Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


22 Comments

16 May 2009

A day like any other, right?

The popular press was focused on people like Eva Longoria. Do we even remember her? Swine ‘flu was front and centre of many people’s worries. Rachel Alexandra  won the Preakness, the first filly in 85 years to do so. British retailers were up in arms about Manic Street Preacher’s latest album cover art. Here in Aotearoa New Zealand, the pressing governmental issues of the day … ohh Gawd, hey, it was a Saturday – was one of our long-term MPs, addressing a dental health conference! Hahahaha! Not doing much for the cause of us being a vibrant, and global nation ;-).

Yes, it has actually been EIGHT years since my life imploded. The OW, Leanne, a woman I once considered a friend, someone I had known since middle school years, sent me a text, at 8.57pm, whilst I was attending a 40th birthday party that she was also supposed to be attending. The text outlined that she had been sleeping with my most beloved partner, Roger. There was little in the way of detail, I didn’t keep the text, and cannot recall the exact wording.

I went back to the party, and carried on with the evening. Smiling, dancing, completely numb inside. Then drove the half-drunk Roger home in the wee, small hours. When we were about ten minutes from home, I leaned over with my phone, and showed him the text. He was completely bereft. Head in hands, he eventually looked up, as I drove into the darkness, and said, “I will pack a bag when we get home, and get out of your life. I am incredibly sorry, so, so sorry.” I think I actually floated away somewhere far, far, away. I don’t know if I have ever come back entirely.

Time.

Time does blur things, fading the edges of memory. But it has never eradicated the pain I still feel, not the “two to five years” later when I was supposed to feel a lot better, get my life back.

It is eight years. Eight pain-filled and unnecessary years. There isn’t a lot to add. I just wanted to mark the day somehow, as it passes by in every other sense.

The first ‘online’ person I ‘met’ – a woman who is different to me in so many ways, a US-Southern Baptist, 50+ year old, home-schooling SAHM, who voted for Trump – we couldn’t be politically, ideologically, etc, further apart – is still someone I ‘chat’ with regularly. Who knew? Six and a half years after her D-day, she is filing for divorce. He didn’t do the work, he is an passive aggressive, narcissistic arsehole, and she is (reluctantly) divorcing him. Finally. She has been through the mill. She messaged me today, to reiterate that cheating is a “life sentence” – her words.

I am currently seeing a lot of emotional exhaustion in the blogging community. People who are now three plus years out from D-day. The hope is fading. The magic pill of time is not making things any better for most.

I know that feeling well. I think there is a LOT of detritus bandied about – by counsellors, churches, people hawking self-help books, the general public – about being able to build a ‘new,’ ‘better’ version of marriage/partnership. That infidelity is actually an OPPORTUNITY! Lucky you!

The truth is, it sucks. And it will always suck. For the rest of your life, it will suck in some way, together, or apart.

And that, my sweets, is my take-home lesson from eight years of the pain of ‘surviving’ infidelity, together, or apart, it makes no difference.

‘Happy’ antiversary to me!

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Walking through fire

Hi-de-hi campers!

Just doing a brain dump, instead of writing up my research findings.

Of course.

I have just returned from a mostly lovely weekend at the top of the South Island. One of my oldest friends and his lovely wife and two kids live in Nelson. So, my old friend, J – whom I have written about on this blog before (but not much lately) – who just cannot understand my state of mind, or my worldview since infidelity hit my life – flew down on Saturday morning to participate in an organised hill run/walk on Sunday. Sounds fun, right?

(Hint … nooooooooooooo!)

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I am not at all fit at the moment. I have let my exercise regime fall down this semester, I just can’t seem to cram it in, and it is intermittent to say the least. Understandably, I have gained some weight. So, fatty me was signed up to do a 16km walk, entirely uphill, with two people who walk up mountains several times per week. I knew it was a big ask. But went anyway. Consequently, when my two companions, J and G were getting rolling drunk on Saturday night, with an 8am start in mind, I had two small beers over the course of the afternoon and evening. Great, no problem. Except I woke with a cracking hangover! WTF? I don’t drink a lot these days, and when I do, I know to avoid wine, as it makes me very ill, and I usually go for spirits. I thought two very small craft beers would be fine. G and J drank four bottles of wine and about 6 x 1.5L of beer between them.

And they woke up fine.

I, on the other hand, was wretched. Nauseous, with a pounding head, I forced a small amount of my breakfast down, starting on the paracetamol at 5am, and taking some ibuprofen prior to the race start. I went anyway. And got up that damn hill in a very slow time of about 2.5 hours. Every step pounded in my thumping head, and I dry retched several times. The other two bounced up there, J, at speed, taking pics, and chattering away to other competitors as she strode past them as they lay dying on the roadside.

I saw it as a bit of a metaphor. I had a good relationship, the longest of any of my friends, and I was a good partner, faithful, loving, caring and probably-too-giving. J has lived a pretty blessed life and parties hard, has a pile of kids and a very understanding husband. She hasn’t given up too much, and she just can’t understand why I am so hurt by Roger’s actions, “because you are meant to be together, he loves you so much,” life is lived on the surface for her. How many Facebook “likes” or Snapchat views can she achieve? (SERIOUSLY – we are 47 and 48.) She made all kinds of noises about walking with me, at my pace, when we said we were going to do this, and even at the start line, she was saying this. It lasted about 10 strides. And she was off like a rabbit, coming second overall, without racing. G, my local friend, on the other hand, knows, and he gets it. I think. He stayed with me the whole walk – despite me telling him I was fine, and would get there. Once I start something, I am committed! I don’t give up. I got my sick arse up that damn hill. Like I said I would. And my world imploded with infidelity anyway. Life was never meant to be fair, right? Too damn right!directory_listing_images_image1_0194.jpg-scale-170-125-1415852675

During the weekend, we had opportunities to spend time in smaller groups. I spent Monday morning working on my pre-thesis project, with G’s wife, K, who is now very successfully selling real estate, and was doing her accounts – and whom I love – and we had a really interesting chat about those who seem to have life all planned out, in exactly the way “society” wants us to. Uni. Check. Good job. Check. Married. Check. Kids. Check. Lovely home. Check. “Stuff” (cars, clothes, jewellery, whatever-the-fuck-else) Check.

Neither K or I are particularly conventional, but each in different ways. She is fairly conservative in appearance, but a deep thinker, with a dry sense of humour and a wickedly quick wit – and they have worked hard and brought up two lovely kids, on little money, but loads of love and their focus has been building a property portfolio, and travel. Their own house is small, and has no “mod cons.” Their kids have never had all the technology and designer crap that many others crave. But, they are awesome kids, just getting out into the world. J has five indulged, entitled kids who have EVERYTHING and social media profiles that have caused the local town we live in to label them facetiously as “The Kardashians.” J sprinkles happiness and love everywhere she goes, but has no grip on the hard side of life, or the fact that she may just be spoiling her kids into a very unhappy and materialistic future. When a sad background of a teen we knew came up, she was shocked, like, WTF? THIS HAPPENS IN THE WORLD? Yep, who knew, J? I am always amazed at her lack of knowledge of what happens outside of her happy, little party bubble.

But, of course, that is just bitter old me speaking.

I felt my mood swinging all weekend as all of this swirled about. I was conscious of my “judgement” of her lifestyle, and was careful to be tempering it, knowing who I am today. The changed person, with emotional damage. I am a little more cynical than ever.

She made comments all weekend that I internally just rolled my eyes at, and very often, G, and K openly rolled theirs at me, lol.

I guess, the thing is, my world is so changed, and J has been trying to force me to fit back in the little hole she had me in, and I don’t fit anymore (and not just because I have a particularly curvaceous arse grown with the help of a lack of exercise!)

And yesterday was seven years.

So, there’s that.


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Arse up Christmases

Hello.

Yes.

I am still here 😉

Just thought it timely to share the annual Christmas cheer…..

How are we all? It is a tough time of the year when life has turned arse over tit. My fun moments, of course, have not ended because I have stopped blogging daily. I am still super busy at work, and yes, I have madly signed up for a summer school directed study paper – but I am refusing to acknowledge it until after Christmas. I hope like mad that some of the madness at work settles by the beginning of 2015.

Well, that was started a couple of days ago. My son turned 18 that day. Life is flying by. My eldest daughter drove all night to arrive back with us for a week or so. Lovely.

Christmas Day was average. I tried hard, but we fought on the morning, great start. I moved away from him, and on with the day. It was quiet, but pleasant.

Today, we talked again. Not a lot better. I guess, for all of us, Christmas is a tangible reminder of all we lost, all the lovely traditions and happiness that they fucked up because they are selfish fucktards. The stain never to be washed off your life.

Bugger.

The year of his affair, was a really tough one. I was exhausted, we had been excommunicated from his family, and mine was scattered to the wind, the anchor, my mother was long gone, and I tried to hold them together, but really, we are mostly only linked by blood, and not a lot else anymore. I worked my arse off to make it special. Moving a whole Christmas to our lake house, and going ALL OUT. And Roger was just….absent….It was so weird, and I never connected the dots. He was towards the end of the affair, but still strongly pulled in her direction. I had NO idea what was going on, didn’t start to click until months later that something might be off. And it was nearly a year in by then. I was so confused about why he couldn’t relax, and why he kept going “for walks” – with his phone – I didn’t notice that properly either. I was busy trying to pretend we still had a wonderful family, and feeding them the food porn I had prepared – for the usual numbers! I had six of us there, but had cooked for the usual 60! That was the last year we enjoyed our little “couple” tradition of dancing around to our Christmas song on Christmas Eve. Or the last where I didn’t flood the lounge room with a river of tears. The last of the “good” Christmas memories for me.

Anyhoo – another one survived. Boxing Day races to be enjoyed, and I have FIVE days off work!  Woot, woot!

Hoping everyone survived, and maybe there were some small moments of almost-joy (watching a child/grandchild’s face, filled with joy, surprise, contentment.)

Love to all xxx.

Behind every untrusting gal is a boy who lied, cheated, and broke his promise to her.


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The permanence of change

I have lived this reasonably blessed life. I haven’t wanted for much. I was surrounded by good people. I never took any of it fully for granted. But it was all “just there.” I was thankful for it. I also worked damn hard. Nothing I have was given to me. This goes for material and non-material realms.  But I didn’t ever envisage how changed everything could be.  I mean changed forever. I am picking this little gem out in my car. Today we are celebrating my friend,  Lisa’s too short life. And I am sitting in my car when I should be drinking Veuve Clicquot champagne at her party. I just can’t do it anymore. She, so full of life and zest, is gone, and I can’t even do what I used to do and participate in a big send off. I sat through the small, intimate church service, wiping tears and fighting waves of more of them, and then stood for three hours under the giant mega marquee amongst the thousand or so there (she was a big deal in a glamorous industry) listening to friends tell wonderful stories. I started to sweat. It’s a rainy 14 degree day, quite chilly.) I started to panic mildly. I wanted to vomit. I thought I might pass out. Part of my change is going from vibrant, strong, caring and capable social being,  to socially awkward and anxious girl-seen-leaving-quickly-but-quietly. This is my new persona. It still doesn’t seem to quite fit. I still don’t recognise the new me. I guess I will one day?