Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Therapy

Sleep has evaded me again recently.

I haven’t slept through the night since DDay #1.

Not even once.

Lately, really bad again. Once I finally fall asleep, usually around 1am, I usually don’t stay asleep past 3-3.30. I might doze a bit. But never fall properly asleep again.

As I lie here, I draw on some of the tools I have in my kit. Things I was taught, or had reiterated in my multiple goes around the therapy merry-go-round.

No shit, Sherlock!

Anyway, it also kind of amuses me. That I was incredibly loyal, faithful, loving, and honest-to-a-fault (he didn’t like that I didn’t love the way he made unilateral decisions about our business, home and future, I was supposed to just shut up and accept that.) I was the hardest working, most selfless partner I knew. I was dedicated to “us.” I never wavered there. Even during the pre-affair (that I knew of, anyway) times. When it was hard, I never seriously considered leaving. I certainly never considered fucking someone else!

We knew. We knew I was loyal and hard working.

He commented on it often. Talked about “the spoilt bitches,” the women around us who were kind of like trophy wives. Entitled. Not required or encouraged to have careers. Certainly not waking early in the morning to milk cows, feed calves, carry heavy loads, while parenting and maiding! He said he had the real deal. That I was the best. Great way of embedding my work-ethic-that-worked-great-for-him! Dance prettier, bitch!

For the last year or so I have had a cleaner come to my house once a fortnight for a couple of hours.

And I still feel massive guilt about it. I’m not supposed to have that kind of privilege. Do it yourself, Paula!

I’m the one traumatised and having to work daily on healing. On trying to recover and lead a meaningful life.

While he got to just turn the page.

Next!

Living his best life…having a Trinket to suck his dick, no doubt clean, shop, etc…after annihilating mine.

Life. She’s a funny bitch, right?


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All the hard

Had a really hard conversation with BG last night.

I had found he had “liked” an article about an ex on LinkedIn.

And somehow it didn’t feel right. Didn’t fit the story as I know it.

He rarely uses LinkedIn. They only dated for a few months, and I only heard that she was “needy” and it ended fairly badly. All about him being in her city when he knew she was busy, so didn’t contact her and she got seriously pissy, blah, blah, blah.

So, the “like” was only nine months ago.

Hmm.

Gut was screaming, “Paula! Remember all those red flags you ignored with Rog, because he would never cheat….wake up girl! This is a bit weird. Talk to him.”

Eff you, gut. I like burying my head in the sand!

So, I made myself call him last night. I also needed to communicate with him that I am missing our daily good morning texts.

As expected, he got on the front foot. Defensive. A bit loud and blustery. That is him. I know this now. So, disappointed, video chatting, I sat waiting for him to run out of steam.

And listen.

I quietly explained that it felt off. Asked if he is in touch with any other exes, other than the ones I know about. The mother of his adult stepchildren, and our now mutual friend, Colleen.

No. He said Chrissy (his “big love”) contacted him last year on his birthday. I knew that. He told me at the time. I saw no replies. I believe he didn’t respond. His actions have indicated he is not in touch with her.

But Rog had an exGF he apparently didn’t like.

Except to text multiple times a day. Oh and to fuck as often as they could manage to get together…

So, I am now the suspicious girl. Neat, eh???

I HATE IT SO MUCH!!!

But, the chat went well after his initial defensiveness. He understood why I had to ask. He was surprised, as he couldn’t recall liking the article. And said he thought I had stopped the good morning messages, so he stopped, not wanting to look the needy one.

I said to him that we are at the hard, meaty part of a relationship. When shit has got real. The honeymoon is over, and we are trying to work towards a way to be together. He said it worries him, as “all he has to bring to the relationship is earning power.” His decent salary. And he is trying to give that up, and reinvent himself. It’s risky. And scary as hell at nearly 57.

Of course, it isn’t all he has to bring. But I get what he meant.

I quietly explained that communication and trust – things we have been pretty good at – are more important now than ever. I am finding separation harder and harder.

So is he. He physically exhales when he sees me and has become quite mushy about me, something he held back for the first years.

But I can and will continue to do it, until we both get on our feet, securing our respective financial futures as best we can.

I told him that me asking him that question was extremely hard for me. He doesn’t know the old Paula. He’s only ever known the post apocalyptic version of me.

I used to be so chill.

I told him that.

He threw his head back and roared laughing, “you are sooo chill, babe. You must have been practically catatonic before!”

But I NEVER had to ask Roger, “why did you like your ex’s article,” like a whiny, jealous bitch.

Did I tell you how much I hate it???

There are other, personal things we talked about, too. I didn’t bring it up, he did.

I’ve shared before about our mismatched libidos.

I have kind of left that conversation for now. There are more important things. And I have assured him that the lack of sex is not a deal breaker. I love him for being a good, honest, fun human. Not for how he can make me writhe in bed!

I had one of those. He made me very sick.

He broke me.

He shattered my ability to trust people.

He stole my joy. My peace. My ability to sleep through the night.

My financial future is much harder since he left.

I think I can manage without constant, passionate, mind blowing sex, with this kind man. Doesn’t mean we can’t be more mindful of each other’s needs.

And I know he feels this, because he brought it up.

“I thought distance would make me hornier. Seeing you irregularly, it’s such a delight when we get together. But then I get all anxious. That I’m not pleasing you.”

So, performance anxiety. We all know about this. I never thought I would cause it, lol. Me. So intimidating! Lol.

I just said, “we’re okay babe. As long as we keep communicating. Keep being kind to one another. You have nothing to prove. It’s just me.”

He has struggled when I bring up hard stuff. He tends to catastrophise things. “Oh, you have a problem, that must mean you want to leave me!”

I spoke to that. After he wound himself up.

It’s not relationship ending, to talk about problems, or question things. We talk so as to try to prevent the relationship ending.

He has never had decent relationship last past four years. So he’s always assuming he does everything wrong. That it’s just a matter of time before I walk out on him.

And I continue to blog, to help me stay accountable to myself.

And to try to overcome my triggers, blocks, fears. To try to reinforce my recovery from abuse and trauma.

It’s important. To de-stigmatise the traumatic effects of infidelity. Of being thrown on the rubbish pile after giving yourself to another for decades.

Until he used me all up, believing I was worthless now.


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So loved

I still have moments where I vomit with the mind movies of them together!

That seems extreme.

I am a bit vomit phobic. I hate throwing up. Have never been able to put my fingers down my throat, for example.

But I threw up yesterday, while out shifting my cattle. A huge wave of him face deep in her…then caressing and cuddling her, whispering how much he loved his Snookie Bear – to her. Her lapping it all up… 🤮🤢🤮🤢

To counter the pictures in my head, I sternly try to change the subject, in the moment.

But know it needs to be dealt with. It circles back around.

Lying in bed at 4am, with a restless but snoring BG beside me, I visualise what everyone tells me. This Roger I thought I knew, is not genuine. His sweetness, his love bombing, he did that with me, too. I was convinced we were bonded deeply, forever.

And he treated me like dog shit on his shoe once he’d secured new kibble supply.

He doesn’t love deeply. He uses the genuine love and care a woman gives him, to stroke his needy ego. She believes he loves her. I know, because he seems so lovely. So sincere. So sexy. I believed he adored me, too.

Fuck.


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Question of the day

The support boards.

Sigh.

The same questions are asked in a myriad of ways.

Some know they were in average-to-worse marriages. But still expected, and gave, fidelity, honesty, hard work.

Then there are those of us who believed we were with our best friends, the people we loved more than any other human. Yes, I love my kids, fiercely. But I chose Rog. Absolutely adored and treasured him, and what we had together. I got the children I was lucky enough to get. I thought he was forever. Children grow up and live their lives. So I put everything into him. Into us. We had a lifetime to enjoy each other, right?

He treated me pretty well, mostly. We laughed a lot. We had great chemistry. Great, REALLY great sex. Loads of fun together.

This was asked of us betrayed…

I have a question for anyone in here that discovered their ex’s “secret life.” I’ve read several posts where you were completely blindsided and had no idea. I believe this can happen. Did they treat you really well and if you hadn’t found the evidence you would have continued on in your relationship thinking everything was going great? How do you explain such a split in personality? Be it random individuals or a full blown affair how did they hide that part so well? How hard was it to leave when you believed everything was great? ❤️❤️

I am still in some kind of shock. I truly believed we were great together. I never wanted anyone else. His words told me that he was the same.

It was never true. And those thirty years were wasted on an undeserving, ungrateful, unloving man. And the absolute worst part is, I still love who I thought he was. While he plays house with another woman who believes he loves her. That he was waiting for her, and her alone. Just as much as I believed him, too. Fuck, it hurts so much.

It’s utterly heartbreaking.

And I’ve just got my period. Pretty heavily. I still can’t believe that after a lifetime of having six periods ever until he left me, with cervical cancer, that this is happening to my body. Ick.


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The discard phase

I had the WEIRDEST dream last night.

It was reliving Roger’s 40th birthday. I did all the catering, we had a band, on a bandstand under fairy lights strung through a grove of black walnut trees in our superb garden, back on our old farm. The family property.

It was a magical night.

Pre-Leanne, as far as I know!

I remember the dress I wore, as I danced barefoot in the grass, until 5am, when I went and milked our cows, leaving him to sleep.

But in this dream, both Leanne and Trinket appeared, flitting around, buzzing overhead, as wee, annoying insects. I kept trying to swat them away, but they kept buzzing back.

In the dream, eventually they bit me, and I never got to the cowshed. Instead I lay dying on the lawn, as everyone danced around my corpse.

Jesus.

Pretty effed up!

And I have been thinking about the discard phase. When I had ZERO knowledge that he was online dating! I thought about the tramp they went on a little while back. In the region Rog sent me down to, to do some research about where we would buy, businesses we were looking at.

The very same tramping track I did alone, in utter shock and severe heartbreak, when he coldly announced he’d Met Someone Else. It was a great thing to do. But I cried so very, very many tears on that track. I couldn’t eat, so dragged myself along, existing on adrenaline and determination alone.

Today, I wrote this, in reply to a fellow betrayed, whose wife used him to set up a new home, purportedly for “them” but always for her and her AP.

“My love of thirty years sent me on a reconnaissance mission to a city we apparently were looking to relocate to. To look at businesses and lifestyle blocks.

When I returned, he told me he’d “met someone else,” (ie, had been internet shopping for my replacement, unbeknownst to me, for two years! Tens of thousands of texts to other women!) And would be moving into one of these places with her!!! He’d been chatting to this one for just a few weeks! They had already planned a life together!!! I had no idea. Was completely blindsided.

He’d had an 18 month long affair with a “friend” of ours 8 years earlier. I worked my BUTT off to heal from that, he promised me the world, it was a “mistake,” that I was the only woman for him, blah, blah, blah, etc.

Unicorns are mythical creatures. It hurt FAR more the second time around.

He sold us up and left. They are still together, four years later. It’s been an enormous mindfuck.”

Discard … it never gets easier. I mean, at least I now know who he really is. How little all I did for him meant. But it was a truly shocking way to go about what he went about doing. I was so looking forward to a move. A fresh start together. Instead, he was using me.

Cake.

I was just cake.

And warming a seat until he found someone else.


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Such a bitch

Yeah. This is it in a nutshell. This is why he hates me, after I did nothing but love, support and be entirely faithful to him for 30 years.

Gotta admit it sucks. Wasting my youth, my future, on a covert narcissist.

Heartbreaking to have been so duped, used, abused and dumped like I am nothing.

And yep. I know it’s who he is. That I loved a mirage.


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Dreams

As expected, the emotions of the weekend have spilled into dreams.

Baby girl had big oral surgery yesterday. Mondays are MANIC at work, so my Dad took her. But I got cover in at work, and went to her in recovery and drove her home. I asked if she wanted me to stay the night, or if she wanted to come to mine. She wanted her own bed, and I tucked her up and went and did a grocery shop for her, for smoothie ingredients, fresh soups etc. When I got back, the pain was hitting badly, despite the meds. I snuggled with her, got her off to sleep, left instructions with her beautiful flatmate, and headed home.

My place is a bomb site. All the lake boxes stacked in my dining room and kitchen. I had a dead ewe to dispose of, and headed out to my friend’s farm to their dead animal disposal site. Back, a bath, and bed.

The dreams were stupid. I know BG’s insecurity has triggered mine. We talked. He feels a bit better, I know he thinks he has to help me, but his work was chaos, in his absence, which frustrated him, as he’s been concentrating hard on leadership and ensuring good systems and support are in place for his team. They have their biggest annual event this weekend, and temps have arrived, into the accommodation he bought, and there was some settling in to attend to. I will head over on Friday, as am working for him for the weekend too.

I was glad he felt a bit more settled. But aware that our Monday morning partings are starting to feel a bit fraught.

Last night, I dreamed Roger and I met for a drink. To talk. And it was an awful dream, because in it, he apologised and held me tightly. Told me he’d totally fucked up everyone’s lives. Made the wrong decisions. Had enormous regrets. Thought I looked beautiful. Was proud of what I have achieved. Misses me.

What a load of crap, brain! Fkn dreams. He’s happy as a pig in shit! Even if not with Trinket, he’s completely thrilled he managed to jettison me. The kids are coming ’round – the eldest was always Dad’s girl, but the other two play nice now, too. And don’t get me wrong, that’s mostly a good thing. No one needs daddy issues. Ask me how I know!

It got me thinking. BG explained a bit more about his history. Brought on by a discussion about Colleen. As we left her place, she hugged me tightly, and said, “I’m so glad you are here. I wasn’t allowed in BG’s life with the last one.” Meaning Chrissy. She banned BG from talking to any female friends. But the double standard was that she was talking to other men.

Etc.

And that conversation, as we drove home, lead to a clarification of the relationship he had with Linda. The mother of the two young adults, who were small children when BG met them. He never lived with Linda, and I didn’t realise that they were never REALLY a couple. Linda was a girlfriend briefly, and I suspect, a fuck buddy over the years. He was honest with her. But he had a connection, and felt a responsibility for her dead beat dadded kids. He went on school camp with them both. That kind of thing. (I reflected, and thought, shit, I don’t think Roger ever went on a school camp??? Pretty sure he didn’t. I did multiple times.) No wonder Emma especially (but also messed up Sam) feels a connection with BG. I know he still sends her money, to help with her grad school. She lived with his Mum during her undergrad degree a few years ago.

Anyway, I digress. That talk got me thinking about … well, everything, I guess.

Especially the lies I must have told myself, to stay, to love a cheater. Colleen says she knows how hard I had to think, how I pulled away, when I found out BG cheated on her all those years ago. But, as I told her, it sucks. I’m pissed at him that he hurt her. But, it speaks volumes that a strong woman like her, a take no prisoners girl, is still such good friends with him. I’m not friends with my cheater. He broke me.

After all, like this woman, I took him back after he proved he was duplicitous, and had no regard for my wellbeing, or health. I was the dumbass who he fooled (at least) twice.

I take responsibility for being that fuckwit. For working my arse off to do the mental gymnastics required, to believe a lying cheat.

Just like Chump Lady’s letter writer, Patty.

Dear Patty,

I find it no coincidence that your youngest is now in college and your husband has suddenly “fallen out of love” with you.

By taking him back, he conveniently avoided years of child support. Now your wife appliance services are no longer needed. Exit stage right.

Naturally, you’re furious and heartbroken. He made a “commitment” to you that he had absolutely no intention of abiding by. Your first clue was the first long-term affair — he’s really good at being duplicitous. He devalued you — for YEARS — and lied straight to your face. How could you ever believe a word he says?

Yep.

This.

I was the fuckwit who battled with the spackle for a decade. “He’s really a good person, who made a bad choice.” Yeah. Over and over and over. A good person learns from their mistakes. A serial cheater just goes deeper underground. Online dating sites. Tens of thousands of secret text messages to DOZENS of women. Secret meet ups with them. All while telling the convenient wife appliance that it is only her, was only ever her, will only ever BE her. The love of his life. Blah, blah, blah.

What a load of absolute crap.

That I bought. Because, you know. Love.

Riiiiiiight.

I only lie when I love you
I only crawl when I hit the ground
You only cry when I love you
I only lie when I make a sound

Go ahead muck about
I got my conscience twisted
Pull your hair
Make me shout
It’s just that you insisted I was good for nothing
Like you were onto something

I only lie when I love you
I only crawl when I hit the ground
You only cry when I love you
I only lie when I make a sound

I only lie when I
I only lie when I
I only lie when I
I only like when I

I only lie when I love you
I only crawl when I hit the ground
You only cry when I love you
I only lie when I make a sound

Go ahead pull the plug
Broken finger, sticky finger
Now I can’t get it off my chest
And now I’m wishing you were someone else
You know I’m up to something
Diagnosed, no disease
Got a suspicion
But you just can’t find it up your sleeve
And now I beg the truth be told
From someone else
All of that fuss for nothingI only lie when I love you
I only crawl when I hit the ground
You only cry when I love you
I only lie when I make a soundI only lie when I
I only lie when I
I only lie when I
I only lie when I

I only lie when I love you
I only crawl when I hit the ground
You only cry when I love you
I only lie when I make a sound


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What made her (both hers) more special than me?

I have struggled mightily with this question, whilst knowing 100% not to try to untangle the skein of fuckedupness.

Why did he choose Leanne over me?

Then Trinket?

More special than me.

Why did his best mate’s wife drunkenly scream at me in public (just weeks after being told that I’ve Met Someone Else, and during a period when he’d driven down to fuck Trinket after he’d just fucked me – yep, that happened) that I was obviously crap at sex, and “wife-ing” in general? Obviously not good enough? Totally ripping me even further apart. Bystanders, equally as drunk (I was stone cold sober) completely aghast at her horrific (but nevertheless embarrassing and hurtful) display.

I’ll never be able to convey what cheating – especially serial cheating – does to your (previously fairly healthy) self esteem.

All the not good enoughs.

All at once.

All the time.

I told Rog after Leanne that his affair had turned me, in my 40s, into the insecure teenager I never was.

Cheating. It’s a hell of a gift. That keeps on giving.

I don’t wanna have to see him this weekend, when I clear out the last of the lake house things. It’s been a year, and 12 days since I last had to.

But I will.

And I will make sure I am prepared, and okay.


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Fake remorse. It’s a killer

When someone fucks you over, fucks around, makes you sick, exposes you and your children to crazy bunny boilers, nearly fucking kills you, but you love them, you tend to be very vulnerable to their lies. Still. I don’t recall ever getting an apology for Roger’s actions. I do know I realised he didn’t have a clue how devastated I was.

He didn’t come to our relationship with my past. He was the only man I had allowed to touch me after a friend brutally raped me. My parents’ shock divorce. He was my one and only lover, and I “knew” it was for life. I don’t and can’t do casual sex. It meant everything to me. I adored him.

Of course, if he cheated, I would leave him. That seemed such a simple fact. I told him that it was not acceptable to me. We had those discussions. His sister was a cheater. We had friends whose marriages were ruined by cheating. We talked. A lot.

I was the most surprised person ever to find when he was outed by my “friend” the AP (Leanne) that I felt sorry for him.

Yeah.

He seemed gutted.

But of course he was. His secret was exposed. He wasn’t sorry. He was just sorry he was caught.

Trickle truth proved that. I should have known. He at first tried to have me believe it was a recent, once off fuck up. It literally took months and months for me to put the pieces together. He never confessed a single thing. To realise it was going on for 18 months. He NEVER told me how, when, or where it started. I worked that out. When I told him he just said, “ahhh, yeah, I think that might have been the start?”

I said to him, “you think so? If you can’t remember the first time you fucked another woman, in the twenty plus years we have been together, this isn’t your first time. You don’t forget breaking a twenty two year promise to the woman you supposedly love more than anything.”

Still no answer.

He was only sorry he got caught. Remember that. He never loved you like you loved him.

I knew then that if he didn’t confess to what he was exposed as, there was more. More affairs. And I started to put together the string of red flags. Him fucking his ex a month into us. Him fucking a prostitute at his mate’s stag do and lying to me for more than twenty years about it. All the “too close friendships” with friends of “ours” over those decades. I exposed other “indiscretions.” Him fucking me when he was supposedly in live with, going to make a new life with, the new “love of his life.” But of course, he denies most, because he was never caught red handed. It’s easy. I know there are at least nine women he had his penis inside since we first started.

He denies many. I know the story he has sold Trinket. I deserved it. I am a bitch.

I was having a rough time after he moved us. Trying to find my place in the world he ripped apart then. I never once considered leaving him. Nor cheating. It was a challenge we needed to overcome. They happen in long term relationships. I guess I surprised myself and saw his cheating in a similar light. It was a massive challenge, but apparently we still adored each other.

Yeah, riiight.

He just wanted cake. The woman who looked after the detail in his life. As our son said, his admin person. Those are easily replaceable.

So he replaced me as soon as he found a live one. It took him two years of online dating. But the minute he had one on the line, he was gone. Wooing the fuck outta Trinket. Pretending to be a remorseful cheater to her.

As he cheated WITH her.