Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Getting spoiled

What a weekend.

Started off on Friday with a lovely lunch at one of my favourite places. A drive up the coast, to some of our favourite people, another divine meal at their local delight.

Wake up to their stunning, 180° views

This view never gets old

A day to myself, to meander. Ingrid was teaching a jewellery making course in her studio. Her and Andy’s son (BG’s godson) was building a computer. Fascinating. I helped him hold as he assembled, etc. He got it finished, and it is amazing. All neon LED lights and clear sides.

I love my own company. Always have.

So, I went for a drive to a nearby town, pottered around the art galleries, and walked along the beaches. Decided to walk out to a tourist spot I haven’t visited since my teens. The only car in the car park. Magical!

Back at Andy and Ingrid’s, the boys arrived back from golf shortly after I did. A few beers (I was sober driving) and a chat about relationships, Andy talked about the guilt of his 24 year relationship with Ingrid – “officially” 21 – as they started while he was married to his two older children’s mum. It was ugly. Infidelity always is. I know he has talked about it with me before. And “justifies” it, as such, with “at least I am still madly in love with her. No way should I have done that. But we are very in love, at least. And E (ex wife) talks to us. It took a while. And I don’t blame her, but we are all civil and share these great adults now. It has never been something I am okay about.”

I did say, curtly, “except while you were doing it…”

New guy to the group, Irish Paul, was sharing he had a new girlfriend, of two months. Talked about how he has to remember he is partnered, let her know his whereabouts, etc. There was a bit of banter about how she comes from a seriously wealthy family, her kids, who were born triplets, one not surviving, and one of the now 20 year olds having special needs.

Then Ingrid asked, “but is she a wonderful, lovely person, too? Like our Paula here, who BG brought into our lives? How long has it been now?” (Naw, how sweet is she???) BG quickly said, “three years! On the 18th of May.” I laughed loudly inside. And he explained our start. I piped up with, “well, I was a bit flighty. Disappeared after two lunch dates, for nine months.” The lads looked at BG. “What did you do? And she came back! What?”

“Yeah, well, wouldn’t you run, too?” He laughed.

Then, “I knew she wasn’t ready.” Andy added, to let Spud and Paul know, “she’d just left her husband not long earlier.” I corrected, “well, he left me.” He nodded and said, “there was leaving.” I explained it was only two years since he announced he was leaving me for another woman. The wounds were still pretty raw.

But yeah, I came back. I did some more work on healing. The only guy I talked to, obviously made an impression, lol.

We went to check out an open home for Spud, who is looking to relocate out of Auckland.

Home. BG had hinted there was something going on, earlier in the day. And had obviously told the lads, as they all nearly let the cat out of the bag. I got nervous!

“Get dressed, darling. I’m taking you somewhere, we have to leave by 6.45pm.”

Turns out, he had booked us into a luxury boutique hotel’s restaurant.

It was a bit of a magical mystery tour! Get in the car…

Fun fact. The first boy I ever loved, helped build this hotel, in the 80s! He’d done a year of uni, then decided it wasn’t for him. Went to live at his parents’ bach, to surf and figure life out. Had a job there as a builder’s labourer.

When I dropped out of university in the winter of my third year, although we were not a couple, I went to stay with him. We slept snuggled into each other, he held me close as I came to terms with my disappointment and fears about what next. He was a very special guy.

And as we sat, enjoying a red wine, I reflected quietly.

Had Rog ever done anything like this for me???

Had he booked and surprised me? Taken me on a tour to an unknown destination?

And I couldn’t remember any event like it.

A simple, but amazing, surprise dinner.

Am I not remembering “us” well? Am I blanking out nice things he did???

And this made me really sad. Did I live with a man I adored, who never did lovely things like this for me? If so, why did I love him so very deeply?

Ugh.

A lovely man, whom I love (and internally, I always add, but this is different, and he doesn’t know me like Rog) did something truly delightful for me. And I am trapped in memories, trying to untangle the whole awful mess of my previous life.

I mindfully brought myself back. I let BG know that this was a very special, truly thoughtful gesture. And I appreciate him so much.

He was quietly chuffed with himself. I know this isn’t something he feels he is good at. Showing how much he loves me by “gifting” such experiences. And I think he realised that I do really appreciate gestures like this. This is the kind of gesture that would be nice on a special occasion. And was doubly nice “just because.”

A weekend counting my blessings, for sure. I really do live far more mindfully than I ever used to.

But today, my mind is going through its Roladex.

Flick, flick, flick, flick…

Surely Rog planned some nice surprises for me?

Surely?

How can this happen? That I can’t find any. Have I got so good at remembering the horrors of those last few years, that I’ve deleted memories of how very wonderful we once were?

My heart aches. I’m so grateful for BG, and his love. But yeah, much as I have worked hard to heal, my love for the Rog I knew has never died. And I know not to grasp at straws, but I’m stunned at how affected I was by BG’s thoughtful, grand gesture.


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Making amends

BG has been on the back foot all week.

Messaging, worried he’s messed up.

I admit, I’ve been a bit quiet. Processing.

He rang late tonight. Checking in on me. He seems to be genuine.

I have believed that before.

With another man.

A man whose children I bore.

A man whom I dedicated my life to.

I man I (thought I) knew a whole lot better than BG.

So, yeah. I am cynical.

I get sucked in. I know this now. By these lovely words. These supposedly genuine men.

And what if he really is genuine. And I’m judging him by Roger’s standards???

He rang.

To chat. To ask what he can do for me. Not directly about our tough week. But letting me know he admits he didn’t do what he should have. And volunteered to sober drive me tomorrow when I catch up with friends.

That’s a lovely gesture.

Right?


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You didn’t deserve this

I’ve had my ass kicked this weekend.

In my third laser hair removal treatment on my legs.

I’ve done bikini line, armpits, face. All fine. All successful.

But this has killed me. First was fine. Second was awful, I developed a really itchy rash/hives. And blamed a moisturiser I wore.

This time is worse. I’ve had a serious allergic reaction and am on antihistamines and topical hydrocortisone cream. I want to rip my skin off.

And I have slept.

And slept.

And slept.

Wiped out.

I am allergic to self tanners. Same reaction.

I had planned a big road trip. BG is away on a lads’ weekend.

But I’m totally buggered.

And sleeping, resting, I’ve dreamed. Reflected on those dreams. Yeah, ruminated.

One thing I recalled was Roger telling me that I was an amazing partner. That I did everything right.

That I never deserved what he did.

(But hey! Who would have???)

But he is so right. I have been a very good partner. I worked really hard. I loved him completely. I gave myself to him.

Even after he totally disrespected and broke me. I kept trying.

For eight. More. Years.

I searched for healing. I tried to heal myself, to heal us. I tried so hard to engage him in “our” healing, to get him to reflect on who he is, how he allowed himself to knowingly break my heart and expose me to disease, ridicule, and self loathing.

I completed two degrees, searching for meaning. Self esteem. Healing.

He said it.

You never deserved this, my Snooks.

Yeah.

Right.

So do it again.

This time with a broken betrayed. Whom I was apparently supposed to like, and bond with over commonalities.

He knew exactly what he’d targeted. A broken, betrayed widow, who would lap up his love bombing, who would buy his faux remorse.

FML.


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Actions v words

After Leanne exposed the 15 month long physical (longer emotional) affair she had with my most trusted, my utterly beloved partner, Roger, I watched him closely.

I knew that actions were the most important indicator of true remorse. Changed behaviour.

He trickle truthed me. It took months for him to reveal what “he thought” was the beginning of the sexual affair.

I mean, what? We’d been together 22 years. How could he not remember the first time he had sex with her. Not me?

That concerned me. If it wasn’t memorable, did that mean this was a habit. There’d been others? I remember the date, time, place I first had sex with BG. I was 51. I had never had sex with anyone but Roger. In over 51 years. I remember, because it was significant.

Because Rog had sex with other women during those 22 years, it wasn’t memorable. Or special. I understand that now. It took years to dig out that information, and/or connect the dots.

I wonder if he remembers the date he first fucked Trinket? Probably. See, she’s more special than me. 😢

He refused to change his phone number. Or block Leanne. He fucked her again two years into our wreckovery.

He still took his phone with him mostly, when he went to the bathroom. He still put it face down. Mostly. For a while, he was transparent. Then a few years later, when my vigilance waned, I can see those secretive actions crept back in. Slowly.

He never once sought counselling, nor information about why he chose to lie and cheat.

He told me every day that he loved me. He love bombed me furiously. I was the woman he had the most intense orgasms with. Only me. Our shared history was unique. Long. Special. He said he cherished me above anyone else. And was sorry. No one knew his soul like I did. We were a magical match.

But, I doubted.

I saw that there was a lot of window dressing, but not the substance I knew was required. If I brought it up, he gaslighted, manipulated, and turned it around on me. Got angry with me. I wasn’t healing “right.”

Or fast enough.

The reason I was struggling wasn’t him. It was me. I was in the wrong. The guilt I felt. I wondered what was wrong with me.

I see his charm now. His subtlety. His gentleness and physical attention. I see how seductive he is. Me. Leanne. Georgie. Justine. Glenda. Trinket. And several others. We were all seduced.


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Trauma

Kelsey Waghorn is a remarkable, yet ordinary, young woman.

She was working as a guide on Whakaari when it erupted, killing and maiming dozens of people in 2019.

In an interview with capsule nz recently, her words about trauma resonated strongly. Trauma, even with good counselling, is always with you. I feel it, face it, fight it every day.

“It takes a lot longer to recover from trauma mentally than it does physically. My brain put the whole event into a box and sealed it tight for four months. I thought that maybe I’d dodged dealing with it, since I was on so many medications and in hospital for so long – I was removed from everything unfolding at home, too. It wasn’t until I was actually at home and physically doing really well, that the box started to get unpacked, and I realised that this was going to take months, or years, to deal with what I’d been through, and also what I had lost. Your mental health is so important, and needs just as much – if not more – “rehab” and help after trauma.”

So true. I did this about my brutal rape, to a fair degree. And I thought about this…

Almost every betrayed I know has been told a version of the above words.

Not me. My trauma involves being told he really loved me. (By others, not just him!) He was in love with me. So much so that “one day we’ll find our way back to each other.” Just as we did when I went to the UK in 1992. It was to designed to keep me hooked. High on hopium. That if I was just patient/”good” enough, the wonderful prize of him would return.

Unlike him, who had zero patience in my recovery from his massive betrayal in fucking and emotionally investing in my friend, in our homes, for 18 months, when he thought he’d test drive her to see if she’d be a better partner than me (turns out I won that particular competition, without any knowledge I was even in one!)

I love you can be such a trap. Ask anyone who has any experience with Battered Wife Syndrome!

I still love the man you pretended to be. But I’ll never believe “I love you,” again. Not really. Not fully.

It’s just words.