I think I get it

So. I think I unpacked some of what’s going on with BG.

When I arrived on Saturday night, I thought it was work stress, and probably some mild depression. His mate Marc was at the club, watching the rugby final, and noticed BG wasn’t his usual self. He asked me if everything was okay. I shared that I didn’t think he was feeling too fab. Marc is wonderful. He asked, “depression? I get it. I’ve been there.” I nodded, “yeah, we’ve all lived through some shit by this age. I understand.” I then added that I wasn’t sure yet exactly what was going on, just trying to find out how to best support him.

Sunday night BG finally told me what happened. Three staff members doing something illegal on club grounds. He’s having to deal with some more big disciplinary action. It’s feeling relentless. Their jobs are on the line. He’s short staffed. He feels like it just keeps piling on.

And he’s done.

Done with hospitality.

He’s 58 in August, and after a lifetime dealing with alcohol and gambling, he’s burnt out. I’m not surprised. He works every hour he’s awake. And told me four years ago that he had some big questions about what he does for a living.

But he’s still doing it.

And he feels terribly guilty. Because he desperately wants to be with me fulltime, but he can’t afford to resign right now.

I didn’t know how badly he misses me when we’re apart. He was very upset that he couldn’t come to me this weekend. Thinking we wouldn’t catch up.

But I found a ride over.

Less than a month, and I can reinstate my driver’s license. He is getting depressed when we’re not together.

Anyway. I did some nice things for him. I installed the washing machine I bought off my daughter, who found she had two. His broke down a couple of months ago, and he’s been laundromatting because his small town has no repair shop. I did four loads of washing, including his linen. I folded the clean laundry, cleaned his kitchen, vacuumed, and made him some hearty, slow cooked, healthy meals to help this week. He lost 7kgs last week. He needs to lose some weight for his health, but this is a bit quick and stress related. Not the best way to drop the kilos.

We showered this morning together, and the man who thinks he has a sexual problem was quickly aroused, without me doing a damn thing, and…

😜😜😜

…. ummm. See the above meme for reference…. Finished far faster and more intensely than he expected. “Sorry.”

Um, dude. It’s okay. It’s flattering to know you want me. I wasn’t aiming for sex when you’ve been struggling lately with stress. And yet, here we are 😀

He gathered me up when he came home from work, seeing what I’d done as I worked from his today, and said, “shit, you’re not supposed to come here and clean up after me. I’m so sorry, babe. But thank you. It helps. So much. I just wanna be with you always. So I can look after you better.”

Then, “but I don’t know if you want that…”

I do. I told him I do want us to be together. But I’m prepared to wait. He needs to have a plan. Some means of segue-ing into something that works for him. And we both understand how bad the timing is.

He told me today he doesn’t want to do another summer where he is. It’s too much. He’s done.

Next week, he’s contacting some recruitment agencies.

Let’s see where the cards fall.

Romantic Love

There is actually research about the the partner who is left being physically addicted for a time to the partner who does the leaving. It’s a real thing. It lights up the same areas of the brain that heroin does.

Some of the research I have read by Dr Helen Fisher, a biological anthropologist, talks about primary brain systems for loving as lust, romantic love, and attachment. Each of these produces a different recipe of thoughts, feelings, and behaviours.

Fisher’s TEDtalk here is really interesting.

Romantic love’s effects on the brain are fascinating.

And the effect on a dumped lover are immense. We betrayed and dumped lovers react in very biologically programmed ways. Fisher and her colleagues used MRI to investigate brain activity associated with rejection in love.

Firstly, psychologists talk about the “protest” stage of rejection – or as Chump Lady calls it, the Pick Me Dance – where we obsessively pick over the relationship trying to find what went wrong. And we often strategise about how to “win them back.” Cue, hysterical bonding. Ugh.

Then, there is resignation/despair. This is the danger zone. In some studies such as (Mearns, 1991) 40% of rejected lovers in the rejection phase are clinically depressed. There are those of us who then kill ourselves. This is where broken heart syndrome can occur in extreme cases. Ask me how this phase feels! I only just survived. It was an immense daily battle not to leave this earth.

Conversely, those who easily replace lovers. They are more resilient.

Unfortunately, I’m not one of those. Dammit!

Fisher writes, in her chapter in Crouter and Booth’s Romance and Sex in Adolescence and Emerging Adulthood: Risks and Opportunities:

“Rejected lovers also relapse the way drug addicts do. Long after the romantic relationship has ended, events, people, places, even songs associated with the beloved can trigger the lover’s craving and initiate obsessive thinking and/or compulsive calling or writing to achieve contact with the beloved.”

So, although I am very well aware of who Roger is and how he abused me, mentally, emotionally, and physically, there are still lingering effects.

I don’t want to be with the person he showed himself to be. But my brain has reacted to this rejection by “my person,” the one I bonded fiercely with, in a catastrophic manner. I attached securely. And permanently. And that has made recovery from being dumped such a damn marathon!

Falling out of love is a learning process.

I have two blood siblings.

One is an alcoholic.

The other has an addiction to gambling.

I have neither of these.

But I believe, and this is backed up by Fisher’s research, that you have to treat this heartbreak as addiction. Her advice:

“Get rid of the cards and letters and don’t call or write the person who jilted you. Don’t try to make friends with this person for at least three years. Get exercise which drives up dopamine and optimism.”

I ran so very many kilometres after Leanne. Every day, at least 5. Two or three times a week, 10. It was the only thing I could do to try to heal myself from the agony of his betrayal.

Which even then, felt like rejection.

Sleepless in Far North Queensland

Panic attack.

Big one.

I’m struggling and couldn’t sleep, despite being bone tired.

No internet access. I’m so far behind with my business planning.

BG hasn’t touched me in what feels like forever. A month? More? I had a chat with him at the beginning of this trip, he got upset, promised better (hmmm….waiting) I felt like an arsehole (I wasn’t. I was kind and gentle.) He’s depressed about his diabetes, but still not managing it properly, and pretending to me that he’s fine, onto it. I know it affects libido and can cause depression. I am really understanding and have done extra research…

I had to get up and orgasm by myself to get any sleep, three hours after I woke during the night. Nature’s sedative.

Today, will head back to more civilization and will get my head down and try to sort this backlog of chores out.

Roger has been playing on my mind and I’m sick of him living rent free in my brain. Wish I never met him.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely trip, just stressed to the max.

Depression. Some new research findings.

I was diagnosed with depression in my third year of affair recovery. I was eventually referred to a psychiatrist by my psychologist.

Bringing out the big guns! He was a very professional, very caring man.

Of course, he prescribed SSRIs for me. We upped the dosage three times.

Nothing.

Then we tried another. Upped the dosage to the maximum again.

Still nothing.

So, he told me he was going to try me on “old-fashioned” tricyclics.

Again, nothing after several tweaks.

Except I gained 9kg in a month.

If I wasn’t depressed before, I bloody well was now!

So, I lied.

Yes. Much better thank you.

And went home and started weaning off the meds.

Using antidepressants coincided with my normally robust libido waning.

Badly. Getting off the meds helped me address the libido problems, too.

I tried to let the therapists know that I didn’t think I was depressed. The psychologist eventually agreed, saying she thought I was instead dealing with complicated grief. She found that a difficult diagnosis because even clinicians were thinking this (at the time) fairly newly identified condition was linked with death.

No one died.

Just my old relationship. Complicated grief wasn’t an obvious thought.

So, reading this article tonight, made sense. It now appears that meds are unlikely to work if you are not suffering from severe depression.

I am firmly of the opinion that I am once again dealing with complicated grief.

I’m a strong person, who knows her own mind. But this is a pattern that I know about myself.

Thanks to being in love with a serial cheater.

I have a lot more information and skills to know how to deal with it now. One of my most effective tools to deal with this near debilitating grief is this blog.

In this, I have an outlet, a healthy tool to deal with this agony. So, thank you, to everyone who still reads, still comment, still care. I love you all xxx

Mondayitis

It blew a gale last night.

I was going to come home, but stayed. The weather got worse. Rain drove in under the seal on BG’s bathroom door.

I didn’t sleep past 2am. He slept soundly.

At 4, I decided I would get up, shower, and drive home through the storm. There might be road closures, and I had to shift stock and get to work. Arrived home really early, in the dark, so climbed into my bed, and napped for half an hour, before heading out to shift my heifers, and feed them hay, in the rain.

It wasn’t so bad over here.

But I’m feeling really blue. Weird. I haven’t had the Monday blues for a while.

I think I was so spoiled, so loved this weekend, I miss him already, and wonder how we are going to make this work.

I am still independently working on my future. And it’s a bit frustrating. Scary, too, as the banks are getting very nervous.

Tired. I’m unfit, and feel really crappy. I need to take myself off to bed, so I can get up an exercise in the morning. I haven’t been looking after this body properly.

Keep going. Just keep going, Paula.

Fuck them

Having a bad anxiety period. So many unanswered questions. Quite a few tears. Lots of equations that don’t work.

Softness and love.

That is what I know he gives to his whore. That he stole from me.

You never fully have peace of mind again.

Shit

Have known I am struggling mentally, for a while.

Holding it together. Looking sorted and professional on the outside.

I had a series of full blown panic attacks during the night. Am exhausted, and not entirely sure if I can cope.

Burnout.

It’s happening. I have been running on empty for too many months. Supporting my brother. Pretending I’m sorted, not broken (still trying to fake it ’til I make it.)

I just cried at Richard E Grant’s Instagram post.

One step at a time.

As he negotiates his grief. His beloved wife of many decades died this year.

Death means people are allowed to be open with their grief. My boss’s Dad dying. The food myself and many others have cooked for her. The open show of love for the grieving.

I have had to suck my grief up, in public, for too long. When someone you really love, leaves you after serial cheating on you, there “shouldn’t” be grief.

There “should” be relief.

That you no longer have to deal with that dangerous and selfish behaviour. I do and don’t understand my (unsupported) grief. I thought I would be a person who felt relieved of being burdened with a man who didn’t love or respect me.

Instead, I feel like my lover, my best friend, my life partner, died. And not one person allowed me to mourn. You can’t do that in public. Unlike actual death. Where people acknowledge and encourage you to grieve in a healthy, supported way.

Trauma bonds are notoriously difficult to break.

Living this has definitely given me insight into this. I can’t speak of it IRL, people would think I was weak. Pathetic. A little (or a lot) insane.

I’m not coping. The isolation of lockdown and total madness of our insane workload this bizarre breeding season is making me feel weak, and incapable.

My physical health is affected. No formal exercise for a month. I can’t force my body to move. I know that is depression. I’ve been here before. Frozen by the enormity of what I need to do every day.

I hate my 50s so far. Want my deposit back!

Affirmations

I’m not a huge affirmations person. I do see their place, and the positivity that surrounds this concept, but I am a tad cynical about popular culture’s pop psychology at the same time.

That said, with my mood diving…

• 

… I’ll take it where I can!

• 

Because I know that while Roger found me too hard to love, that I am not. I’m really easy going, low maintenance, and love back exponentially any love you give to me.

BG isn’t a love bomber. A fact I am aware of, grateful for, and yet also struggle with, with my Roger-love-bombing-dopamine-trained brain craving the unhealthy hit of the love bomb. But he does say I’m the most squishy, cuddly, loving, caring, selfless woman he’s ever known.

He’s known a few.

Maybe the wrong kinds.

But I know I am very loving. And very lovable.

So, in this pit, affirmations are a tool I use, to build a tower to get out of it.

SADD

I’m kinda in a funk at the moment.

Not sure why. Taking a while to climb out of this latest funk. I’m thinking I might be suffering from SADD.

Wut???

I like cooler weather as a rule. My pasty white complexion and red hair combo probably dictates that.

But this year? I think it’s the lack of Vitamin D, going into the shortest day of the year.

So, I keep forging on.

Today, I managed to escape work for an hour. I shot into town and watched our mare have her first run on our newly opened all-weather track. The first in NZ.

And she went really well. A wide draw, she jumped well and went forward. Two wide without cover the whole race. She worked hard. In the straight, she put her ears back, head low and got to the front, being run down at the end by a pretty talented mare. Who won the very first race on the track a few weeks ago. We are happy owners.

I’ve kind of struggled this week especially. I can’t put my finger on it. But with the general blahness, comes some very meh feelings about BG.

Weird, eh?

He hasn’t done anything wrong. It might be a combination of honeymoon over, and tough winter spots in both our jobs. He’s swamped, and frankly, although I have/find enough to do, I’m bored. I need to start looking at new businesses with more vigour.

I also practice mindfulness, grounding myself. I know I carry how unlovable I must be close at the moment (bear with me here…) that there are so many negative messages about me that came with the decade (at least) of Roger’s lies, disease and treachery.

I lay awake around 3.30am this morning, thinking about how he got so mad with me because I told him that what we did to me told me he never loved me. He would hold me tight and say he loved me entirely. He fucked up. I was his everything. His anchor. What everything was built around.

But cheating and lying – continuing to lie and keep secrets – is not loving.

He wanted me to remember three decades of deep love. And I did. But that kept me from seeing the actions. That lying and cheating are not the actions of a person who treasures you…who loves you.

Actions.

Not words.

• 

And on an upswing, just when I felt really yucky, BG rang. He just got home. Big day. A huge funeral service, catering, catching up with people, etc. He sounded exhausted, but chattered away for an hour. He was worried I might be feeling neglected. How cute is he?

I wasn’t. I’m independent. I don’t expect constant attention.

But not gonna lie, I was really touched that he did that.💖

See, high maintenance AF. 🤣

Meh

Monday nights can be a bit meh.

I came home after a very, very stressful day at work, and did loads of chores. They needed doing, but it was also to distract me.

I was good on my own. But it’s got harder now there is someone I would like to be physically closer to.

Which sucks.

We had a good chat at the weekend. BG is considering another year at least on his contract, as there has been some renegotiation and some bigger carrots waved about. But he asked me how I felt about that. Because it’s not just him he has to think about now. I thought that was sweet. I’ve never had that before. Roger just always pushed on with what he decided was best for “us.” (Best for him…)

I said I think I can do another year of distance. There are some good parts to it. But to be honest, it’s getting harder the longer we have been a couple.

That has surprised me a bit. I didn’t expect to feel like this. Because the dynamic between us is so very different to what I thought I had with Rog. We really hated being apart. We longed to be back together if we had even one night apart.

Or so he said. I think he believed it. That is part of the love addiction. Latch onto whatever will give you the adoration you require.

BG and I have some gaps. There is a lot of love and respect. Huge fun. But there is not intense passion like I once knew it. It’s warm, and lovely.

But, that … extra spark … isn’t there. I know that this is better, safer, kinder, sensible even. But when you lived with enormous passion, you miss it.

Don’t worry. I know the flipside to that burning, fiery passion. It wasn’t worth it. But once upon a time, I thought we were so damn lucky to have it. If course, it was a danger sign. If you love that fiercely, you are way too vulnerable. Never again.

I’m making it sound like BG and I are boring, and there is nothing wonderful. The reality is, we are pretty damn good together. We had an absolute ball the other night, totally in tune with one another as we wound up his friends. We are great like that. There is depth and a real connection. A shared sense of mischief…

It’s just so very, very different.

And my answer to BG’s question about distance for a bit longer was that he knows that I am also looking for something new, and maybe that might take me nearer to him. I am putting out some feelers…looking at businesses, not just jobs.

I’m a bit off tonight because my reluctantly divorcing little brother was pretty bad yesterday. Very down on himself, and hating that she’s all loved up and happy, while he has no one. Sound familiar? It fucking sucks that those who betray and fuck us over get to be all lovey dovey, wif their new Schmoopies while we emotiinally bleed out.

And I have said I may be able to help him build a house. Take a small equity share in it. And he came to me with a plan that is more than I planned for. I hope I haven’t made him feel I have over-promised.

The reality is, the more I ponder this, the less likely I am feeling I can commit to the amount he may require. That money is for my renovation, and possibly to buy a business/means of making a better future for myself.

Ick. It feels selfish, but I know why. Because I’m a problem solver. A giver. I won’t be earning anything off that capital, and I need it to be working for me…

Anyway. That is my Monday. Need to sleep and think about it some more…