I know I am good with who I am, how I live in an authentic, honest, caring way. I am a good person. It sounds weird to say that.
Arrogant.
I’m not arrogant. I’ve been enculturated to be modest and humble. I’m a woman. It’s how we do. I have lived my whole life thinking of others. Their happiness, their comfort.
Often at my expense.
Rog got to do most of the things after we had children, that he did prior. I worked alongside him on the farms, but I was the one who stayed home, took care of the babies and home, while he played. I did all the domestic load. Shopping. Cooking. Cleaning. Parenting….
And I realise that this just enabled him. He became entitled.
If he wasn’t already.
I also realised that he cannot be alone. He has never been single. Deep down, he doesn’t like who he is, because he can’t be happy just with him.
He argued that he was alone a lot. At work.
But that isn’t alone. I was always there, at the end of the day. And Leanne was constantly in touch throughout that particular affair period (and beyond, ugh.)
Ask Trinket. His head was buried in his phone while he lived with me.
In between hot sex or giving and receiving sensual footrubs. God, I’m such a mug.
So, they have the perfect life. He escaped my terribleness.
Who knows? Maybe he can make it work with someone who accepts being treated as an option.
Went horse riding last night with my baby girl. We do this sometimes, to help her mental health.
Doesn’t do mine any harm either!
We drove over to the west coast, grabbed some DIVINE fresh fish, scallops and chips on the wharf.
Then drove out to the beach location where we had booked to do a sunset ride and ate them sheltered in the car, looking over the cliff, to the raging sea below.
After months of dry weather, we got soaking wet in the rain. Two and a half hours of contentment.
I have a great life. If it wasn’t for the agony of having my heart shunted about …
This is why I still blog. I don’t require validation, nor any particular person to hear me anymore. I just need this fabulous space to let the pressure out. Let the toxins free from my body, my mind, in the form of words floating in the ethernet.
The more I grow, the more I see what happened to me. I had a great discourse with Gone (CreativeRational) yesterday, about change. She embraces change. I always thought I was resistant to change.
But I’ve realised it was never change that I feared. Or resisted.
It was having it foisted on me. I hated being told what was happening AFTER Roger had already decided! He bought a bloody farm without my input! He had an affair, gave me diseases, without my knowledge. He then later secretly shopped for my replacement, online, for around two years, WITHOUT ME KNOWING WTF I WAS FACING!!! I was told he was committed, and so very sorry. He loved me entirely and forever.
He’d never hurt me ever again.
Nope. He was just sorry he was caught. He controlled the narrative. He controlled the exit. I just got shunted aside again. A bit of detritus in his life that was so very easily replaceable once he found the right “part” to slot into the hole where he removed me from his life.
I actually accept and sometimes embrace change! Who knew? I love curating a new life. With what I want. Arranged the way I prefer.
And I realised yesterday, that whilst I am still the same low maintenance chick he used to praise me for, I have shored up the boundaries I always thought I had so very firmly in place.
And the attention thing is quite small. I don’t need all of it. I just need reassurance that I am important to the person I love.
As time passes, I see how the very things I was made proud of about me, that Norm highlighted about my mostly easy going nature, were the things he groomed me for. To not suspect. To not be jealous. To be chill AF. Because those traits are PERFECT CHUMP traits. If they trust you, you can get away with anything!
BG came over for the weekend, and it was really nice to have him here. We went out for dinner on Saturday. Everywhere was fully booked! People are enjoying getting out under Alert Level 2. And just about every New Zealander is here, actually IN NZ. Our borders are locked down tight, so those with money to spend are doing just that, no overseas holiday this winter.
Today we have zero active Covid cases, and 17 days with no new cases. We will be level 1 as of midnight, meaning business as usual, only thing remaining in place will be closed borders.
We went shopping together on Sunday. He’s a funny guy. Likes me to come with him. I think twice in thirty years, Roger came shopping with me. I bought all his clothes, shoes, underwear, etc, on my own. Both times we did go together we were on holiday overseas.
In contrast, BG likes to hold my hand or walk with his arm around me through the mall. Weird. Asking my opinion about his choices. Shopping for things he struggles to get in his small town, underwear, socks, a new jacket, a new iron…I just went along for the ride. Funny how nice it is to be driven. When you are single, you drive everywhere….mind you I did a lot when partnered too. BG likes to drive. My car especially. Even my “girly” Peugeot.
He is fun and kind. A quiet weekend doing domesticated things together, a nice night out, a few drinks at a pub he used to manage when he was 25…stroll down his past…he said something about a friend of mine who has applied for a job with him. A good looking, hard working, personable woman who is nearing 60, not looking a day over 45. “Kids? Marriage(s)?”
Nope. I explained that she had been engaged three times. Twice to the same man.
His reply? “Not good at commitment, like me?”
I sat quietly with that for a few minutes, then replied, “why, how many times have you been engaged (knowing full well it is zero.) Not sure. Think just the wrong men at the wrong time actually. And frankly, from where I’m standing, I haven’t seen you as a commitment phobe. Just fell properly in love late, and she turned out to be a cheater. You think you are commitment shy?”
He laughed and said, “dunno. Don’t know where I went wrong really.”
Like not ever marrying was going wrong?
I replied in that fashion. “Wrong? Nothing wrong with being single if you never met the ‘right’ partner. At least you didn’t marry some girl then cheat on her. Right?”
He said, “you have some good points. I never loved anyone enough to propose. And I knew that. Until Chrissy. And we lived in different countries for the first couple of years, so there was no point in proposing…I never got to that point with her because it started going pear shaped.”
I made a rustic steak and kidney pie for dinner and we ate it with a nice bottle of syrah, watching a movie afterwards.
I haven’t slept more then a few hours in about a week. BG was the same. But fell into my bed all three nights and died. He always says he sleeps well with me. I got up at 2am and spent few hours on the couch, trying to settle. He came looking for me around 5am, “shit! What did I do? Snoring?”
No, nothing, darling. Just unsettled so I came out here.
I am feeling very unsettled again. It will be the usual cajillion things I am overthinking. Covid, racism, can I believe this guy, he’s really, really nice, I have some love for him, but it isn’t totally rock my socks (but look where that got me in the past) needing a new job… and then I realised something that had bugged me last week.
It was about change.
A friend of mine, who is usually very funny and quite astute, posted this about a week ago, and I recognised how it made me feel heartbroken, but actually really quite angry.
Heartbroken that Roger is being – pretending to be – a better man for Trinket and her kids.
That awful woman who never paid up her membership to the sisterhood, rather is happy to tear another betrayed spouse down by participating in fucking their partner because said partner told her he was single. (This is one of the most common ploys cheaters use. That and my wife doesn’t have sex with me anymore. Just ask many betrayed wives. I have. I think it is on page 1 of The Cheater Handbook.) Shame I never got that memo, was instead trying to work to a deadline to complete my Masters thesis, stupidly thinking we were working towards healing. Stupidly believing a proven liar. That he was waiting for me. All the love notes. All the little gifts. All the snuggles and touching my body.
He never did the deep, introspective work. Just declares that he knows what went wrong.
So, why did that quote make me so sad, playing on my mind all week?
CrazyKat got it in one.
As she is so prone to do.
I showed it to her, and she replied, “Um what? Ha, that’s crazy. Some people must be evaluated by their past actions!”
Yeah. Totally. That was it! A man who promised himself to me, but had cheated, long term. A woman who lived with a different serial cheater. Why would she believe this one? Why would she deliberately choose to hurt me?
It made sense. Roger has never apologised to me or the kids for secretly internet dating. For allowing – actually scratch that, encouraging – me to believe he loved only me, and would wait ‘forever’ for me to heal from the very wounds he inflicted, by doing the very same thing again, cheating and lying. For again cheating on us.
There is no remorse. (From either of them. But Trinket didn’t have me sacrifice thirty years, I didn’t love her, she didn’t watch me birth her children…etc..) Just anger at me. Making me out to everyone to be a bit cray, cray. He looked for a psychologist FOR ME. I saw so many therapists since he cheated! Because it was never what he did, but my reaction to (perfectly normal, right) his serial cheating. His gaslighting and going back for more sloppy seconds with Leanne, etc, etc, etc…
No wonder I am wary. Cautious. Doubtful. About another man.
This is betrayal trauma. It keeps going. There is no end, only management. And that management has me exhausted and a bit low right now.
Have you – or preferably him! – made the appointment with the couples counsellor?
Is he still acting secretively?
Do you want to be the marriage police
Is he likely to be open and honest going forward?
The answers were:
I found the email (hmmm 🚩🚩🚩)
No appointment made, but I contacted the person suggested, and they are full and have referred me on (hmmmm 🚩🚩🚩)
He was up during the night, in the bathroom, with his phone (🚩🚩🚩🔔🔔🔔)
Hadn’t thought of it that way 🤷♀️
Probably unlikely.
She’s smoking the hopium pipe. I gently pointed this out and showed her back to the path.
Don’t be me. Don’t forgive again, and lose what little self respect you may still be clinging to. By all means, get counselling. But ASAP. Counselling may be what helps you see he is never going to change. I got suggested love addiction was at play by one of the best couples therapists in our country, and Rog never followed up on that.
But, then again, neither did I.
At the time, we separated for a few weeks. So I lost track of his journey, whilst trying to readjust mine.
Possibly the very worst aspect of having loved someone for over thirty years, even throughout them cheating long term, and the difficult work of finding your feet again somehow, is when they do it again, and leave for the “better option” of another affair partner.
He’s better for her.
And I earned that. I worked my butt off for the life she walked into.
The anguish is nearly unbearable, and the dreams last night were of their loved up life in a sunny climate, while I battle the demons every which way. Fucking PTSD. Struggling not to hurt this little body more.
I wonder what changed in him? Why does he think she deserves the best of him, when I gave more than any partner I have ever met?
Then you do try to soothe yourself with platitudes and things people believe about the lack of reform.
I actually think he at least believes he is reformed. Will love her more, better. That Trinket somehow deserves better than I got.
What has changed in this person so that the next time a crisis occurs or they aren’t feeling loved and special they don’t opt to go fuck another person?
…otherwise – especially in the non-family context – known as “Switzerland friends.”
My youngest is with me tonight. Fabulously flawed kid that she is. She turned up when I was in the bath, after I knocked off work at 7pm.
Ugh, work is SHIIIIIIIIIT. No internet for four days of the last 10 business ones. And EVERYTHING is on the cloud. Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!
I have turned into a bather. I never used to really enjoy a lot of time in the bath. Unless it was with Rog. I did LOVE that.
So much. Being naked against him, sexy times, swoon.
We spent a lot of time in the bath together in those months after he said he chose Trinket. It was one of those deeply intimate spaces, the man likes to bathe! I loved being with him, but at 6’3″, admittedly slim in build. but with sexy AF broad shoulders, and an arse to die for, he took up a bath.
On my own, I quite enjoy it. I think it is because I have a pretty shit shower here.
Anyway, she arrived, and I climbed out, and I employed her to help me with getting the new mattress up in the loft. It was not as heavy as the bed parts (how the actual fuck did I get them up the stairs???) but unwieldy.
We sat watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. She has bought tickets for us both to go to the live show here, and felt I needed educating.
As we nattered away, she asked me if I had heard from the eldest last night. Yes, But not much, I gathered she was on a cocktail binge. She works long hours, Tues – Sat, and Sunday night turned into a bit of a blowout. She had just joined her partner to walk 25 kms, and probably felt she had earned it. Youngest (D) shared that she was worried about eldest (S), in that she is an interesting, and deep young woman, and we have always known her dark side.
I sure have bred ’em.
Anyway, I got a message last night, from S, apologising for being mean at times.
Um. what? I have only had one moment where I was a bit hurt by her in this shitty period. It was just after Roger drove off, out of my life. Maybe two months in? We were yabbering away, chatting about her grandmother, my MIL, who died earlier this year. I was sharing how great for me it was to have the time at the end for a few months to be honest and loving with her, we talked about Nan’s chats with me in those last weeks, I shared how healing it was for me to hear the things she said to me about how grateful she was for me, and that I had upgraded her grandchildren, that they had my brains, and compassion, which was the perfect counterbalance to her son. Then she said that she never wanted to meet Trinket, that she could not understand what the hell Roger was thinking. And her biggest thing was, “I am really worried about him, Paula.”
And S said, “did Nan really say that, Mum?” I just went silent, and realised for the first time, that her father was in her ear, and had questioned.
Yes, S, Nan really did say that to me, but fucked if I am going to defend myself. I stopped talking to her about her father ever again. And it kind of resonated with me, even though it is my own empathetic daughter, that she is a Switzerland friend. Yes, it is important to point out, she is OUR daughter, not anyone’s friend here.
Honestly? You really need to be so aware of that in the post divorce shit. Your children are amazing, But they are not (and should not be) your support systems, or your “friends.”
Last night, D shared with me her sister’s her snark about her Dad. It was sarcastic, and a bit dismissive. She openly rolls her eyes at me about his cheating, and “new love.” Oh, Dad, you are such a midlife crisis cliche. She told him she was spending Christmas with her partner’s family. And D says her father’s response was, “Oh, glad you are not taking sides.”
Um, what?
Last Christmas, the kids asked me if they could come with me to my brother’s. Roger was really angry.
Quietly so.
He had bought the grey bras and undies for his twu wuv, and I guess he wanted his kids to be with him (um, in retrospect, to watch his wrinkly twu wuv unwrap her nana undies???) Vom!!!
To be honest, I thought it was only fair they spend this Christmas with him. But, the eldest, the closest to him, has opted for her other family, our son is in Europe, and the youngest does not want to be there. She reiterated to me tonight that she isn’t interested. She is going to be here, with my family. I feel for her aunts, cousins and especially her elderly grandfather, she has seen him once since March. He only lives less than an hour from her. I still call in once a fortnight. You would hope his own flesh and blood, his granddaughter would. She just says she can’t bear to be there without her Nan being there, and his bigoted comments (fair enough, I suppose?)
Not cool.
She is gonna hang with my fam, the young cuzzies, and has the option of coming for a big day out the following day, to drink champagne and party with a few of my friends.
I never spent Christmas at my father’s after he cheated and lied to my mother. We had had every Christmas as a family during my youth with his extended family – after the first year or two post divorce, she invited him to every event, and he usually turned up, but it was Mum. My home was always with her. No matter how far she moved. My home was her. My son said that to me the other day. He is just finishing up at uni, and I helped him organise for some furniture to be sent up. He talked about it as sending his shit “home.” To me.
I know they want to be fair, to stay with their dad, too, but, as G said, well, you are always where home is, Mum. No other dumb bitch and her kids to have to deal with. That’s a bonus!
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 fully 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. If I heal – and I kbow I am – there will always be an ugly scar.
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.
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!)
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!
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!)
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.)
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?
Tearing at the Fabric 