Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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No contact

I have been no contact with Roger for many years now. We have briefly exchanged financial messages, maybe two/three times in the last two or three years? We don’t discuss our children, or anything else.

In the beginning, I did. I was completely insane. I had been cut adrift and I didn’t know what to do, how to survive the utterly devastating loss of my person. My person, who I told everything to, was gone. Like he died. But he was still walking the earth. How the hell could that be???

He did die really. That person, my love, doesn’t exist. And it is harder than death, because you think because they are still alive, that you can reach them on some level.

Death is instantly the end.

And permanent.

In the case of your person fucking off with someone else, they are still here, and can still respond, etc. The problem is, they are not that person anymore. If they ever even were! It’s the ultimate mindfuck.

I was talking with a friend the other day about how my brother is doing a lot better recently. His wife left him, but there was no cheating involved.

It took over two years, but things have shifted. The acceptance, and the absence of obsessing over what his ex was doing, etc. And my wise friend said what I already know.

That the person doing the leaving has left ages before they actually leave. They have completely moved on, mentally and emotionally. Those of us who are left are flailing around. Drowning in sorrow and deepest confusion.

What???

WTF just happened?

We were married, invested, often deeply in love, then that person is gone, and not even in the slightest bit sad!

I read some old messages from me to Roger from the first months after he left recently, and man, CRINGE!!!

It was like it was someone else. Not me. Not the kickarse person I am! They were truly terrible. I was still trying to talk to my best friend. Ugh.

This is why I ABSOLUTELY LOATHE the thought of ever having to share oxygen with him – but that is exponential when it comes to his whore. Thankfully, she has never shown her scrawny neck anywhere we have had to be together.

Yet.

I brace every time there might be contact. Thinking, this will be the time. The time that that utter maggot shows up.

After all, she did nothing wrong, right?

So, why is it that she has never shown up at things he is at? Not for either of the younger two’s graduations, not for our youngest’s 21st, not for his mother’s funeral, not for when he has a horse racing, not for our mutual friends’ significant birthday parties…

Yeah, she did nothing wrong alright…

Every time, I go through a BIG crisis, planning how to cope if she shows up. I even have to plan if he shows up, as my heart races, and I break out in a sweat when he is at the same venue as me. I can’t breathe, and I often get close to passing out. It’s genuinely traumatic. I know if you have never been through this, you would definitely think I am exaggerating.

I’m not. It is genuinely incredibly stressful.

Chump Lady posted recently about how hard it is running into Schmoopie. I literally don’t know how I would have managed had he done this when we still had underage children, and shared custody. I hate so much that that whore gets to even touch my precious kids – and yeah, I have to have a mental health plan to divert thoughts away from her hugging my kids. Those babies we delivered so intimately together, whom we raised with a strong moral compass, who now have to negotiate dealing with – accepting – one of the women their father loved to dip his dick in whilst also still doing that with me. Had me believing we were fine, that he loved me, and only me. Ewwwwwww.

Chump Lady’s advice:

“My advice is do your best not to. No contact. And remember, you’ve got nothing to feel mortified about. They are the damaged, sad, amoral, fucked up people. At best they are lost and deluded, at the worst they are predatory creeps. There isn’t a single Schmoopie in this world you should feel intimidated by.

The person who should feel mortified is the affair partner. Why should you retreat? Why should you skulk off upset? Hold your head high.”

Yep, that has been my plan. Every time there MIGHT be a Trinket sighting, I adjust my ladyballs, and think, it’s okay, hold your head up, you were honest, loving, and faithful. They were the dirty whores who lied and cheated, and had unsafe sex.

I also remember that he morphed into a Trinket parrot. All of a sudden, watching reality TV, going to concerts of bands he hated (just so he could bask in her wonderful presence.) His dress sense was changed. He bought her (the absolute worst!) lingerie – knowing full well that my taste was far classier, he never attempted to buy for me. I LOATHE cheap lingerie!

As one commenter states, “My FW would watch the kind of TV shows and listen to the kind of music he had always hated just because she liked them. He would ask me to buy him bizarre and ugly items of clothing that he would normally have never dreamed of wearing. I thought he was losing his marbles. Turns out she had commented she liked them when she saw them on somebody else so he just had to have them. After Dday he admitted he hated all of it and that she had never even noticed he had tried to please her by copying her tastes.”

Yep, that was Roger. Admitting to me that he thought her watching crap like Married at First Sight was crass.

But still exchanging messages about the show….

That he hated the band that they went to a vineyard concert to watch.

That he thought her dress sense was very Mumsy and boring….

You’d never know what the truth was. He just chameleoned to whatever would get him laid easiest and with the most passion. Say what I wanted to hear to me. What she wanted to hear, to her. Tah-dah, pants fall off!

No contact, hard as it is, is the only way to survive this monumental catastrophe.

The only time I met Trinket, I went to see her, to “beg” her not to “steal my man.”

It was truly awful. She pretended she didn’t know he was partnered, but I knew she was lying. She knew about me. She’d been in my holiday home, FFS! She absolutely knew I existed, AND that I wasn’t to know about her.

Hmmm. Not a cheater, right?

As I walked away from that meeting, I recall thinking that as a betrayed spouse herself, she would get it. Surely she would get it.

But in reality, I walked away shaking my head and thought how pitiful it was that taking someone’s husband was the best she could do…

I like my independence. My own space to make my own decisions. This is the most free I have been, not having to put every other person’s needs first. Bugger taking on someone else’s husband!


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We mustn’t blame the OW

Must we?

Because they were totally innocent.

The reality is, yes, our partners’ chose to lie and cheat. And no question – whether it was once, or one affair, or if you have a serial cheater – they chose to betray, disrespect, disregard, endanger the very person who loved and trusted them most.

But not for one minute do I forgive or excuse either Leanne or Trinket.

They both knew.

That I was unaware of them. That I was deeply committed to the man I have loved. My whole adult life. That I was still sexually active with my only lover ever.

So I relate to this comment. The OW are also culpable.

And low. So low.

Not sure how they sleep at night. I do know they have zero empathy. And an empty elevator shaft where their soul should be.


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Mini me

Hehehe. A friend (who is/was/I dunno, a lifetime friend of Roger’s too) asked me today how my eldest is getting on at her father’s.

I just replied that her placement seems to be going well, we don’t really talk about what is happening “at home.” But she’ll be loving hanging with her father and his new dog. She loves doggos so much.

Friend looked at me and said, “was thinking about you, and how it must be so heartbreakingly hard having one of your babies in the clutches of the people who hurt you beyond belief. In that beige homewrecker’s house, playing nice. Being ‘friends.'” I smiled, and lied politely, “it’s okay. It’s great for her. Support and free accommodation while she trains. Perfect really.” Friend smiled back, “I just keep thinking how funny it is. For that whore to sit across the table and look at your face every day. S is your Mini Me. Your clone. And so sassy, like you. I’d love to see that!”

Who knows? Who cares? I reckon she wouldn’t even get it. The family “in” jokes, S’s wry sarcastic wit. That she even is my daughter, let alone so like me. Go right over her stupid head. S would be framed as Roger’s daughter. I was just the vessel. The Handmaid.

But it would be quite funny if my doppelganger (according to so many) is a bit disconcerting for dear Trinket.

It’s a nice fantasy. And that is all.

I think S will be just fine and dandy.

Doesn’t mean there isn’t silent, daily pain about it. You just suck it up. Slurp back your eleventy billionth shit samdwich with a fake smile on your dial.

Because there is no other way than to hide your pain from society. One big, happy blended family. Etc. Them’s the rules.


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Shivers. Shakes. Aches. And lies.

Interesting.

My youngest daughter came over yesterday after my vaccination appointment.

I was feeling good then, and she wanted to talk.

She has just started a new job. A week working from home, then into the office today for the first time. Her big sister also started her hospital placement today.

New beginnings.

The youngest has quite bad anxiety, and she just wanted a bit of Mum love and reassurance. She and her boyfriend are coming for dinner this week. And I just melted when she said,”I want him to see my home.” Naw. My place is her home? She didn’t grow up here. But I remember this well. My home became the place where my Mum lived.

She shared with me that her and her sister recently caught their father in yet another lie. She expressed how the eldest – who is living with him right now – snorted, rolled her eyes, and said, “just another fucked up lie from Rog. He never stops. Can’t lie straight in bed.”

They know.

They see it. I just asked if everyone was okay. There was some sad family news (part of what the lie was about.)

We hugged. And D told me about an issue she was having with her friend and flatmate. This young woman chases taken men.

And D is sick of it.

It makes her angry, and so disappointed in her friend. As she said, “I told Dana that she has to stop with the partnered men. I have seen how damn painful this crap is. No one gets how traumatic being cheated on is. She just doesn’t get it. Being a right bitch.”

Wow! That kinda blew me away, from a 22 year old!

She gets it. Just quietly, she saw her father’s lies, my heartbreak, and feels our family was blown apart by her cheating father, and the whores who felt cheating with a taken man was just fine and dandy. I got a tad wobbly, and said, “thank you. It’s been the most traumatic thing, and I appreciate that you can see that. Anyway, what else is happening with you? Tell me all about it.”

I’m home again. BG came and picked me up and drove me to his house when he realised how sick I was. Played nurse, bring me iced water, tucking me in, wiping my sweaty brow. I really was wiped out. I can walk a little now, but have the shivers  and my whole body aches. The headache is insane, and I’ve vomited a couple of times. Warm epsom salts bath for me, I feel.

But hey. If Covid is worse, bloody glad I’m done!


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Trying to love again

I work VERY hard at being open to love 💘.

I do love a very fun, kind workaholic!

But, there’s always a but.

I am not capable of loving him the way I loved Roger. With my whole heart, everything flung wide open.

And, you know what?

Once Leanne exposed their long affair to me, and I totally blew myself away, knowing that I still bloody loved that bastard, and stayed. On the condition that he did the work on himself I needed, to feel safe with him again (that he never did.)

I struggled to love that way again.

Fully.

With complete and utter faith.

The protective walls were firmly in place.

He asked me one day whether I still loved him.

Which surprised me a bit, because I demonstrated and told him that I did, every day, despite his treachery. And my answer was honest. Yes, I still love you very, very much. I never thought I would stay with anyone who cheated on me. But I have. Because I love you. But, you must know that it has changed. It’s a different shape now. I can’t access the whole deal. The way I used to love you. With full trust. That nearly killed me. I’m trying. But I do think the damage will always disallow me from loving like that again. With absolute abandon. I gave you that gift, and you smashed it, so now I have to monitor what you do with the love I give you. It’s the saddest and most grievous thing. The part that cheating wrecks.

He held that conversation against me.

What I did intuit was, I would never love like that again. He broke that capacity in me. And that sucks. For me. For BG.

But it also makes me aware of how other people are. That most people, the ones who didn’t get the lifetime commitment and love, are also incapable of loving without the scars. It helps me with BG. He’s been hurt. He gets it. I get it too.

And secretly, I know it must also affect Trinket. That despite Roger’s seemingly loving, softness with her, she has been hurt, and she knows he is a cheater..that he is expert in deception and betrayal. Even if she fights that. She must know.


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Well, there goes that plan…

Bugger!

I’m on the immuno-compromised list, for an early Covid vaccine.

We have been very slow rolling this out in New Zealand.

I guess, with no community transmission for a very, very long time (NZ has basically been Covid-free, except for cases locked down in mandatory MIQ for two weeks on arrival into the country,) we are a long way down the list of the supply chain!

Then, there was a massive Ransomware hit on the local District Health Board (DHB) computer system a few weeks ago. This was chaotic, surgeries and clinics cancelled, no one knew what the hell was going on! I’m so glad I wasn’t in radiotherapy now, as that was also cancelled for a few weeks. So concerning.

I am now just over three years since completing my surgery and radiation treatment for cervical cancer. I am in remission, but not considered “safe” for another two years. My bloods do still tend to go up and down a bit more than is perfect, but I am generally in good health.

But it has meant that the roll out of the vaccination program in my region has been further delayed, ugh.

Anyway, I don’t mind that I am not yet vaccinated, I’d rather they got to the aged population faster! My Dad is 77, and not yet had his first jab, as not yet available to him. He had a rough year last year, with renal problems, and pneumonia, with four long hospital stays, culminating on the removal of a kidney, finally. He’s done really well since, bounced right back, he’s generally a fairly youthful, healthy and active 77 year old.

I had planned to fly to Brisbane, see my son for a few days, then up to my uncle and aunt near the Whitsundays, and up to Cairns, and out, for a week to ten days in August, before our breeding season got underway, and work got crazy again, but I have now been advised to just sit patiently. To not travel. Damn!

New Zealand and Australia opened a quarantine-free travel bubble recently, and it seemed an ideal plan. However, New South Wales has had an outbreak, and a traveller wandered around Wellington last weekend, before realising they were Covid positive. Welly has just gone into a Level 2 lockdown. This is Lockdown Lite, with restrictions and guidelines, but no stay in place mandate other than that you are not to leave the region during this perioid. Just for 72 hours, to see how much damage was done, and to try to contain any outbreak.

BG’s sister, the one I haven’t met in person, just group chats and Zoom calls, because she lives in Sydney, is due to fly in on the 8th. To surprise their mother for her 87th birthday, on the 12th. That is now looking sticky. There is a no quarantine-free travel status for people from NSW for at least 72 hours. They are having a pretty big flare up of the Delta strain over there. Bugger!

It’s kinda weird. His other sister rang me this morning, to firm up plans. It’s quite funny how this always falls to women! I have only been a part of this family for a short period, but she is already using me to prompt him – he hasn’t responded to her email (it is the club’s AGM tonight, and he’s frantic.) She was insisting I come, and stay with her and her partner, we have the large bedroom earmarked apparently, with middle sister relegated to the smaller room – if she can even come now – what a laugh! I was under the impression that they wanted sibling and Mum time, as there are some personal things to be discussed, about her care. Robyn laughed, and said, “bugger that, you’re part of the family!” Um, that is really nice, but it really isn’t my place to say anything, just support and back them up in the decisions they make together regarding my sweet, new mother-in-law’s wellbeing.

I sometimes look at my new life, and think, wow!

How did I get here?

Who are these really loving, funny people?

None of the conflict that was in the previous family I came to via a relationship. The two sisters made our life very difficult in the last eleven years Roger and I were together. It was honestly the saddest thing, losing those people. Those nieces and nephew. I was so heartbroken. I loved them, but had to be very loyal to Rog when there was a huge family conflict. It was horrific.

These three genuinely like each other, and will fight you if you hurt one or the other of them. It’s interesting that there is a nine year spread of ages, and they are still great mates. And are easily in agreement about their mother’s care. They bonded hard over the disgust in their father’s long, three decade long secret affair, and eventual discard of their by then aged mother. And then her health challenges and how to help her have a good quality of life. Selling their family home and ploughing the funds into her retirement village serviced apartment and ongoing care. They work together to help her, financially, taking her to health appointments, etc. I just love this so much! Kindest people, but really real, down to earth, with great senses of humour. They are the epitome of the close “Westie” family, lol.

So, damn. Still won’t get to catch up with my Mum’s only sibling.

Oh, and how weird is this? BG’s mother’s birthday is the same date my mother died. It will be twenty years in a few weeks! Her name is my middle name, and BG’s family name is very similar to Roger, and my children’s family name! He remarked on it the other day. I already knew, and was a bit creeped out, but BG’s surname contains Roger’s surname, with letters in the same order! BG said, eww, that is pretty weird, you’d think you would have avoided me!

I laughed, and said, hey, I didn’t even know your surname when we first started out! I was (and still am, lol) saved as Paula (my town’s name) in his phone!

Which is lucky. Be awful to be talking to the other Paula by mistake, right?

The Other Girl. It’s not a great joke anymore. The kids and I thought it was hilarious when we (stupidly, without a damn clue) referred to Leanne, as “Dad’s girlfriend.” That still makes my skin crawl, and everything in my body cringe and tighten. How stupid were we???


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Basic bitches be like

The boy came over this weekend. He’s just been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. And feels a bit annoyed at himself. He’s had warnings, and admits he didn’t make the required changes to his lifestyle, and ignored them.

Not insulin dependent as yet, but he’s aware that diet and exercise, losing 15kg, will make a huge difference to his health and especially his diabetes outcomes.

So, we are on a no/low carb kick.

He was pretty sweet. Very grateful that I took it all on board and had done a little bit of nutritional research. I made all diabetes friendly food, including having some healthy snacks on hand. He was joking around with me on Sunday, and looked at me, wiggling his eyebrows, sucking in his cheeks to show off those dimples, then looked at me, and said, “why? Why are you so damn good to me?”

He asks it all the time.

Boringly, I turned it back on him, “because you are so good to me.”

“Who wouldn’t be? You’re amazing. No one could be anything but good to you.”

I threw my head back and laughed loudly, “um. If that were true, we wouldn’t be sitting here today, together now, would we?!”

And for the first time, he looked Trinket up.

“WTAF??? That? I mean, her? Really?”

I said, “now, now. It’s not all about looks. She must be something…”

This was after he’d had a couple of Os during a lovely morning session late in bed, lol.

He laughed, and said, “oh right, better than you in the sack…okay. I see.”

Whatever, dude.


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Can we talk?

Just saw this, and was immediately taken back to the 8th of August, 2017.

The day I came back from a trip south to visit our eldest daughter, after I handed my Masters thesis in.

I had given myself a week to go recover from that pressure.

It was intense. Researching, writing. I had promised Roger that after the thesis, we’d sit down and work out where we were at. He promised to wait, be faithful, and to give me what I needed, a project for me, for the first time in thirty years. Not him, not the kids, not our business. My first solo big achievement.

So, I walked in and said those words.

And got, “I’ve Met Someone Else,” back.

I was floored. Exactly what he’d promised he’d never do to me again.

He’d been “chatting” to this one just a few weeks. And was selling our farm, leaving me for her.

Despite me begging him to sell after he fucked Leanne all over our home, he refused.

But, once again, when he wanted it done (like the dairy farm he sold from under me 10 years earlier) he just did what he wanted.

To this day, I don’t understand it all. To just meet some boring widow, with kids still at home, after trawling online through dozens and dozens of other women, and to sell up and leave his friends and family for this one.

Ugh.

Christmas is hard when your life’s work, your family, is not around.

On brighter note, just having the most loving, connected weekend (and all that sexual energy that good intimacy creates was well rewarded!) And about to head out on the wee boat for a fish.

Ceviche for dinner, hopefully xxx


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Travel stories. 2020 stylz.

This mini break is drawing to an end.

We are so very lucky here in NZ. Pretty much Covid free, we are free to travel domestically, and there are hardly any international tourists, so no queues, and cheap deals on things like accommodation.

I joined the barman in Queenstown last Sunday evening, where we ate at the best restaurant in town, and headed the next morning to Glenorchy and up to Paradise, showing BG some beautiful parts of our country he’d never seen.

Then, off to Wanaka. Which, quite honestly, I far prefer to Queenstown.

He treated me to a surprise helicopter flight up into an alpine area. And he insisted on taking photos of me. I am trying so hard not to resist. I LOATHE being photographed, but know I have to allow it. Ugh.

Alpine landing
Cromwell from above

And we went wine tasting and ate freshly picked cherries purchased from roadside stalls.

A couple of lovely, relaxing nights there, we hit the road through central Otago, to Dunedin, the city of my youthful student days. And where my son graduated from. We love the wee southern gem. BG hadn’t been since childhood, so we eagerly visted the tourist must dos, but mostly enjoyed exploring the Otago Peninsula, and a late night dancing with some new friends we met in town. They were cute, a mid 40s mining couple in town on leave … they flattered us by guessing our ages as younger than them. BG’s 55 was “45” and me, “younger than me” said by Trudy, who was 45.

Flattery, it always works, lol.

Gardens at Larnach Castle
Views of the harbour mouth from the gardens at Larnach

Then, our big road day, up to Akaroa. We stopped at Moeraki, at the famous seafood restaurant I’ve been meaning to eat at for 30 years! Fleurs Place.

Freshly caught, three fillets of different species off the daily menu, mussels and clams. Simple and utterly delicious lunch with a local Pinot Gris…

We literally could not have picked a better day if we’d tried. Look at the colour of the sea, with fishing boats peacefully moored!

Onwards. A quick refuelling stop and wander around the Victorian steampunk precinct in Oamaru.

With my first Christmas present purchase of an art piece for my eldest stowed away, we kept going. BG, having never lived or travelled down here, had little concept of the distance we had to cover.

But so worth it.

We arrived at 7ish to our excellent, waterfront Airbnb overlooking the wharf in Akaroa.

We wandered down the street and ate well, back for a wine on the wharf as the sun started to set. Then back to our apartment to soak it all in.

Today, a harbour cruise, a cocktail in the storm…

then tomorrow we head into Christchurch for brunch with my baby bro and his two kiddos, then we fly home.

I am so blessed. I know this. I have a great life, that I love.

But. And yeah, you know this was coming. This gratitude, this living the fuck outta life, it was planned with Rog. We actively looked forward and planned for this stage of life together. Kids young. Worked our arses off. We were going to relax, travel, enjoy life in our 50s and 60s. Still so in love with each other.

I’ll never know why he decided to fuck me over. I don’t think I did anything to deserve feeling so not good enough.

And I’ll never understand a mature woman, with kids, and a cheating dead husband, doing this to me.


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Melancholy. (And the infinite sadness?)

It never leaves. This melancholia. I had a tough day yesterday. About so much. But my work situation is not helping.

I wanted out. But got “caught” applying for new jobs, and kinda manipulated into staying. My own doing. I could have resigned. But I need the income, and security. I did manage to renegotiate conditions, but I am mega stressed, and finding it difficult to make time to exercise properly. Let alone look after my investments conscientiously.

I had one of those hopeless feeling days yesterday.

You know the ones. Where you just hate existing.

And your mind goes down the rabbit hole.

Why the FUCK did a betrayed wife do this to me???

Of course, if not her, then another one. There’d been dozens in the two years he was secretly internet dating…

But I’ll never understand her. How she can live with herself? Quite happily, it appears.

I know it’s his charm and his lies about me. He tried to tell me recently that we split because I was the driver of that.

Poor, sad sausage.

Yeah, I was busting my ass trying to do better, live better, be better. For us. I NEVER considered an affair, or using another person’s attention to heal my broken heart.

Not once.

I completed two degrees on my healing journey. Aced them, actually. To find a better version of me. For him to be proud of my recovery from his cheating and breaking me. For my resilience and strength. Maybe he’d love me if I was better??? I’d never done something as a personal achievement for me. Everything was about him, and our kids. Desperate and pushed down low. Roger wasn’t proud of me. I wanted him to be. So much. Instead, he resented my personal success.

My youngest daughter told me that. She explained that when I expressed joy and relief at another A+, he’d dismiss it. “You always get them, what’s the big deal?”

“the narcissist inexplicably gets angry at what should be a pleasing and positive moment. You expected a little gratification or a smile from something very special that you may have done, and – WHAM – you get a reaction that invalidates every ounce of time and energy you put into this ‘special thing’. The reaction totally invalidates the ‘goodwill’ that you created that was an act of your caring or love. It sets you off AND into a state of confusion, doesn’t it? You are wondering just how something so good and natural could be turned around into something that meets such disapproval. You know that there is no possible way that you meant anything more than extending your love or appreciation in a normal manner but you are left shocked over the Narcissist’s reaction.


Here is an ‘ah ha’ moment and guess what? That is exactly what the narcissist wanted – a negative reaction to debase you. I call this their ‘hit and run’ diversion. It is intended to make you feel a multitude of things, but basically invalidated and derailed like a train wreck. This small example really outlines the dynamics of the slow and insidious abuse that a Narcissist USES to debase and destroy their targets self-esteem. Remember that this relationship started out with so much CHARM, caring, or love (love bombing) that had you dependent upon a day to day connection with them. This dependency was not ABNORMAL as in “co-dependent,” but instead what a normal growing relationship naturally evolves into.”

From Greg Zaffuto’s From Charm to Harm. And Everything In Between With a Narcissist.

So, back to my current state. This is when I question everything. All my gains. Even the barman asked me on Sunday night, me snuggling into him, if I was happy. He says he’s worried I’m not. And I pressed him about what makes him think that. What was I doing/giving off that made him doubt?  And he replied that he is always worried he isn’t enough.

Fuck.

Poor bastard. He worries I came from loads of beautiful sex, to him, with a lower libido (blood pressure meds?) And less financial security. I am loving, tender, fierce and silly and close with him. I feel blessed to have met him. His family, his wonderful, close friends, who have gathered me into their inner circle. We discussed it. I assured him I am really happy with him, but pretty stressed about work. And asked if his own shit was driving some of his insecurities about me. He’s been hurt. Used, abused, lied to. Cheated on. And appears outwardly resilient. But I think there are deeper hurts than possibly even he acknowledges.

He’s doing what I know. Doubting he’s enough. That fucking sucks. I try to show him, tell him, that he is enough. That I want more of him. I explained that I wished we were able to spend every night together, in each other’s arms. And his reply surprised me. “It’ll happen, darling. We’ve each just gotta finish these goals we’ve set ourselves. My current one’s deadline is June next year. Then we’ll make some decisions together. I want us to be together, too. I can’t wait, but know I have to. I miss you already, and haven’t even left for home yet! It’s only a few days, I always remember that on a Monday morning, when we head off to our work lives. Only a few days.”

Meanwhile, Trinket and Rog are living their best life.

My life.

I will have no one this Christmas. Came from an enormous extended family who always gathered. Mum and Dad’s divorce threw us out of the NZ (Dad’s) family. We were down to Mum, me and my younger brothers. A couple of years later, I met and fell madly in love with Rog. Another large extended family who always gathered on the farm for Christmas.

My kids are going to Rog and Trinket this year. It was always inevitable. He hasn’t seen them for Christmas the last three. I am all alone. BG’s mum is elderly, and not interested in Christmas, over all the cheer by then. A sister in Australia, and another with her own extended family. I haven’t said anything. But yesterday, he said, “let’s go fishing on Christmas Day? Would that be okay? I imagine this will be a really hard one for you, the first ever without your kids.”

Naw. Sweet boy.

Fuckers. Thieving fucking cheaters.