Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Didn’t make the final edit

There is a lot of grief involved with being cast aside, out of your own life.

So much grief, there are not words to describe it.

Today, I read this comment, that doesn’t explain the grief, but certainly describes my lived reality.

“My ex was a filmmaker and I came to see that basically he felt the same way about life as he did one of his movies. He’s the director, calling the shots, and he casts people in the various roles in his life. But when someone doesn’t say their lines correctly or perform their role to his satisfaction, he simply re-casts them with someone who will. His life continues on unchanged, much like a soap opera where they replace an actor and no one ever comments on it. The story just goes on as usual.

So I was in the “wife” role, but when I didn’t play it right (extra frustratingly, none of us are ever given the script) he simply replaced me with OW, who auditioned very hard for my role. I’m sure if he had lived, he would have eventually gotten tired of her “mistakes” (i.e. being a human individual and not his robot) and re-cast her as well, on and on ad infinitum.

I think that’s also a reason why these people so often come back to their exes. They honestly don’t see anything outside of themselves, so it doesn’t occur to them that people have their own lives. Clearly the ex is simply waiting for a callback to reprise his or her role.””

I was recast.

My role wasn’t real, despite me thinking, planning, believing, loving, that this was my life.

Forever.

That my one true love felt absolutely the same about me.

And some of the flying monkeys, bizarrely, just accepted the recast “wifey” in his soap opera, and didn’t mention a thing. The agony of knowing that “our” friends, many of thirty years, some my lifeling “friends,” were going to dinner with him and that whore, just a week or so after I even knew of her existence, and was still sharing a bed with him, sure he’d come to his senses, was a next level mindfuck! They really came out of the woodwork! Rubber neckers. What did he replace Paula with??? Oh that. Okay. Nothing to see here….fucking crazy!

I know now that I was just being directed. He has others, who cane before (during, after..) me that he feels the same way about.

I wasn’t ever special. I’m just somebody he used to know.

Whereas he was the love of my life. (Yeah, except he wasn’t. I don’t get to have one of those, apparently.)

The same script these guys all use.

Idolise. Devalue. Discard.

I’m on the scrap heap of his life. Used. Rubbish. Of zero value.

The rebuilding is lifelong. Trying to revalue yourself. I don’t know if you ever truly get there really.

The scars are so very deep and painful.


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Reflection. A really fun hobby of mine.

Having your heart broken makes you a different person.

I am concurrently a sadderbutmoremindfullyjoyful person than I was before my “one true love” cheated on, then later cheated again and abandoned me. I make sure I appreciate, absorb, enjoy and reflect.

I arrived home late from work last night. My brother had the house warm, and he and his two kids were making sushi bowls for dinner. One was coating chicken with panko, the other was setting the table. They don’t usually hang out at night with me, mostly cooking and playing in the barn, where they all sleep.

I went and jumped in the shower, and arrived back to bowls of fresh veggies and delicious sauces, and C on the phone to the kids’ mum. They were coordinating flights for the kids home to her next week. It’s chaos here. Cancelled flights, etc. You can’t put unaccompanied minors’ flight details on the airline’s app. They don’t know what flight they are booked on, the booking reference has disappeared!

And I was proud of him. He has struggled mightily with being dumped by her. It made him a bit crazy. He got a bit stalkerish, struggling to accept she wasn’t taking him back. Oh boy, do I know that utter agony. That truly unbearable heartbreak.

So, he moved up here. More friends and family for support. Has a better job than ever, but the terrible compromise was losing daily or even weekly physical contact with his 12 and 9 year old kids. He’s an amazing, involved Dad.

It was ugly for a long time. They struggled to communicate well. He still loved her. She moved on fast. Tindering up a storm, new partner within a couple of months of kicking him to the curb. Painful for him. And she is a strong personality, knows how to push his buttons. Manipulative during that period, especially. It was breaking him.

Anyway. Their divorce was final last month. You have to be separated two years here before you can divorce. He seems to have made good progress lately, more even, less emotional outbursts. But still has a few (healthy) tears occasionally.

Last night, they talked on speaker as we ate. It was good for the kids to hear, because the eldest especially had started to fear his parents speaking, thinking it always escalated.

It did for a while.

But. Much as I was really proud of him, admiring his progess, my heart was silently squeezed.

Hard.

You see, I can’t talk to my love. The man I gave myself to. No way could I do what they were doing.

A. He doesn’t want to know me. I never really existed. Those thirty years meant absolutely nothing.

B. I can’t handle it. It makes me really tense and upset. I am not, nor will I ever be, “over it.” Yeah. I still love him.

Don’t worry. I know my “him” is a mirage. He doesn’t really exist. This person that fucks Trinket is not my love.

It sucks. I feel less than. Hopeless. Lame. Weak.

I wish I was a different person. Someone who didn’t feel so deeply. Someone without a broken heart 💔

Bro, C, just popped over to collect some laundry. I said not to pay the small amount of board (just enough to help me with my power bill) he had been paying me recently, when the kids are here for the holidays. Keep that money to do fun things with them. Put gas in your car. Do some roadies. Go to the movies. Eat out. Go to a theme park. Etc. His expenses don’t change while they are with him. Child support has nearly crippled him. But he is finally in a good space, got his budget sorted. He and I both have given up drinking for a bit. My reason was health. To help drop a few kilos, and to try to shake the cold I have had for about seven weeks. His was health, budget, and mental health. I’ve been sober 20 days, him about two weeks. He’s talking about making it permanent. We’ll see how he goes. He was putting a LOT of beer bottles in my recycling. We’ll see.

Anyway, when I said, let’s not have you pay me when the kids are here, he sat down, head is his hands and had a few tears. Came and hugged me. “Oh sis! You are too fucking much! Thank you. Thank you so much. Shit. You’ve been a bloody life saver.”

Nah. It’s what friends and family do. We support each other. He’s good to me too.

And I sit here, reflecting. On this terrible heartache. On this post apocalyptic world we both have found ourselves in.

Nothing is ever quite comfortable again. We keep running.

As my wonderful friend, Crazy Kat writes, her life is also changed post infidelity. There is less “settled.” Because when you’ve had your world shattered by infidelity, whether your relationship survives, or not, the betrayed spouse is never comfortable ever again. I related to her post about running. Running away. I feel that. I still have periods of wanting to run away, too. Some of that manifests as running to the beach. I travel around this country more. I plan overseas holidays (now that we can) more. Much of this is a restless dis-ease. I love my home, but I am never “settled” anymore. My heart and mind are constantly racing. I meditate to try to mitigate some of that stress. I practice grounding and mindfulness techniques daily.

Infidelity is far more traumatic than I ever imagined! Who knew???

I knew I was changed, even while I worked my arse off to heal us. I talked about this with Rog, at the time. He didn’t seem to understand. He was quietly furious with ME. Because it was my reaction that was the problem. Not his actions that caused it. He never understood my trauma. He thought I was deliberately dwelling on it. Nothing could be further from the truth! I desperately sought ways to escape the thoughts. The pain. His words, his apologies, just didn’t FEEL genuine. His actions were not quite matching his charm…

So, I ran and ran and ran.

Quite literally, that first year.

I would rise early, and run on the treadmill, for about an hour, every morning. Pair that with the infidelity diet, and you can see why I was so skinny. So drawn. So beaten down.

You can’t outrun the pain.

I knew that.

But the alternatives sucked. Flight, fright, or freeze. I was determined not to freeze. Not to be stuck. Not to stay if it was not better. And the fright part, that was going to turn into bitterness to me. That was not going to happen on my watch!

All that is a lot of words to say, infidelity is far more painful and permanent than anyone who has never been cheated on by someone they truly love can ever imagine.


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The mindfuck channel

Or one of them.

After Leamne exposed Roger’s affair with her to me, he went into mourning.

He was openly grieving losing her.

And I almost felt sorry for him! Poor, sad sausage. The mindfuck was complete.

Maybe she was the love of his life, and I – all Bambi innocence – wandered into the middle of it all and fucked it up??? Maybe I was an OW??? Shiiiiiit! Were they still dating when he started love bombing 20 year old me??? I didn’t think so at the time. He told me they’d been over for AGES. I still don’t know the truth. I honestly believed she was crazy.

He told me she was. So yeah. Okay. I know he tells people that about me. “But she wanted to leave ME! Crazy bitch.”

Had he lied??? I’d never considered that before. Was that why she was so nasty and evil about me? Told him he’d catch AIDS from me (in was mid 80s, okay) and that confused the hell out of me. I had only ever been with him! Ahhh, was it because my Dad is gay? I didn’t get it. Had I inadvertently done something wrong? After all, he fucked her right at the beginning of “us.” Just a few weeks into us starting to date – read that as weeks after he started love bombing me daily. And I’d made excuses about that. He was getting her back for cheating on him. We were new, maybe we weren’t exclusive yet? I didn’t lnow the rules. I was 20, FFS! He was my first lover.

Yeah, he was punishing her.

By making love to her.

FML. Riiiiiight.

What a damned idiot.

He played me from day one.

He was open about his “grief,” over Leanne. He said, “she was my friend and confidante. It’s hard losing that.”

Me: nods head in sympathy. Poor baby.

When Trinket started cheating with him, I got the sad sausage tales again. He was rescuing a poor betrayed woman from her past of being cheated on.

I mean WTAF???

He actually thought I’d be sorry for her.

And chumpy me, I actually was.

The empathy chip is embedded deeply in me, and therefore malfunctions a bit. Other people’s (historical) pain is more important than my (current) agony!

The day my daughter told me, after refusing to see her sperm donor for over a year, that he told her he was still mourning the loss of me…🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ I mean, WTF! He had his Marvellous Trinket! Whom he just HAD to sell our life up, split thirty years of assets, wipe out my loving heart, to move away to be with!

And he wanted to convince our child that he deserved sympathy because he blew up our lives??? Utterly broke her mother’s heart, shattered her world, gave her cancer due to dipping his dick in filth?.?

Yeah. It must be hard. Honeymooning. Wooing her kids. “He makes my Mum so happy.” Poor baby.

Fuck. That. Shit.

You don’t get to grieve what you exploded, FW.

My daughter was rightfully furious at his sad sausage routine. My other daughter was rightfully pissed at Trinket’s daughter’s gushing about how happy her cheater father made that girl’s cheater mother.

At my daughter’s mother’s expense.

No one seems to see the irony or think critically about the cheating, lying, theft.


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Anniversaries. A limited edition.

Some of our friends are starting to hit 25+year wedding anniversaries. Starting to catch Rog and I up.

We made it over 30.

But I will never make it any longer than that. There will be no celebration of long, deep, true love for me now.

Reading a friend’s post this morning, about their silver wedding romantic trip. Ugh. I want to die, it hurts so much.

I mean, these are really nice, really good people. I’m genuinely pleased for them. Not Fakebookers. Wished them well.

But sadly, my own pain is unending.

He stole it all. Stole my security and carefree happiness. I’ll never get that back, fully. I mean, you carry on, but it’s never the same again. Everything is careful, mindful, thought out. Spontaneous enjoyment doesn’t exist anymore.

I wanted the long, true love story, and genuinely thought I had it. I couldn’t have loved him more.


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How to take the wind out of my sails

I am still far too damn fragile.

It annoys me no end.

This morning, my friend (who is also an ex fuck buddy of Roger’s) and I were talking. She’s actually really great, but is still friends with him, that’s okay.

But, as we were about to hang up, she told me she,was having dinner with Rog and his cunt tonight.

Obviously, she used the cunt’s name.

It kicked me in the gut. That my friend socialises with that homewrecking cunt.

Yeah, I know. She just believed Roger’s lies. But I did actually tell her in person that he was lying to her, that I had missed the memo that he was single! He was cheating on me, AGAIN, with her.

I thought I’d be better by now.

But I’m not. I’m here, living a new life. But it still utterly breaks my heart. That this happens. That she told me. I mean why would she tell me???

I briefly mentioned it to BG. He just said, “well, apparently everyone is friends now. You and he have been seen at events together. You’re all matey-matey.”

Cool. NOT!!!

I’ve had a rough day because of it. Totally down and not myself. I’ve been to a nearby city with BG, to a meeting with him. And tried to pretend I’m okay. But he noticed. “What have I done, darling? You seem a million miles away.”

So annoyed at myself. I tried to stay present. I worked hard to be the supportive, engaged partner.

And failed. Obviously.

I don’t know how I will ever get them out of my head. I mindfully switch channels. I practice gratitude and concentrate on the fabulousness of my life.

But heartbreak is real. And permanent.


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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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All the hard

Had a really hard conversation with BG last night.

I had found he had “liked” an article about an ex on LinkedIn.

And somehow it didn’t feel right. Didn’t fit the story as I know it.

He rarely uses LinkedIn. They only dated for a few months, and I only heard that she was “needy” and it ended fairly badly. All about him being in her city when he knew she was busy, so didn’t contact her and she got seriously pissy, blah, blah, blah.

So, the “like” was only nine months ago.

Hmm.

Gut was screaming, “Paula! Remember all those red flags you ignored with Rog, because he would never cheat….wake up girl! This is a bit weird. Talk to him.”

Eff you, gut. I like burying my head in the sand!

So, I made myself call him last night. I also needed to communicate with him that I am missing our daily good morning texts.

As expected, he got on the front foot. Defensive. A bit loud and blustery. That is him. I know this now. So, disappointed, video chatting, I sat waiting for him to run out of steam.

And listen.

I quietly explained that it felt off. Asked if he is in touch with any other exes, other than the ones I know about. The mother of his adult stepchildren, and our now mutual friend, Colleen.

No. He said Chrissy (his “big love”) contacted him last year on his birthday. I knew that. He told me at the time. I saw no replies. I believe he didn’t respond. His actions have indicated he is not in touch with her.

But Rog had an exGF he apparently didn’t like.

Except to text multiple times a day. Oh and to fuck as often as they could manage to get together…

So, I am now the suspicious girl. Neat, eh???

I HATE IT SO MUCH!!!

But, the chat went well after his initial defensiveness. He understood why I had to ask. He was surprised, as he couldn’t recall liking the article. And said he thought I had stopped the good morning messages, so he stopped, not wanting to look the needy one.

I said to him that we are at the hard, meaty part of a relationship. When shit has got real. The honeymoon is over, and we are trying to work towards a way to be together. He said it worries him, as “all he has to bring to the relationship is earning power.” His decent salary. And he is trying to give that up, and reinvent himself. It’s risky. And scary as hell at nearly 57.

Of course, it isn’t all he has to bring. But I get what he meant.

I quietly explained that communication and trust – things we have been pretty good at – are more important now than ever. I am finding separation harder and harder.

So is he. He physically exhales when he sees me and has become quite mushy about me, something he held back for the first years.

But I can and will continue to do it, until we both get on our feet, securing our respective financial futures as best we can.

I told him that me asking him that question was extremely hard for me. He doesn’t know the old Paula. He’s only ever known the post apocalyptic version of me.

I used to be so chill.

I told him that.

He threw his head back and roared laughing, “you are sooo chill, babe. You must have been practically catatonic before!”

But I NEVER had to ask Roger, “why did you like your ex’s article,” like a whiny, jealous bitch.

Did I tell you how much I hate it???

There are other, personal things we talked about, too. I didn’t bring it up, he did.

I’ve shared before about our mismatched libidos.

I have kind of left that conversation for now. There are more important things. And I have assured him that the lack of sex is not a deal breaker. I love him for being a good, honest, fun human. Not for how he can make me writhe in bed!

I had one of those. He made me very sick.

He broke me.

He shattered my ability to trust people.

He stole my joy. My peace. My ability to sleep through the night.

My financial future is much harder since he left.

I think I can manage without constant, passionate, mind blowing sex, with this kind man. Doesn’t mean we can’t be more mindful of each other’s needs.

And I know he feels this, because he brought it up.

“I thought distance would make me hornier. Seeing you irregularly, it’s such a delight when we get together. But then I get all anxious. That I’m not pleasing you.”

So, performance anxiety. We all know about this. I never thought I would cause it, lol. Me. So intimidating! Lol.

I just said, “we’re okay babe. As long as we keep communicating. Keep being kind to one another. You have nothing to prove. It’s just me.”

He has struggled when I bring up hard stuff. He tends to catastrophise things. “Oh, you have a problem, that must mean you want to leave me!”

I spoke to that. After he wound himself up.

It’s not relationship ending, to talk about problems, or question things. We talk so as to try to prevent the relationship ending.

He has never had decent relationship last past four years. So he’s always assuming he does everything wrong. That it’s just a matter of time before I walk out on him.

And I continue to blog, to help me stay accountable to myself.

And to try to overcome my triggers, blocks, fears. To try to reinforce my recovery from abuse and trauma.

It’s important. To de-stigmatise the traumatic effects of infidelity. Of being thrown on the rubbish pile after giving yourself to another for decades.

Until he used me all up, believing I was worthless now.


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Forgive. Forget

Wow! Yes!

Roger painted me as unforgiving.

The reality was, he wouldn’t do what I needed, to make me feel safe.

I asked him to please change his phone number. He argued it was best to keep it, as then he could “manage” Leanne’s apparent crazy.

This left me in a constant panic. That they were still playing me.

And yeah, well, after all his assurances that he was done, he went and fucked her again, two years after “he was done.”

He never tried to work out why he did it. Who he is and why. He never bought a single book, read a single article, or booked a single counselling appointment.

Oh, not true. He booked a psychologist. For ME!

Because I was the problem. My reaction to his actions. That was a problem for him.

Secrets are his stock in trade.

When I finally discovered Trinket, I started digging again.

Marriage fucking policing AGAIN!

And I got as far as online dating profiles on three different platforms (technophobe, riiiiight) going back at least two years. I gave up digging after that. No doubt it went on much further back. I honestly had no clue about this behaviour. Why would I, when he kept telling me he wanted only me, kept touching me, holding me, “loving” me, and “only” me. I was the only woman who got him, the only woman FOR him. He’d never have with anyone else what he had with me….

Sigh.

Played.

By a fucking maestro.

But, my gut knew. I knew not to let my guard down. I knew deep down what he was capable of. I wasn’t fully conscious of my own intuition, but I struggled with forgetting. I could and did, forgive … enough. Not complete “forgiveness.” Deliberately breaking the person who adores you’s heart is actually quite literally the definition of unforgivable.

Deceit. That was always him. While stroking you softly, he would plunge the knife in.

So, I was made to feel not good enough.

Not a good enough forgiver.

Despite staying (and he knew my stance on cheating) and busting my arse to heal us, from what he did. Despite all the time taken and paid for, in therapy. Despite four years of cramming in two degrees (to help me understand human behaviour, and to try to rebuild some absolutely shattered self esteem) whilst working, raising kids and running the accounts for our farm.

He did it again.

Sadly, proving all my intuition to be spot on.

He didn’t change.

He just got even better at hiding his duplicity. Better at the soul rape. Better at fooling me that he was only having sex with me. Better at getting non-consensual sex, because I never consented to share my body with others, to expose myself to the diseases I now carry in my body, because he shared his with others.

But, I still feel “not good enough.” Even with all of this knowledge.

That’s the terrible scar left by a cheater, on a loyal, loving partner. It never fades. You just learn to dress to hide it better.


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Apart

Long distance is interesting.

Mostly, lots of longing, but also, some good headspace, to be yourself. Get shit done.

With the kids here for the long weekend, I stayed home. Of course.

BG has been super busy. Long weekends in beach towns in hospo are crazy.

Yesterday, my two girls, and the eldest’s partner walked the popular track near our hometown up to the top of the waterfall I could see out of our kitchen window on the home farm.

My kids were the third generation on that farm. The two youngest literally born there. I thought it was my forever home.

We got up the top, and could see the farm easily. I didn’t realise it was the first time the eldest had ever been to the top! Her partner was asking if I could point out “the Donger.”

Don’t ask, lol.

So I showed them the outline of the family farm.

The last place I lived that (I think?) was mostly untainted by Roger’s whores. I don’t think he had affairs when we lived there.

I was so happy there. With him. With my babies. We were living the dream. Ha!!!

The track has a viewing platform, halfway up, and that was as far as my eldest had been on previous visits.

I always seem to go to the top when I am the least fit! Funny. A tad sore today. I got stung yesterday, checking on my bees. (Lost a colony, ugh, only checked them a few days previously. Must have swarmed, bit late in the season for that nonsense! But it has been very mild.)

Because I reacted so badly to my last sting, I took an antihistamine. So came home and totally crashed. Dead to the world.

Woke around 8pm to BG messaging me. I had sent him a photo of the backs of the kids looking out on the plains and the old farm from the viewing platform at the top before I hit the shower, then bed.

And, that man – the opposite of Roger, the love bomber – is understated, and tries not to show his hand too much (he has hurts from previous relationships too) let me know he is feeling a bit alone.

He rarely tells me how much he is missing me. I mean, he says, I miss you. But “really” missing me is a first.

We pretty much spend every weekend together, so this is unusual.

He’s gonna try to escape today, the Monday of the long weekend. I didn’t expect that.

And it triggered some feelings. Some memories of the busted trust after Leanne. When Roger would be away, and I didn’t really know if he was meeting her for a hookup. I mean, that was the previous pattern. I just didn’t know it.

Trust is a bastard of a thing.

You have it. But once someone breaks it, you’re buggered. For life really. I am surprisingly trusting of BG. But, I know that part of that is the level of investment.

He is not my everything.

Stupidly, Roger was.

And when he broke my trust, I was writhing to rebuild it. I realise it was me alone, trying to heal us. I made the therapy appointments. I read the books. I listened to the podcasts. I tried to communicate with him better. I wrote a damn Masters thesis, trying to make sense of the tainted spaces of home.

He responded by playing games.

He hooked up with Leanne again, two years after their affair “was over.”

He signed up to at least three dating apps, and was secretly conversing and meeting with other women, whilst telling me how much he loved me. For at least two years before hitting the jackpot with the current love of his life…🤢

No wonder my ability to trust has been so compromised. Living my fairyland truth, not having a clue he was playing stupid games (and won a stupid prize…) has broken me. I will never trust naively again. Trust is now only a partial concept. Taken with a large side of cynicism.

Anyway. Must mow lawns. Must go to hardware store to swap some gate hinges I bought a few weeks ago, that are a bit long.

Loving this downtime. Progress on the property has been achieved. Little jobs ticked off the list. But I do have a problem with a pair of Philips head screws stuck in my bedroom drawer sliders. They bloody well routed out while I tried to unscrew them. YouTube might help me solve the problem!

Adios team, better get my carcass into gear!

My little dog is having a sleepover at my youngest’s house, and it was super weird not having her in my bed. And the big dog is somewhat confused.


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Choose me.

Oh man. This.

We really were (or I really was???) very, very deeply in love.

We had it all.

Until he stopped choosing me. Looked for other women, who might love him, choose him more.

I am completely broken, reading this…

🪬Choose Her Every Day (Or Leave Her)~

“I spent 5 years hurting a good woman by staying with her but never fully choosing her.

I did want to be with this one. I really wanted to choose her. She was an exquisite woman, brilliant and funny and sexy and sensual. She could make my whole body laugh with her quick, dark wit and short-circuit my brain with her exotic beauty. Waking up every morning with her snuggled in my arms was my happy place. I loved her wildly.

Unfortunately, as happens with many young couples, our ignorance of how to do love well quickly created stressful challenges in our relationship. Before long, once my early morning blissful reverie gave way to the strained, immature ways of our everyday life together, I would often wonder if there was another woman out there who was easier to love, and who could love me better.

As the months passed and that thought reverberated more and more through my head, I chose her less and less. Every day, for five years, I chose her a little less.

I stayed with her. I just stopped choosing her. We both suffered.

Choosing her would have meant focusing every day on the gifts she was bringing into my life that I could be grateful for: her laughter, beauty, sensuality, playfulness, companionship, and so … much … more.
Sadly, I often found it nearly impossible to embrace – or even see – what was so wildly wonderful about her.

I was too focused on the anger, insecurities, demands, and other aspects of her strong personality that grated on me. The more I focused on her worst, the more I saw of it, and the more I mirrored it back to her by offering my own worst behaviour. Naturally, this only magnified the strain on our relationship … which still made me choose her even less.

Thus did our nasty death spiral play itself out over five years.

She fought hard to make me choose her. That’s a fool’s task. You can’t make someone choose you, even when they might love you.

To be fair, she didn’t fully choose me, either. The rage-fueled invective she often hurled at me was evidence enough of that.

I realise now, however, that she was often angry because she didn’t feel safe with me. She felt me not choosing her every day, in my words and my actions, and she was afraid I would abandon her.

Actually, I did abandon her.

By not fully choosing her every day for five years, by focusing on what bothered me rather than what I adored about her, I deserted her.

Like a precious fragrant flower I brought proudly into my home but then failed to water, I left her alone in countless ways to wither in the dry hot heat of our intimate relationship.

I’ll never not choose another woman I love again.

It’s torture for everyone.

If you’re in relationship, I invite you to ask yourself this question:
“Why am I choosing my partner today?”

If you can’t find a satisfying answer, dig deeper and find one. It could be as simple as noticing that in your deepest heart’s truth, “I just do.”

If you can’t find it today, ask yourself again tomorrow. We all have disconnected days.
But if too many days go by and you just can’t connect with why you’re choosing your partner, and your relationship is rife with stress, let them go. Create the opening for another human being to show up and see them with fresh eyes and a yearning heart that will enthusiastically choose them every day.

Your loved one deserves to be enthusiastically chosen. Every day.
You do, too.
Choose wisely.”

Lisa Silva Jimmy Ray

I’m in pieces.