Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Missing someone is always a bit shit. Stink being so far apart, and having not seen that barman for a while.

But nothing compared to how I pined for Rog when we were apart.

I can remember him coming back from a two week hunting trip, when our eldest was a toddler. He told me how the other boys were all so happy to “get away from the ball and chain.”

But not him. He missed me like crazy. Said it was physical pain.

I often wonder if he tells Trinket the same lies.

I still ache for him. Again, not this him. The him I thought he was.

The way I ached for him when I was in the UK, and he was off fucking the whole town. I mean, it was okay, we were separated. But I fucked no one. And ached for him, while we wrote to each other three times a week.

Ugh. He really made me believe we were destined for each other.

A fully grown, supposedly intelligent woman. FFS 🤦‍♀️


The price we pay

A comment from a recovery board, that really resonated.

Recovering from betrayal has a flavor of loss and grief distinctly different from losing a loved one (to death). Acceptance/Meh eventually does come but at a high price.

I went to the movies last night. For the second time during this pandemic. I used to go weekly. Rog and I shared a love of film. And the pain of going without him was raw for a long time. I go to the boutique cinema in my new town, which we often drove over to together.

Last night there was an ache as I walked in the doors.

And the movie was good, and had several moments in it that made me yearn for him. Tears slid down my cheeks in the dark. The love I thought we had. Aching with the deep grief of missing him. Another night of not being able to send him a message, wanting to ask if he’d been the movie. Of course, if he has, it would be with that cunt.

Grief isn’t linear, and it doesn’t ever go away. You just have to find a way to carry it with you.


Confessions of a total dick

I did something really, REALLY stupid.

Gotta dump this on you.

Found messages between BG and his ex.

It was so full on. Like really mushy and teenage stuff. Moving to quite desperate messaging between them. When she was playing him, and he was struggling, madly in love, knowing she was probably slipping away. Suspecting – correctly – there was someone else. All while she pretended he was her “handsome.”

I’m not stupid, and I get how unhealthy both their shit was, but how stupid what I did was in looking.

The messaging went on longer than I understood. She was still messaging him less than two years ago. He never replied.

All the ILY stuff that I had to (pathetically) ask for.

I know we are nice together, but she was that “love of your life” person. We are kind of just the comfortable next place really.

Kind of hard to take. But the reality is that my shit is similar. I don’t feel that intensity either. That bond. That intense connection and sexual tension I had with Rog.

That he obviously never felt.

Sad huh? Are we just settling???


It’s got me feeling really sad. I realise I have never been, probably never will be, the love of anyone’s life. I felt it. But it was never returned.

I know BG thinks I’m wonderful. But it isn’t in that achy, yearning way. The way I loved Roger. It’s kind of like I’m just “too nice.” Too accommodating.

There is very sad truth in that saying, treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.

There were frantic messages when she didn’t reply. Then same back the other way.

I feel sick.

Both because of what I am not, but also because I stupidly looked.

I miss my Normie.

That person. My person.

Who doesn’t exist.



When I’m in pain, I go quiet. To the outside world. I use this blog to keep breathing. Outside of here, I am holding my breath.

BG noticed. He said I worry him sometimes.


I know we are supposed to be partners. But I don’t want to long distance worry him. He has enough on his plate, and I can’t be held by him. Eight weeks. Of needing. But trying to suck it up. He asked me yesterday if I am okay. Had I forgotten him. No messages all day. I eventually replied that I felt fair to middling.

I have several friends, happily married, etc, who are really struggling this lockdown. In fact, I don’t know anyone who is coping very well. We are in Covid jail, for so few cases. All linked. All from known clusters, already isolating. With high vaccination rates, we still can’t get time off our sentence, for good behaviour.

We can’t get a damn haircut, or go to the dentist, because 2 people tested positive yesterday, in our region. I can’t drive the hour and a half, over the barbed wire wall of this prison, to get a hug from my boy. We can’t touch other people. My sweet married friends have no idea really, at my sensory deprivation. Not to say their struggles to deal with this are any less than mine. Just different. At least they have their beloveds with them. Roger would be super snuggly in this situation. He was so good at physical affection. He made me feel like the sexiest thing ever.

I think I portray a strong, confident exterior. But my silence gave me away yesterday. Ugh. BG started digging, asking me to talk to him. So, I replied with this.

I had no idea I’d done anything to make him worry. I mean, one very busy day at work, when I didn’t message him during the day. That enough to make someone worried for me? He has no idea of my permanent pain over the loss of my life with my previous love. I mean, he knows I got hurt. But not the extent of the damage.

I feel like I’m failing at life again. That Roger was right. I’m not good enough. That he left because of me.

Not him. Not his neediness. His brokenness. His inability to self soothe. He left me because I am not enough. I know you understand my meaning here. The depression is telling me very convincing lies.


And the winner is…

Regional Business Awards. I’m the general manager for a small rural business.

And not into awards.

However, my boss entered us into the awards this year to benchmark her business. And we found the process quite fun and made the finals!

Last night was the Gala Dinner.

A black tie affair, which we took the whole team to. Including my flatmate, and former long term employee, who has recently taken another progressive role on, but is a much valued and loved member of our work whanau. None of us expecting much other than a free dinner and a bit of team bonding. The bank manager and his wife joined our table, too.

And we won our category! Wow! Up against slick, much larger businesses, we won the service business category. We had been told by the judges we should have also entered the innovation and sustainability categories. Which we did consider an encouraging sign at the time of judging.

It was an early announcement during the evening, so much celebration time was available. Meaning champagne, mostly!

I was sober driving some of the team, so abstained and observed the evening’s nuances. Feeling weird, all dressed up in figure hugging green velvet and gold heels…my team, usually found in dirty polo shirts and gumboots, gleaming in their evening best.

At one stage, the well oiled bank manager and my boss’s husband called me over.

Bank manager: “did you grow up in (name of Hicksville village)?

Me: “sure did. Why?”

BM: “oh, do you know ND?”

ME: “Sure do. Fabulous family.”

BM to boss’s husband: “shall I tell her what he says about her?”

Boss’s husband (we’ll call him WL) laughs his witchy laugh very loudly (honestly, it’s something else!)

BM, quite well along the beer trail, “I’ll say it. He says you’re a good cunt. Top notch. One of the best.”

Me, laughing: “okay, that’s … nice? Not sure he knew me that well!”

This guy had two much older siblings, both doctors now, who were good friends with my two younger brothers. Spent a lot of time at our house as children.

BM: “were you ND’s year at school?”

Me, head back, chortling: “hardly! He’d be at least ten years younger than me!”

Good lord. What are we like? Rural AF! (Banjo plays loudly in the background…)

My boss was over the moon. The workaholic and her husband beamed all night long. And she told me she had just put through another pay rise for me this week. So appreciated. I’m already up there salary-wise on the scale for the role. Kind of felt I’d hit a ceiling, that paying me more starts to look a bit ridiculous.

BL sat with me, hugging me hard, and said, “Paula, this award is for you. What you put in. What you have endured, how you have come through this awful, awful fire. You know me. I still can’t attend funerals (her fiance was killed not long before they were to be married, several decades ago) and I have seen your deep, deep grief. I saw your beautiful love story. And him fuck you over so badly. You are rising, as I knew you would. I’m so damn proud of you.”

I choked up. And said thank you.

And for the first time acknowledged what I knew she already knew.

“It nearly killed me.”

BL: “I know.”

Then, “he messed up. Big time. Lost the best. Messed you up. He’s a loser, and I’m so glad we still have you here with us, I think I know some of your grief. Mine was less than two years, not thirty, and I didn’t have to watch Jamie walk off with another woman. I can’t imagine how hard that is. Seeing him with someone else.”


I appreciate my work family. We try to have fun. We work damn hard, long hours with high stress.

Boss Lady and Witchy Laugh insisted we go out in the city after awards. So, we went to dodgy nightclubs and danced.

And folks, I’ve still got it!

The ability to attract ALL the creeps and weirdos. I had one particularly persistent 12 year old pesting me most of the night. Trying to buy me drinks, engage in conversation, grind up against me on the dancefloor, finally treating me to a full noise, middle of the d-floor break dancing display 🤦‍♀️ lucky me, huh?!!!

I was cold, but polite, eventually telling him bluntly he wasn’t gonna get his trophy MILF that night, move along, go home to mummy little boy.


I really do attract the worst guys.

Eventually WL asked me if I was okay, did he need to have a word.

And the music, the loved up, sexy lyrics, watching people all full of booze and loved up (even BL and WL, ewww 🤢) made me incredibly sad.


My love story included much celebration. Many nights connecting with our eyes across a crowded dance floor (my friend J still goes on about the electricity we emitted at parties between us, cool, awesome, thanks J, it was all lies) some bumping and grinding. And falling into bed to make hot, sweaty love until morning.

Now he hates me. That intense passion, turned towards me as hatred. I feel his loathing every day.

All bullshit now. Now he does all that loving, sexy shit with his Trinket now. The replacement.

While my eldest sleeps under his roof this weekend. Politely chit chatting with Trinket. They have S’s partner’s sister’s wedding in the region today.


I went to the loos in the club and threw up. Stone cold sober.

And drove everyone home around 2am. Seriously over it all.

It still hurts so much.

Ooh, Ooh
My tongue is sealed within my mouth
These certain words they can’t come out
These thoughts are walking on their own
Dancing around with no control
I know what I did to you was wrong
Hence why I’ve kept it for this long
Secrets have been brewing up a storm
Did not expect it to transform
Soaked up in my brain
For another day
These things I’m tryna say get drenched and swept away that’s the truth
Soaked up in my brain
Don’t know what to say
Something about you boy you soak up half my brain, yes you do
Ooh, ooh, something about you boy you soak up half my brain
You look at me like I hit you, ooh
Stole all your things then left you bruised, ooh
Look what I’ve got myself into, ooh
My words are stuck, my body too, ooh
I know



So, no data at the moment, as my provider promised me I was covered here.

But, I’m not.

Here in Chefchaouen, the blue city tonight and tomorrow night.

It’s gorgeous, but with no data, and arriving at night, a quick walk through the medina, and a traditional Moroccan meal, I haven’t had time to photograph much here.

We came in through Tangier.

We had a wonderful day trip at the end of our Spanish leg. Down through Vejer de la Frontera…


Then down to Gilbraltar.

Which was hilarious, as we left Spain, over the border, British weather kicked in! Dull, drizzly, windy.

…and Spanish sunshine returned as we popped back over into Andalucia 🤣.

On the way home, our bizarre driver got us lost, despite Kate telling him he was going the wrong way.

Three times!

But, we finally made it to Ronda, over two hours later than planned…

Throughout all of this beauty and adventure, my broken heart is still being a total wanker.

I really don’t get it. I mean, of course I do. It’s trauma. But man, really? WTAF? It fucking SUCKS!

My friend keeps telling me I’m doing great. That she was nearly seven years in this hell, barely functional. And in many ways, I am. But FFS, the ache, the agony of this just never goes away. It really doesn’t. You carry it in your body.

One friend asked me yesterday what I think Trinket’s family – specifically her parents and siblings – think of her husband poaching ways?

I just shrugged and said, I dunno. Obviously no one gives a fuck anymore about morals, empathy and treating other people as you would like to be treated. I know I would be bloody livid if one of my kids hurt another human in this way. If I thought they were cheaters. If they broke up anyone’s relationship. They would be told in no uncertain terms that is not acceptable. That their cheating partner was not welcome in my home.

I recall saying that to Rog on many occasions, when his sister broke up her boss’s marriage. Why did your parents allow the new “happy couple” to live on their property? That is pretty abominable. It always grated with me. My mother would have ripped me a new one, hurting the mother of his child in that way.

Karma got her.

Seven years and two kids later, they divorced due to his serial cheating. So, yeah, cheating is in Roger’s genes. And their acceptance of cheating as a family just shows how the family values were shaped.

Ugh. So gross. It makes me so angry to think I was a loving part of that family for twenty years, until his sisters got angry with him, and therefore, by default, me. And thirty years of being an involved daughter-in-law….means nothing to them now. Losing my mother-in-law at the same time as losing my partnership….such a blow.

Today, I was going on a mountain hike through the hashish fields, but just found out it is now cancelled.


Some mountain air would have been marvellous. But, instead, loads of time now to wander through the medina, and check out the beautiful blue town, before heading onto Fes tomorrow morning.

Just. Keep. Going.

You broken hearted warrior.


We are nearly there!

So, the filly. Is now looking very likely to start in the Oaks!

How damn exciting! We won’t know for sure until Wednesday, when late nominations and final withdrawals are in. But we are 18th in the order of entry. 18 starters!

It’s bittersweet. I’m fucking so excited, but fly out tomorrow, on my trip. So won’t be on course. WTF!

As breeders and owners (we did not breed this filly) it is your dream to have a horse in one of these big races. Roger and I bred racehorses together for years. And now we may well have a runner!

And instead of us being there together, excited, holding hands, hugging and kissing with the excitement of the day, in our finest finery, he will be there with Trinkey-poo. All dolled up in her finest race day outfit. Hat, heels, wrinkly neck (Roger’s words, not mine!)

Holy fuck! Nooooooo!

Our friend, Bella, is the breeder and syndicate head. She and I have been friends since childhood. Pony club days. She is also an ex fuck buddy of Roger’s. From before me. But also from when I was unknowingly pregnant, in the UK. Not her fault. And as soon as she found out, she told him in no uncertain terms that the fuck buddy situation had to end. She’s a good stick. The one who talked about the beige mouse that Trinket is. “Paula, she’s as interesting as mud.”

I worked with her with her bloodstock for years. I recall the day the dam of this filly was born. And the day she came to her property after the mare (our filly’s stakes winning granddam) was rebred and safely in foal. I recall the dam’s unruly temperament. The year younger full sister to a very smart race filly… this one was unpredictable, and her temperament meant she never made it to the races, the older sibling had some real ability. She sold a younger half sibling colt for several hundred thousand, a very exciting day for a small breeder at the yearling sales.

She sent me this text yesterday, as the nomination list started to look very promising for us.

Ugh. Life sucks sometimes.

I loved being involved with her horses. She has access to better bloodlines and stallions than we could ever afford. But we two worked with all the young stock ourselves. She was devastated for me when Roger’s sisters tried to sue us, spreading vicious lies around town about us stealing money, etc. She is gutted for me about Roger’s affairs, and ultimate discard of me for a plain little beige mouse of a widow.

She plays nice, like every well bred person does… She will be polite to Trinket. But she has told me her heart breaks for me. So unfair, what he did to me. And asked what kind of woman behaves as Trinket did, getting involved with a man who was clearly still partnered, no matter what he told her? Why do to me what other women tried to do to her when they fucked her husband? So weird. Bella gets it.

But, it is really hard because I know as a former friend-with-benefits of Roger’s, she is very fond of him.

Anyway. It’s now time to pack, and get myself sorted for my flight.


Don’t EVER date a married man…

Pretty simple stuff, right?

You are devaluing yourself. You are causing enormous heartache. You have chosen a disloyal, charming liar.

Why would anyone choose to date a man who is in a long term relationship?

Why would any adult woman ever choose to do this? Why would any former betrayed wife ever believe the lies of a known serial cheat, just because he’s attentive and makes you feel sexy?

To cause another loyal wife so much pain she battles suicidal ideation every single day. Wow!

I remember when the guy who kissed me, who wanted to fuck me, did that, my first thought was, his poor pregnant wife. I couldn’t live with myself, and I could definitely not participate in inflicting that kind of pain.

You know it isn’t the OW’s fault. If not her, then the next one. As my eldest said to me very briefly after she asked if I am okay yesterday during our drive home, he was just tasting a smorgasbord of women by the secret online dating, texting and clandestine meetings, Mum. She did you a huge favour taking him off your hands. And now she can live with the doubt and the lack of trust you felt after Leanne. She knows us kids think she’s a dumbass, and incredibly selfish to do this. Who wants that? Stupid woman. I really don’t care a thing about someone that stupid. She can come with us or not when I am with Dad, she means nothing to me, so I kind of just ignore her, feel a bit sorry she has no self respect. That she agreed to date him while he lived with the woman who had loved him for 30 years and worked to forgive him from previous betrayal. Ugh. What an idiot!

I figured she felt that way. No hate. No love. Just acceptance of her presence in her father’s life. Fair enough. I get her position. Exactly how I feel about any of my father’s previous partners. They are wallpaper in their lives.

I get it. There was always gonna be another Trinket.

Just glad I never caused another person this level of pain. To feel like an ugly, worthless, useless partner. To have people assume I couldn’t “keep my man” because I am crap in bed. I wanna scream from the rooftops, I fucking LOVE sex! I was an AMAZINGLY loving, loyal, self sacrficing partner!

Dying for some love and affection right now. Missing the ghost of a man who never existed, that made up love of my life.



Having the kids home is great. But my God, it also hurts.


It’s the damn complicated grief. I can’t find any decent help for this. Desperately trying to find the right therapy.

And I know this is why Rog refused to be alone. To avoid this. It is fucking awful dealing with loss alone. He has Trinket to keep him occupied. To comfort him. I am very much alone.

My babies remind me of our intense love and my deep, deep grief at its loss. I am sick of the pain. I know it needs to end. I wonder when? I keep working at it…

I feel particularly damaged right now, as I bite my tongue, trying to stop thinking about my kids spending time with Trinket. Sharing my kids with that cunt is the very hardest part of this journey right now. And I totally see how fragile I am. Walking on eggshells so as not to look damaged to my kids. To look strong, healing, resilient.

I’m tired. Tired of the fight.



I know Rog has sold a fuck ton of lies to a fuck ton of people. His ‘niceness’ makes him very believable. I made the huge mistake of trying to tell the truth to a couple of the wrong people after I discovered he was cheating again. Dumbass that I was. I learned fast to shut my mouth as you can’t beat a good liar.

It still stings. That some people turned on me. Only a couple. And some have since apologised to me for causing further hurt to me at the worst time of my life. I had to suck it up as I know how believable and convincing those soft, kind eyes are.

One friend recently sent me this message

She has seen what he did to me. How he set me up to fail. And I do feel like a massive failure at relationships. Not because I did anything wrong really, but an intact loving partnership was my goal from the day I moved in with him. I failed. Not because I failed. But the relationship failed because I picked a lying cheat, even though I tried so hard to identify a man I loved that would be honest and kind. I tried to communicate my boundaries to him from the start. I modelled love, truth, openness, honesty and commitment to him.

He’s not kind. He’s nice. Using the dogs as woman bait for his online dating profile, then driving off abandoning one. Not kind..image management.

This book is pretty interesting. It identifies how completely mindfucked you are if you partner with one of these people. You can’t win, because you are set up as the bad guy, while they are the personable sweetheart. Very manipulative and clever. To the point that it is very difficult for me to even use the term for Rog. He’s outwardly very funny and people love him. But I lived this. I know what he is capable of. I still ache with the agony of him loving me, then not. (Hint, he must have never loved me??? See the mindfuck?)

Covert narcissistic abuse is the most insidious type of narcissistic abuse.
When most people think of a narcissist they think of someone who is grandiose, obviously self-absorbed, sees themself as superior to others, and throws fits of rage when they don’t get their way. But what if the narcissist is one of the nicest people you’ve ever met? What if they are a great listener, seem to care about others, and are a pillar of the community? What if they are the mother that volunteers at the school, the husband that your girlfriends wish they had, the boss that your co-workers feel so lucky to work for?
A covert narcissist has the same traits as the well-known overt type. The difference is when they control and manipulate, when they demean and devalue you it is done is such a subtle way you don’t notice it.
Many people can have a parent who is a covert narcissist and not realize it until well into their adulthood. Most people who are married to this type can be with this person for decades, not even recognizing the tactics that have been used on them for years. Others have experienced a boss or co-worker that have taken years of their life and drained them of their energy and self-worth, bringing them to a place where they question their own sanity.
There are no visible scars with this form of abuse and you are usually the only one that experiences their destructive and psychologically debilitating behavior.
The most common description a survivor of this type of abuse will use is crazy making.

Oh. Fuck. Yeah.