Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Don’t listen!

To those damn butterflies. They lie. All that excitement and the awesomely addictive flappy feelings…it’s a trap!

I fell fast and hard for Roger. I resisted.

But poorly.

I was bowled over. Swept off my feet. I had never even had sex with anyone before, thinking I was smart. Selective. They needed to be ABSOLUTELY amazing. Trustworthy.

I needed to be madly in love, and madly loved. I needed to be 100% certain that this man would never, never, never hurt me.

Ha!

I moved in with him after knowing him just five weeks! FFS.

I don’t move in for fun. Moving in together is my marriage. I was never going to marry, I’d decided that after seeing my mother’s utter and complete heartbreak at the end of my parents’ marriage.

Drown those fluttery mothafuckas!

Drown them real good…


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21

21 years without my bubbly Mum.

I was so lucky to have her.

And to lose her in adulthood, we became friend-like. I saw her as a woman.

A sexual being.

A loving person.

A gorgeous soul.

A load of fun.

And never have to deal with the challenges of aging.

RBF forever. Baby bro, who lives with me now, and the matriarch who made us enjoy life 💕


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Round up

Been frantically busy lately. No time to post, and my mental health depends on getting stuff out of my head, and down here.

So, my brother’s divorce was finalised recently. I ensured we had a feast and a couple of fun cocktails to “celebrate.”

The reality is, it is to mark the closing of a chapter. It’s a good thing, but also incredibly sad.

We four siblings are now all divorced. Or, the three who married are, I never married, and had the longest term relationship.

Three of us were exceptional partners. We respected and were faithful, we worked hard and were the best parents we could be. The alcoholic, well, as an addict, hard to be a good partner.

We all were wary of relationships. After our father was exposed as a cheater, and our Mum divorced him.

I never married, believing true, real, deep love wins. Marriage is a contract, but if you love someone well, you don’t need a piece of paper. We all tried really hard. I know I was very careful to ensure I didn’t marry a liar, a player, a cheater.

Good work, Paula.

FML. 🤦‍♀️

Anyway, we marked the day well. As C opened the divorce decree, some tears came. He didn’t expect them.

I did.

And we laughed and said how healthy it was, to grieve for something treasured that was lost, through no fault of our own.

It’s okay to cry.

It’s okay for men to cry.

And by that, I know none of us are perfect. But, we tried hard. We loved hard. We committed for life. Every damn one of us failed! It’s heartbreaking.

On Tuesday afternoon, BG asked me if I wanted to go to the Māori All Black v Ireland rugby game, in my city, Wednesday. He’d just been gifted great tickets, by the brewery rep. None of his staff were able/wanted to go, so he came over to me.

We met friends at a pub near the stadium, I volunteered to sober drive. He does it for me a lot. I have decided to take a month off drinking alcohol during July, need to drop a few kilos, so started early.

The game was fun. Great seats, right in front of the brewery sales reps, some of whom BG has known for more than 30 years. A good fun bunch, lots of banter.

After the game, we went to one of their brand’s local Ale House. A big night ensued. Complete with a late night drinking game. Good lord!

I ended up driving the three newest sales reps (their only ride left at 12.30am) – including BG’s local guy, and the woman who looks after the region where Roger lives, having moved there for the job in the past year. She HATES it. Says she is struggling with nothing to do, as in, no nightlife. It’s a beautiful, wine and foodie region, but at 31, single, she is struggling with friendships where everyone is coupled up/having babies, and no real fun to be had. It’s a place people tend to go, “to settle down.” I challenged that, saying, surely the cute Art Deco cocktail bars, etc? But she says they are nice, but expensive, so not a regular thing, and she wants more action (music, dancing, etc) from time to time. Nightclubs. Late night bars.

I promised to hook her up with my friend, my old flatmate, who is moving to the same town in a couple of months. She was a bit cute, and boldly asked me how old I was when I briefly mentioned my daughter also lives there at the moment. When I told her, her eyes widened, “no way! I had you just a bit older than me. No way you have a 29 year old!” She said a number twenty years younger than I am.

Beer goggles. For sure. Lol. (Look at my neck, lady! 😂)

Back to my town, a zap through the local Maccas drive through, then delivery of them to their boutique hotel by the town lake.

We arrived home at 2.30am. On a school night. Everyone was so grateful to me for being camp mum and getting everyone home and fed safely. I earned Brownie points to burn! BG’s rep said, “everything BG told me about you is true! I thought he was making you up! You’re amazing. Thanks so much, what do you drink?” He wants to get me a nice bottle of something to say thanks.

I was shocked BG had talked about me to him, TBH…

Bizarrely, I had what felt like one of the worst hangovers at work the next day. Really thumping headache that painkillers couldn’t touch, wanted to vom all day.

Without a drop of alcohol passing my lips! Ugh. Not fair!

BG shifted my heifers for me, and worked from my home, so was here when I eventually escaped work, having restocked some firewood and kept the warm fire burning for me all day.

Bliss!

We got Vietnamese food, and had an early night. I think my snoring probably challenged his, for once!

He’s gone to work now, and I am languishing in bed, with a cup of Lady Grey tea, aching all over. My boss is in Italy, and our entire staff have been laid flat with a flu bug. So I have “been on the tools” this week, feeding and mucking out for them, then into the office in the middle of the day. It’s been good, and my muscles are aching. In a good way. Love a work workout.

BG is working hard at trying to make it possible to do his job in part remotely. He’s such a workaholic, he struggles to let go. He felt guilty for working from home for the day. A man who works seven days a week, mostly, and often 14+ hours a day.

I get it. I used to be like that, too. I am, however, somewhat cured of that affliction!

And he is all loved up at the moment. All touchy feely and loads of ILYs. I need to talk to him again, about a few things, but struggle, not wanting to pop his lovely, loved up balloon. I’ll go over later, and we will talk properly this weekend.

There’s a big cash draw at the club, and giving away a fridge and coolers, etc, by the same brewery rep tonight. He’s a bloody laugh. He impressed BG when during our last Beach Hop festival (4 days where the town’s population goes from 4500 to 120 000! Crazy times) he walked aroind the corner to see Logan, the rep, serving beers behind the restaurant bar for him. As he says, “in 35 years of working in hospitality, I’ve never had a rep jump on the tools like that.)

Should be fun! I do have an amazing life. So lucky. I am grateful every day for this.

But it never means my grief is finished. That I don’t think of what I really, truly wanted. My long term love with the man I totally bonded with, loved truly, deeply and forever, who I thought would love me also forever. Talking with him about the big stuff was never difficult. Like it is with the loveliest second time around man ever. Life got a WHOLE lot harder once Roger’s cheating was exposed. When I found out my life, my love, was all a gigantic lie. I overanalyse every little thing, and I’m so tired.

Horse racing up north tomorrow. Trying to decide if I want to drive that far….


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Unhealed trauma

Wow!

I mean, yeah, of course, but, wow!

I don’t think I had “childhood” trauma, but definitely was more deeply affected than I admitted/knew by my parents’ shock divorce, obviously by the vicious, tearing rape by my friend’s friend, and yeah, also about my first attempts at making love with the first boy I loved. Where it 🍆 just didn’t fit! 🤦‍♀️. We tried, off and on, for a very long time.

I thought I was broken. Not capable of being penetrated. This is where my deep and very real fear of large penises kicked in.

I know it sounds like a joke.

But I was TERRIFIED of meeting someone with a big dick.

And guess what?

Yup.

The day BG took his pants off, aroused already, holy, holy fuck! 😱

I froze. I actually nearly ran from the room.

I did tell him, when we started making love, to be slow and gentle, as his is a LOT bigger than the only penis I had ever had inside me.

To be honest, I’m sure that is what every man probably wants to hear, but he looked a bit coy, and was amazingly careful.

To start with 😜

I also thought maybe I was overstating it in my mind. Maybe he was “normal” sized. But he has length AND girth. It was quite shocking.

Months later, probably a year, I discovered he had a reputation about his size, amongst his friends. A couple of the wives siddled up to me, to ask.

If the legend was true!

Jesus. What???

Not even sure how you answer that!

Of course, this was not asked sober. I just winked and smiled, knowingly. Then Ingrid, who asked first, told me that it was legendary amongst this crew.

When I later relayed the story to BG, he shook his head, and was really embarrassed. Told me about the incident, in his teens, with a girl in his Catholic boarding school dorm. And getting caught by one of his mates. Who is still a close mate to this day. Good lord.

Literally!

As he intimated, it made it seem more. Like, “The Legend,” is larger than the reality. (Pardon the pun.) And yeah, I can see it is dehumanising. Objectifying. It embarrases him.

But, it was genuinely a terrifying night. In a good, consenting way. Still a really difficult thing for me. In my 50s, one lover ever, whom I was totally, madly in love with. Then this very real fear of mine, materialising!

Back to the other points, though. I definitely tick all of those items on that unhealed trauma list. I would like to add that it wasn’t really a difficulty setting boundaries – although, my uber chill chick vibe might be (correctly?) read this way – I think it became more about difficulty policing them.

When I insisted after Leanne that he change his phone number (it was before I even knew you could block) to starve her of oxygen, when she kept covertly (by connection) threatening us, and our children, and overtly saying she was bringing her mother to meet with my inlaws, to let them know they were destined to be together, that scared the SHIT out of me.

Cut her off! Cut her access to us off!

Rog insisted that he needed to keep his number, to “manage” the bunny boiler.

Hmmm.

Also helped his need for ego kibbles, right? Not only was he continuing to get her attention, he fashioned himself as my great hero and protector by “cutting her off at the pass.”

Also made it REALLY easy to fuck her again, two years after he had “ended it.”

Riiiiiight. Good job on the boundary enforcement, Paula.

My problem is, I have no desire to be the Marriage Police. What a shit job that was.

So I “believed” him, let it slide.

I also hate that I was unable to see that his refusal to read about affair recovery, or get counselling was another violation of my boundaries.

I have lived in a state of high anxiety for 12 years now. I wasn’t that person before Leanne. Before I knew I am a chump. I used to be a far different person than I am today. I felt safe, connected, confident. I didn’t feel the need for much external validation.

I feel none of those things anymore. And yeah, am more socially “needy.” I’m aware of it, and work hard at dismantling the narrative of “not good enough” that now feeds my social anxiety.

That said, I am anxious about today. Anxious about re-entering my home town. The possibility of facing him yet again. Knowing he also has another horse racing in this region tomorrow. It’s likely he’ll be there. And surely the cunt will be, too. I preferred when I didn’t know much about these horses, and his current life.

No contact is the biggest tool for healing from relationship trauma.

I’ve been no contact with my former friend, of at the time, over thirty years, Leanne, for 12 years. It’s good.

It still blows my mind. This darling man, whom I loved and trusted completely, for decades (at least until he broke that unwavering trust, the love was still there) whose body I craved, and snuggled up with, at every chance, whose babies I conceived in deep love, gestated, and birthed with him, is someone I must avoid now. It’s super fucking crazy.

It still messes with me. I know it’s because I still love the “old” Rog. The illusion. So I don’t want to see the new one. Especially not with his whore. My mental health is too precious. Too hard fought for.

I know he doesn’t get it. He never had to fight for life, like I did. He never had to suffer, being rejected and discarded. He had several women clambering for his attention. He. Just. Doesn’t. Understand

Or really?

He just just care.

Better go shift my heifers, give Sunny, number 7, a big hug and scratch. Always helps ground me when I need it.

Thank God for animals, huh?

Sunny. She’ll be hungry…


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Happy families

I have my eldest here. Yay!!!!

It’s so damn good! Constant internal smiles.

I missed my kids this Christmas. I knew they all had other plans, and that’s no drama at all. They’re adults. Partners, overseas, life.

But Christmas isn’t really a thing without family. Ever since Rog sold the family farm, and caused an enormous rupture in our family, then affairs, then he left me, Christmas has lost its joy for me.

But having my first baby, my darling big girl, under my roof, even briefly, is joy restored. I just feel at peace. Mother’s love is a truly wondrous thing💕

Family catch up brunch is planned. Then she and our youngest are gonna hang out. I will return to the beach and she will follow tomorrow. She has friends holidaying nearby, and we’ll play on the water…yay again!!!

I am grateful – so very grateful – that Rog had her live with him for the past few months, while she did parts of the practical requirements of her degree. Helping her financially is so, so good.

But not gonna lie, it absolutely rips me apart that the whore has my precious children, my most beloved and treasured people, in her life, that my kids probably think she’s sweet and nice. Yay for Trinkey, right?

It’s utterly agonisingly searing, constant, silent, unbearable pain.

Fuck her. She’s an utter cunt.

They don’t know that I drove to meet her, to tell her the truth. To pathetically kinda beg her not to steal my love. Fuck up the life, the future plans I worked my arse off to earn.

How fkn embarrassing of me 🤦‍♀️

How awful that Roger’s cheating caused me to be that pathetic. I never thought I would beg to hold onto someone who didn’t value and love me entirely.

But I did. I did that desperate, sad stuff. Ugh.

I just thought that as a former betrayed spouse, she’d get it.

Empathise with me, and leave my love alone.

If she saw me. Saw me lower myself to actually beg and explain his broken promises, yet how much I still loved him, that we had a pact to help each other heal. Ugh. Who even am I???

I’m a special kind of stupid.

I believe liars. More than once.

She gave me her word she would leave him alone. We hugged. Jesus.

But, she lied. They were immediately back in contact and planning how he would leave me. Dismantle thirty years, for someone he’d met on an online dating site. Known for just a few weeks. What immense love that must be, right??? 🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮

I’ll never understand how you just discard someone you told/demonstrated with physical affection and love bombing constantly that they would never love like that again, that they were the love of your life. But hey, he’d see what he could salvage and have a half love with her. Jesus. The bullshit I believed!

And never once has he ever looked back.

He has completely forgotten my three decades of unending, deep, deep love for him. All I gave, all I did, all I am.

Liars gonna lie.


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Not at Roger’s place?

I have to move some furniture out of my Wellington apartment. New tenant does not want the brand new couch and dining table.

My eldest offered to do it.

She lives nearby. Her and her partner have a two bedroom semi-detached unit at the beach, near the city.

Then I asked what she would do with it?

She has no room at their place. And offered to “store” it at the place she lives at during the uni term.

A house her father bought.

Then she said, “oh. Hang on. You probably don’t want stuff at Roger’s house.”

That surprised me a bit. She gets it. I was thinking of it as her place really. But it is his house. And yeah, I guess my furniture in his house. That is pretty fucked up.

But maybe he said, “fuck off, that bitch can’t put her furniture in my place.” Who knows?

A mutual friend of Roger’s and mine recently gave me an update on my elderly ex FIL. He is 90s. Has cancer. It breaks my heart. Even though he is elderly now and ready to leave this earth. I thanked her, and said, “I’ve been told I am not allowed to talk to him.” My FIL of 30 years.

Her response was “FFS! Really? I’ll keep you informed. That is pretty disgusting of them.”

Yup.

I’m the one who got ostracised. When Roger was the serial cheater, and I was nothing but loyal.

It sucks.


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I did it

I am independent almost to the point of being self destructive.

I’ve known it for a while.

It wasn’t until after my darling boy, Roger’s affair with my “friend,” Leanne that I learned it was a trauma response. It started to be really big when my parents split up. My seemingly happy family was all bullshit.

Violent rape at the hands of a “friend” exacerbated it.

Being cheated on by my most beloved, and one of my oldest friends sealed the deal.

As a young adult, a child of parental infidelity and lies, lies, lies, I ran away to the furthest university in the land. And never accepted any help. Financial, or otherwise. I can do it. Leave me alone.

The below quote is so true.

This. Hits. Hard.

The inability to receive support from others is a trauma response.

Your “I don’t need anyone, I’ll just do it all myself” conditioning is a survival tactic. And you needed it to shield your heart from abuse, neglect, betrayal, and disappointment from those who could not or would not be there for you.

From the parent who was absent and abandoned you by choice or the parent who was never home from working three jobs to feed and house you.

From the lovers who offered sexual intimacy but never offered a safe haven that honored your heart.

From the friendships and family who ALWAYS took more than they ever gave.

From all the situations when someone told you “we’re in this together” or “I got you” then abandoned you, leaving you to pick up the pieces when shit got real, leaving you to handle your part and their part, too.

From all the lies and all the betrayals.

You learned along the way that you just couldn’t really trust people. Or that you could trust people, but only up to a certain point.

Extreme-independence IS. A. TRUST. ISSUE.

You learnt: if I don’t put myself in a situation where I rely on someone, I won’t have to be disappointed when they don’t show up for me, or when they drop the ball… because they will ALWAYS drop the ball EVENTUALLY right?

You may even have been intentionally taught this protection strategy by generations of hurt ancestors who came before you.

Extreme-independence is a preemptive strike against heartbreak.

So, you don’t trust anyone.

And you don’t trust yourself, either, to choose people.

To trust is to hope, to trust is to be vulnerable.

“Never again,” you vow.

But no matter how you dress it up and display it proudly to make it seem like this level of independence is what you always wanted to be, in truth it’s your wounded, scarred, broken heart behind a protective brick wall.

Impenetrable. Nothing gets in. No hurt gets in. But no love gets in either.

Fortresses and armor are for those in battle, or who believe the battle is coming.

It’s a trauma response.

The good news is trauma that is acknowledged is trauma that can be healed.

You are worthy of having support.
You are worthy of having true partnership.
You are worthy of love.
You are worthy of having your heart held.
You are worthy to be adored.
You are worthy to be cherished.
You are worthy to have someone say, “You rest. I got this.” And actually deliver on that promise.
You are worthy to receive.
You are worthy to receive.
You are worthy.

You don’t have to earn it.
You don’t have to prove it.
You don’t have to bargain for it.
You don’t have to beg for it.

You are worthy.
Worthy.
Simply because you exist.

-Jamila White

Tonight, I actually called a complete stranger. To ask for some information and insight into this business.

It took me three days to gather the courage.

To call BG’s friend.

Because, you know, I CAN DO IT MYSELF!

Like a damn toddler.

But pleased I conquered this fear. He was amazing. Positive. Real. Encouraging. I feel invigorated.

But still fearful. Taking the steps I need to to secure finance, and be as informed as I can be.

I asked for help. Me. Lol.


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Success?

It is hard dealing with the fact that the whore who happily fucked your partner of thirty years, is around your children. Touching. Hugging? Laughing. Ugh.

I have to constantly work at “not thinking about it.” To save myself the heartache.

I remember seeing other people who had affairs, in the affair relationships, for years, and thinking, “how the hell is that fair?”

I know the stats say most don’t last. They really are not that happy. It just looks that way from the outside.

In a support group recently posted;

I’m reading Not Just Friends by Dr. Glass. In light of some recent posts re: the ex’s apparent happiness with their AP, she shares her research’s finding that, “Seventy five percent of all unfaithful individuals who marry the affair partner end up divorced.”

I hate that our eldest daughter currently lives with them. In that house, with that whore. But I suck it up, because it means she has free board while she studies, which is truly magnificent.

But, lying in bed, I struggle with mind movies of her waking up to that bitch in the kitchen. Being fondled by her father, in front of my daughter.

Ugh.

And my younger brother talked to me yesterday about how hard I found it/find it being no contact with our narcissistic middle brother.

Not gonna lie. It’s hard. I didn’t want to cut off a family member. But my mental health is far better for it. It’s been years now. Pretty sad, but no regrets. Younger brother gets berated constantly by Mr Perfect, and is considering no contact, too. He asked about my no contact with Rog. I said it was the hardest thing I have EVER done. I recently looked back at messages from the start of being dumped by him for his new wife appliance, and squirmed. Yuck. I still love that guy he looked like before all of this. I guess I thought he wasn’t dead? But he is. My love. He doesn’t exist anymore. If ever? It’s pretty humiliating. No contact, when that person I loved so very deeply still walks the earth. It is utter agony.

But completely necessary.

I NEVER saw myself as this person. I had never ended any relationship, with anyone. Even people who treated me poorly, I forgave, and protected myself with less open contact. To cut people off wasn’t a thing. Small communities, you have to live in them, with the occasional interesting dynamic. You suck it up. You smooth the rough edges of difficult relationships. You compromise. (Yourself???)

I know those people now label me. As crazy. Bitter. Difficult.

I was in fact (still am!) faithful, loyal, kind, loving.

But because I got fucked over, I deserved it? I dunno. It’s all incredibly difficult. Utterly heartbreaking. Every day. But you do it. You keep going. You rebuild, protecting your hard won healing.


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OMG

I’m so embarrassed.

My baby girl and I were talking yesterday. She’s struggling. Lockdown suits her. Anxiety, working from home is great. She’s back in the office tomorrow, and not looking forward to it.

During the course of her conversation, it came out that she used to hear Rog and myself making love.

Oh God.

No.

Often.

From quite young.

Apparently it was always me that she could hear. Not him. FML.

At first, as a young kid, she thought Dad was hurting me.

As she got older, she realised what was going one. Ugh. Yuck.

Oh man.

I’m kinda gutted.

I used to worry about that.

But thought I was quiet.

I feel a bit sick tbh. The passion was the best.

The.

Best.

But hell. My poor kids. Ick.

And now I feel like such a hypocrite! Roger heard her once, with her boyfriend, in her final year at school. We were a bit grossed out. But hey, look at me! The Queen of the Double Standard. 🤢🤮


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Blessings

Children are such amazing blessings.

I’m not even being funny.

I’m busy reviewing discovery documents for starting up this franchise.

Nervous.

Anxious AF.

I talked with my youngest kid about whether she could ask her previous work about a recommendation for a real estate agent to look into selling my apartment in Auckland. I think it would just take the financial pressure off a bit.

And she was immediately messaging people. Turns out one of her old school friends, who we had around a lot all through their growing up years, friends of ours’ kid, is a newly licensed agent. In the exact same suburb! Crazy.

I was initially hesitant. A baby agent (they’re just 22.)

But I have messaged her, will phone tonight. She immediately thanked me, and asked address, she’s busy doing homework.

Dee, my daughter, said that baby agents in her opinion work harder, are more enthusiastic, and have amazing support from an experienced mentor. I might get over my hesitancy, and give this girl one of her first listings. It has feel good factor, too.

Then, Dee messaged her favourite commercial real estate agent and auctioneer. Asked him to keep an eye out for suitable premises, that if I go ahead, I will be in touch.

These things helped me reduce my anxiety. What a gem she is! Then both of my girls sent fabulously supportive messages. “You should be self employed, Mum, it suits you, and you’ll be amazing at it.” “I think this business has your name written ALL over it. Right up your alley!”

More fear reduction.

I know.

They’re my kids. They are contractually obliged to blow smoke up my arse! 😅

Then I contacted my wonderful lawyer, asked her about her, or anyone in her office’s experience with franchises. I kind of knew she’d be on it. Has handled my property investment and personal prenup work with aplomb. She’s excited.

Then my lovely accountant. He works for a large accounting firm franchise. And he said he had several franchisee and franchisor clients. His wife is due to have their first baby. Due date today. We had a lovely exchange about this exciting time in their lives. And he said he is planning some time off, but will be there for me when I need.

I am thrilled for them.

But not gonna lie, it’s triggering. We were so VERY in love, looking forward to such an exciting, loving future, new parents. I had long, difficult labours. For the first, I was ambulanced from the small town birthing unit to the city’s base hospital.

Together five years, but still not in our 30s.

My heart broke a bit more. It was never even real. Real love lasts a lifetime. I still love who I thought he was.

Meh.

Back to my review…

I  so very blessed. I have beautiful people in my life. Who care. Who cheer me on.

Shame about the damn heartbreak.