Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Sexual trauma

It has become very obvious that I am dealing with a partner who has some really deep, unresolved sexual trauma in his past.

I’ve felt there was something off, for a while.

I have spent so long unpacking my own rape, I got some inklings about this.

There are dozens of possibilities.

He was Catholic boarding school educated. He has two beloved older sisters and a long term cheating father. He was known as the sexual legend, with the huge dick, by the guys at school (something he gets very upset about. Either that. Or the fact that I’ve been told this information. I’m not sure which.)

That’s some rich territory to mine for the roots of what happened to him.

He is admitting to something, but isn’t able to talk about it. Yet. He also says he doesn’t even know if it’s true.

I gently replied, “in my experience with sexual trauma and rape, we don’t make things up.”

I repressed my rape for a few years. Wondered if it was real.

It was. The details are clear in my head. I know what happened. My brain couldn’t cope with the virginal, brutal, tearing rape by a “friend.”

So it filed it.

Until I could cope.

I think BG has something similar. I think toxic masculinity is part of the equation here, too. That he blames himself. That sexual abuse doesn’t happen to “real men.”

After a very emotional conversation on Friday night, where he panicked – badly – I left it.

We haven’t made love in a month.


This is not who I am. I am a very sexual person, and after my trauma from being cheated on and infected with disgusting diseases, I recovered. BG says he’s never been with anyone so sexually driven.

It could be taken as a compliment.

Or a slight.

I’ve been quietly supportive ever since Friday. It’s a crazy, busy weekend. Today is Easter Monday. And he confronted me this morning. I didn’t want to talk about this while he is under pressure.

But he eventually made me.

He knows he has to address this, to be with me. We talked kindly about how our intimacy is wonderful. He told me he’s never ever got this deep with anyone. And yeah, understandably he’s scared. It’s pushing him to go to places he’s avoided his whole life.

This is the stuff I knew, when I got involved with a never-married-no-kids-50-something. That whilst, most people say to me, Yay, no baggage, I knew there would be much baggage! Lol. You don’t get to these ages without baggage. Not having a long term partner means, not dealing with some stuff. No one to push you to examine your feelings. Your actions. Etc.

Watching Anatomy of a Scandal is amazing. Watching Sienna Miller play a betrayed wife, when you know her history as a betrayed fiancée, ugh. It hits hard.

So, so hard.

I see her processing those emotions I’ve processed. The looking at your man, not knowing who he is. The heartache. The unpacking of a whole life. The lies. The omissions.

There are no words to explain the experience. The utter agony. The battle to locate where you filed your core values, and stand up to the man you totally believed in and loved with every part of your being.

Whom you compromised for.

To say, no more. No more lies. No more surprises. No more pushing me into places I don’t want to be in. I need the whole truth. The omissions, the “protecting you” by omission bullshit. Stop that.

You are only sorry you got caught. You weren’t sorry when I didn’t know. You weren’t protecting me. You were protecting your relatively cushy life. Not wanting to lose a loving, loyal partner who cared enough about you to always have your back. To run the admin in your life. To feed, love, care.

Those things are apparently easily replaceable. You cut one loving, loyal partner out, whom you have shared decades of life with, and paste a cunt who doesn’t care about a loyal partner in her place. She gets to play wifey now.

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Dirty John Betty Broderick

I have avoided watching some of these real life programs about scorned wives.

However, I folded and have been watching the latest Dirty John series, about Betty Broderick, and how she was driven to the point of murder. The testimony of the infidelity psychologist about how mindfucked a betrayed spouse is. How manipulated women who are cheated on are. What happens to our brain chemistry.

It’s real. We are loyal, hard working, loving.

And we get fucked over.

I’m up to the part where Betty Broderick is defending herself in court, and trying to explain that the cheater completely forgets how hard we worked. To support the men, towards JOINT financial success.

Her asking if he remembered their first child not having a crib.

I wonder if Roger remembers how dirt poor we were. How hard I scrimped and saved to ensure we ate well and were clothed. How our daughter had nothing either. But we were given clothes and somewhere for her to sleep. Wonderful friends and family.

And despite earning far less than almost all our contemporaries, he was still known as “The best dressed man in town.”

I put so much into US. Especially into him.

As my friends all say, the horror of being left for another woman to reap the benefits of the work we put in. As older couples, many of us have acquired assets and some wealth.

And, like Dan Broderick, these men feel entitled to the money, because THEY earned it.

G pointed this out to me this weekend. Her wealthy husband was stalking her online during the weekend. What she was spending. Where. She has started withdrawing cash so he can’t stalk her.

It sucks.

He feels it is his money.

Not theirs.

She spent $425 on clothes during the weekend. And bought her four kids small gifts.

Meanwhile, he is off to Queenstown for a week, in a hired European car, heli-skiing, staying in 5 star accommodation (we stayed in a very average, cheap city hotel.) Etc. He spends HUGE amounts of money.

No wonder women go a bit insane when their entitled husbands – entitled to money, to strange pussy, to whatever the fuck they like – cheat on them and gaslight the fuck out of their reality.


Oh, so much this!

Bob. Roger. Insert cheater name here.

This is exactly what happened to me. Trying to untangle the skein of fuckedupness and entitlement. Trying to pin the moment “it all went wrong” and he felt entitled to cheat on me. I got an off farm job. And apparently “abandoned” him.

To feed and clothe our children, because he made a poor economic decision, because he felt entitled.

Because he had a sadz.

I was also his mummy.

Or, as our son likes to say, his admin manager, “he just swapped one admin manager out for another, Mum. Thank God you don’t have to do that anymore.”

I heard all the details about their bodies and their sexual responses – or lack thereof, in Leanne’s case.

Which were no doubt all lies. Just as his best mate’s wife nastily said to me after Leanne, “oh bullshit, affair sex is waaay hotter than married sex, he just said that to make you feel better.” She’s a piece of work.

And (ex) cheater.

Ways to keep me dancing the pick me polka. “She doesn’t do this. Or that. You’re so much sexier and more responsive…”


Self harm. Not just for the kids

I hadn’t mentioned this until recently. Because, you know, shame.

I have been doing this off and on ever since my cancer surgery. I came home, and as the emotional pain began to overwhelm me, I knew suicide was beckoning again. And discovered that cutting helped release that tension.

Just a little bit.

A little bit, when walking that tightrope can save your life.

I had never really heard of adult cutting, like, a supposedly grownup person, with responsibilities and shit, starting to cut for the first time.

But, it happens. It’s a thing. Always staying ahead of the trends, that’s me, ugh.

I look at those lines, freshly scabbing over, or tiny silvery scars, and see them now not as failure, but as survival lines. They are part of how I have managed to still be here, for my kids.

So, an acquaintance sent me this video doing the social media rounds of three pearl wearing, mature women singing Try Not to be a Cunt, it’s Christmas at the top of their lungs! (I struggled to share at first, so I also share the Fascinating Aida version, as back up.) Wouldn’t it have been great to send to Trinket? Husband poaching cunt.

(Yeah, yeah, I know. Real men can’t be stolen, etc… but it’s so much easier with willing vaginas circling…they are not to blame, but also not blameless.)

I mean, it’s a given that Rog is. Watching my fucking agony as he smirked at his fucking phone screen, sending her pictures of MY dog! The new dick pic is dog pics apparently. Trinket said he caught her attention on Matchdotcom because his profile pic included the dogs. Women bait. Best ever.

I begged him not to share my life with her, don’t bring her to my homes, don’t finger her in my car. Ya know? All those things he did with Leanne, and he knew nearly killed me. So, the love of his life (his words, even on the last card he wrote me, fucking off to the open legs of Trinketville, leaving me and my aging father to do ALL the cleaning of the empty house, schlep the planter boxes he said he wanted, but left (heavy MOFOs!) he just drove off, with a long, lingering kiss on my lips….) has no actual feelings of her own. Ugh.

So, Christmas Eve. (Also Leanne’s birthday…nice.) Here you are. I’ll leave this here for you. Every single Christmas Eve – without fail, three decades worth – we danced, holding each other, grinning like idiots, kissing madly, to this. It started our first year together, stumbling home after the pub, and carried on. After babies, it would be him stumbling in as I looked after the kinder at home. He’d come to me, fragrant with whiskey fumes, and I would light up like the damn Christmas tree, we’d stumble around to what I always realised was a ridiculously inappropriate anti-love song. About dysfunction, drug addiction, alcoholism and abuse.

Our song. Fucking perfect.

Then he’d fall into bed, waiting for me to do Santa duty (it was ALWAYS me, never us) then mount him hungrily, rounding his Christmas Eve off just perfectly. Go me! Fucking Stepford Wife that I was.

Fairytale Of New York
It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I’ve got a feeling
This year’s for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true
They’ve got cars big as bars
They’ve got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It’s no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas day



So, I popped my head up above the parapet today. I attended the funeral of an old school friend’s mother, making him an orphan, as his dad died in 1989. It was one of those brilliant life celebrations. She wanted happy faces, lovely woman. And as someone very involved in Pink Hope, she had a hot pink casket, and we released pink balloons as the hearse drove her off. I don’t do pink, so was scratching around thinking what the heck am I going to wear, when I found a hot pink lipstick.

But, I digress, that’s unusual!

This guy is single. He was messaging me on Facebook a bit, and I thought it all “old school friends” stuff. Then he invited me to meet him in his city – in a different country! I laughed and showed TOIL, and he read the messages, then told me that old friend was trying to hook up with me. This guy is an old friend of TOIL’s also. I was a bit horrified, as he was a good friend, but not attractive at all! And we have announced no separation. What is up with people?

I was cornered at the funeral by J. She asked that I go out to her house afterwards, and I felt it would be terribly rude not to. When I got out there, she had two other couple friends, yes, drinking wine 😉 . She had a little birthday gift for me, which was cute. Then one of the couples left. And the other woman, A (who is actually a really nice woman) and J told me that the wife, L that had just left had just been caught cheating. I wasn’t surprised, this girl is an entitled person. The funny thing is, I never really warmed to this girl. She is stuck up. But J thought she was great. J used to tell her husband how she was in awe of the love, blah, blah, blah (these two were great ones for PDAs and baby talk in public, ewwww!) The husband is a bit of a lad, but has been an incredibly attentive father and husband. And I felt sick for him. I said, “does he know?” The answer was yes. So I asked if they knew if he was okay. J answered, somewhat sarcastically that “apparently they are fine, and in love, and carrying on building their new mansion.” This poor chump has financed her into so much, Euro cars, high end designer clothes, European and American holidays in the past year, a tropical island one every winter. She got sick of their previous home, and insisted they build a new one, and so far the prep work has been done, and the contractors engaged at the new site. Word is it will be pretty swanky, L has to have the latest and greatest. And yet she thinks she can screw around on the bank.

Just disgusted with humanity. Or certain parts of it.

Hey, it’s not like I thought cheating didn’t happen before it did to me. But now every time I poke my nose out of the cave, BAM!! Another one bites the dust. I literally have not been anywhere social in the last two years and NOT heard about someone screwing around on their spouse or partner. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with people?

Think I will just stay low in my cave, the real world sucks.