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.
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.
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.
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!