d never hurt me again, promising me forever, utterly destroyed my ability to trust.

Including trusting myself. My own judgement. I’m a fool, so don’t listen to me, okay?

DLH’s words that resonated especially strongly for me:

“Your one lie drags all your truth under suspicion.”

Intentional deception always changes how we feel about an individual we had once trusted and loved. Why? Because it strikes at the heart of that person’s character.

Think about it … Why would we trust someone who puts their own needs first, and pretends that they are different from the way they really are? And when ‘the rubber meets the road’ they are not dependable (at least that’s what we’ve learned from our experience with them).

I agree. And when he doubled down, telling me he’d wait forever, begged me not to leave him, all while busy chatting to literally dozens of women, tens of thousands of text messages found on his phone after the final DDay, auditioning them to replace me in my own story…that showed me how he “loves.” How much value to place on his seductive words. It kills me that I so desperately wanted to believe him.

That I was still so stupid.

This guy

I am blown away by BG.

His weekend ended with staff discontent. Someone got antsy that the chef barked at them during a very busy service period.

And made a formal complaint.

Of course, it has to be taken seriously, but man, it’s freaking constant. Breaking up schoolyard scraps gets old.

It’s been a very long, hard summer. BG considered resigning. I feel like something I said made him feel like he couldn’t. Ugh.

Today, I asked how he was doing. He always replies with a positive outlook.

I reiterated that he shouldn’t stay and be miserable, that I support him to look after himself. Resign if it’s too much. I have his back.

This was his reply.

“No it’s what I need to do for us at the moment. And if I can do something for us then that matters to me. Gives us/me some security in what you are doing. We will revisit at end of March. xxx.”

I am just blown away by his buy in. To “us.” He’s the most vulnerable, the higher earner, preparing to make big changes to be with me fulltime. All he wants is for us to have a secure and happy future. How amazing is this??? He is always concerned about my happiness and that I feel supported and valued. That I can fulfil my potential, do what I want to make me happy.

I’m not expressing very well how different this is for me. Rog just made decisions that worked for him, expecting me to make the sacrifices, to follow him. When I went back to uni, after over 25 years with hum – the first thing for me I had done – he wasn’t thrilled.

At all.

And yet, my heart is a stubborn Ahole.

I’m incredibly grateful for my life, and this generous, loving man.

But.

Yeah dumb fkn heart.

Friends posted about a very, very happy 34 year marriage, not in a braggy way, rather in a giving each other a bit of stick way.

And I ache. I really, really never saw this. Norm and I really were that couple. The one our friends envied. We really were damn good together, despite what I now know. It was real. To me. Even if not for him.

And we don’t even talk. Can’t communicate. I never want to see him again. How the actual fuck does that even happen?

I sat at my desk at work, tears silently pouring down my cheeks. How? Why? It seems impossible that we once were so damn connected.

Anyway, that was my day. And I have dumped the shitty stuff here.

And am focusing on the fact that I have a genuine partner, who wants good things for me. To the point that I said gently, hope you are not martyring yourself here. Whatever we do needs to be mutually beneficial.

I’m so very, very lucky.

And still they come

Tears.

Had a cry this evening. Dammit!

Came home late from work, and got my beesuit on, and checked on my new hives. Both are going great guns. Capped brood, lovely bees, not aggressive at all, but frantically busy. I think I’m getting better at this, much more chill while handling them. Not that I was ever “not chill,” just they seem more relaxed. And honey was dripping, with new supers on, they’re working hard. So good. My veggie garden is lush and fruitful. Bees 🐝. Yay!

Then out weeding and tidying my road frontage, the tears came from nowhere. Silently.

I think triggered by my brother’s. He was in a great mood when I arrived home, and we were chatting about his kids coming next week. With my building work a bit tidier, and my old flatmate moving out again next week (she’s been staying the past few weeks between gigs) there will be a bedroom each for them here. I said, “their bedrooms. Because this is our home. Not a holiday, their other home.” The tears came suddenly, out of nowhere. C was overwhelmed. That this is his home too. He hugged me hard. I just said it was a pleasure to have them all, this is their home too.

So, obviously later, the trigger was released. I’d been strong for him.

The tears slid down my cheeks, as my brain kept watching the movie of Roger romancing another woman, that whore, Trinket, while we still lived and slept together. The longing, the passionate lovemaking we engaged in. The whole damn horrific Pick Me dance all over again. FML.

That terrible, terrible seven months, when that cunt knew I loved him, had given him the best thirty years of my life, and he was smooth AF in seducing her, using ALL the moves he used with me over those thirty years, while my heart was breaking into a million pieces. There is no greater torture than watching the one who holds your heart falling in love with someone who isn’t you.

I’m still aching all over from the embodied pain that was released earlier tonight with those tears, and the vivid mind movies.

It will never end. I know that. I just get better at living in between the grief.

Merry Christmas, baby.

Yesterday was okay. I had my brother’s kids. We baked and iced sugar cookies and made pretty, layered jellies.

Christmas Eve is Leanne’s birthday. The year that fell in the middle of their affair, I remember how even more disengaged Roger was than he normally was about Christmas.

We were at the lake.

Our happy place.

Or his.

He used that place, the place we built, painted, loved, loved in, together, to fuck his other women.

And Christmas Day is here.

I’m gobsmacked.

My former BFF – yes, the woman who befriended Trinket on social media – Snapchatted about the Emma Thompson scene in Love, Actually, where she found her husband was having an affair, saying, “this is the worst. Crying.”

Um, yeah. It really is! She has no idea! I lived that shit for decades. Finding evidence of Roger’s betrayals. His other women. It ABSOLUTELY rips your heart out.

And yet, go on a tramp with one of your best friend’s partner’s whores, knowing how absolutely she fucked me over, and try to make friends with her.

Christ on a stick!!!

Because of him, I don’t see my kids every year for this special day. The year he was having the affair with Leanne, he just kept heading out for walks, or to fetch something. I know now that he was trying to find phone teception, to text/talk to Leanne.

I was triggered yesterday. I still get the emails from that little holiday lake community. The new owners’ kids are selling ice from our old address. Reading that made my heart stop, my blood running cold.

Triggers never leave.

He broke me.

And doesn’t give a fuck.

Another Christmas has begun.

It will be over soon.

Hope yours is joyful full of love, happiness, relaxation, and you find some peace 🎄🤶💋

Just because

I am a bit fluffy about spontaneous, obvious “romance.”

Like, yeah. We’re better than that.

But Roger gave me flowers twice.

In thirty years.

Three kids.

Got them when our son – middle child – was born. And one other time. Was after Dday. Can’t remember why? I think an ‘apology.’

Yesterday, BG, the self confessed “not the most romantic guy,” had a wee, unassuming, but super cute, bunch in a vase when I got home from work.

No reason. He just saw them. And brought them home for me.

He’s here. In my home. For a few days. We never do this, because he’s always working.

It’s really nice.

Still broken. Ugh.

For the first time, Ingrid asked me about my thirty years with Roger.

I steer clear of this topic with my new friends. For the closest, “I was with the father of my children for thirty mostly wonderful years. He was unfaithful and left me for her.”

Never any more than that.

Until now.

She dug a bit.

Ingrid and Andy started as an affair, more than twenty years ago. She was divorced. No kids. He was married. Two kids. They both say it was a terrible thing to do. But I have played my cards close, not wanting cheaters to know about my cheating stories.

“Tell me about your life. You are a woman who loves very, very deeply. Kind, intelligent, loving, giving. BG is so damn lucky to have you.”

“Not much to tell. You already know. I loved a man – my only man – for over thirty years. Four years ago, he left me for a widow he was cheating on me with. It wasn’t the first time. Eight years earlier, I discovered he had had a long affair with a single friend of ours. I was floored to find I didn’t want to leave him, instead, worked my arse off to heal. Loads of therapy. Tonnes of pain. Litres of tears. I slowly put the shattered pieces of my heart back together. When I sat him down, after submitting my Masters thesis, to tell him I felt healed, he told me he’d Met Someone Else. This was just a week after giving me a card, and a candle that said, amongst other loving things, “you are the only woman for me.” And “Love Always.”

He lied. And cheated. Probably most of those three decades. And it is only recently that I genuinely, GENUINELY, hope I never have to see him ever again, as long as I live.”

She tilted her head. “There’s so much pain still. I’m so sorry.”

I replied, “I now accept that there will always be pain. You don’t ‘heal’ you only keep healing.”

“At least you have thirty years of mostly great memories.”

Fuck!

I teared up. Dammit!

Shaking my head, “no. Sadly, I don’t. Because none of it was real. It can’t have been. Because you could never put someone you love through what he kept putting me through. It was all lies. I don’t believe, or feel that any of it was good. True. Loving. Connected. I made all of that up in my head, because I totally adored him. With everything I had. There are no good memories. Just tainted ones.”

She sat back, sucking in her breath.

“The births of your children? They must be good memories?”

“No. They are very painful memories for me. Of how easily I was duped. I know it sounds bitter. It’s not that. It’s just me seeing him for who he was to me. A mirage.”

Ick. I am all prickly even typing this out. I hate trying to explain. I hate new people peeping behind the curtain.

No one really understands. She tried. But to say I have good memories, shows how she has never lived this. Can’t understand.

Damn. I don’t want BG’s people to know how damaged I am! I know you know what I mean. I am a real person. With real feelings. But that felt really yucky.

Coming up for air

Just briefly.

I think the barman missed me.

I walked into his very busy work on Wednesday night, and he threw himself at me. Announcing loudly to all, “she came back!!! Three months! Outta lockdown, she’s back!”

It’s only been eight weeks, dude, but cool story. 🤣

Oh Lord.

Then he took me out to dinner, at the new restaurant his friend, Tami, has just opened. It’s gorgeous. And the food was divine.

An expensive bottle of Syrah, and stop off at another bar on the walk home, then we made love for hours!

We are a couple who have a million good things going on. But sex, whilst really nice, hasn’t taken a starring role.

Apparently the key to this man is not seeing him for a few months, lol.

It was hot, heavy, kinda kinky sex. Amazing. He just kept going, and so did I!

He took me to lunch yesterday, after my zoom meetings with accountant, banker forms, I’m getting cold feet about the enormity of this investment…

Unbelievably good whtebait sandwich. That cos was delectable, with the best, lemony dressing!

Today, back to the real world, I have a massive headache. And a hair appointment was wangled. To get to these three month long grey roots, before our friend, and BG’s ex, Colleen’s 50th on Saturday.

Time to go. Pick up some cupcakes I’ve ordered for my baby girl. It’s her 23rd birthday. Right now, 23 years ago, I had been in labour for 28 hours. Only 8 more to go. Roger was bored. Poor thing, right?

BG independently sent her a happy birthday message.

And asked me if that was okay. I mean, wow, how sweet is this man???

Hi all, I’m diving again, lungs full of oxygen xxx

Grief

This has been such a long, painful journey. This is the only place that knows I still hurt. Every day. My real life is full of humour and smiles, masking my broken heart.

The thing with grief is that it doesn’t lessen with time. You just get better at hiding it from the outside world.

I miss the man I loved. For three decades. My other half. My best friend. My lover.

He is gone forever. And I’m left feeling like the whole thing was a mirage. The version of him, and our life together was a sham. A story I made up. It’s a very difficult form of grief.

Aching tonight. I tried to mask my emotional pain with physical work. My neighbour had an enormous liquid amber fall across her neighbour and her boundary fence. I went and helped the neighbour chainsaw it into pieces, and remove it off the fence. Here are some of the remnants left as I had loaded most on my trailer, and piled up the smaller branches out of frame for a woodchipper to come and make into mulch for her.

The weather is weird. Humid. I sweated buckets. And now my back has seized a bit.

I need a cuddle.

Sleep.