Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


They just don’t care

I’ve always had a keen sense of justice, it was part of my idealism in going to law school from high school.

I was brought up to respect (and tell) the truth, even when it might get you in trouble.

We were never punished heavily for telling the truth. But hell were we what if we lied!

One of my mother’s sayings that still rings in my ears is, “better a thief than a liar be.”

I took it to mean that more damage is done by liars than thieves. Lies can destroy families and relationships. They can cause wars. Lies can twist facts to the extent that they affect not only individuals, but societies, nations, the world as a whole.

So, no wonder I struggled with my cheating father’s lies. When we had this repeatedly reinforced, throughout our childhood. Hypocrite.

No wonder the cheating, then the MORE cheating affects me so permanently. So deeply.

I am constantly scanning everything, everyone, for lies, omissions, tweaks of the truth.

Roger is an expert at lying by omission especially. He even told me a few times after Leanne that his ability to lie so brilliantly, surprised even him when I queried him about how the hell he looked me in the eye and denied any wrongdoing several times.

He stole my reality.

And I have not ever recovered that loss.

When I was in counselling, I realised he learned this at his father’s knee.

His dad is a nice old man.

But he tells lies.

He probably sees them as white lies.

Little fibs.

I realised this quite early in those thirty years.

It wasn’t big. Just “little,” “innocent,” lies. I worked out years later that this was his gentle, passive aggressive way of getting people to do what he wanted. His intellect was not as sharp as his wife’s, so he made things up to get what he wanted done, or across.

Weird really.

Roger is incredibly charming, a loving, smiling assassin. He will have the meek, mild little affair tolerant Trinket wrapped around his finger. Too easy. Learned behaviour.

BG told me something minor the other day, said something that happened on xyz was affecting him. Later, I looked for proof of what he said, and wasn’t easily able to find xyz.

It wasn’t a big deal.

But, a red flag was raised, and it flaps gently over there, in my peripheral vision.

He has appeared to be an open book. He NEVER hides his phone, or turns the screen away from my eyes. There is no passcode on it. When I have asked about anything from his past, he’s immediately answered, and if I fact check (with friends, family, exes, etc) the stories are truthful. He values honesty. And says it is all he really has to offer.

I’m no prude and he appreciates that. Chrissy (and others) have previously disapproved of several things he does. He admits that made him hide things she didn’t like. Like smoking some weed with friends, pretty innocent stuff really. I am cool with whatever he wants to do to, and with his body, as long as he respects that I don’t want to share him sexually.

Or not without a very robust discussion, lol.

When I was propositioned about this possibility, I asked him what his thoughts are, and he made it abundantly clear that he is not up for foursomes with friends 😂😂😂. Which suits me just fine…awkward…

And I value truth over almost everything else.

A horsey friend posted this on a select women’s collective page we are members of. It is a group that has nothing to do with infidelity or divorce, thankfully. Just about empowerment, kindness and love. It spoke to me in a myriad of ways.

I know Roger and Trinket rode off into the sunset, thinking the sun shone out of each other’s arses. That they did nothing wrong. Or if they did, that they “deserved” happiness. At any cost. They haven’t given a backwards glance to the destruction and utter devastation their selfishness caused. The kids and I were just casualties of war. Not living breathing, loyal, loving partner and children who were shoved around, moved house without our input. The kids were never too thrilled with the move to the last farm, either.

And in my case, cheated on, fucked with his dirty, diseased dick, given life threatening conditions, at his whim. He left, and not once did he enquire how my cancer treatment was going. What was my prognosis? Was I going to survive? Surgery? Chemo? Radiotherapy? Drugs? How even was I? That woman who bore his kids, whom he lied to and told was the love of his life. Who he hoped he would find his way back to one day 🤦‍♀️

That was just his way of keeping me on the line, in case it didn’t work out with Trinket. Just as he always has. When I was in the UK, and he was sex shopping with the local women. When he was fucking Leanne, not telling me, in case it didn’t work out with Leanne.

Et cetera.

Cancered me just thrown away as yesterday’s sad rubbish. Not a sparkly new unfettered by natural childbirth Trinket vagina, with all her sparkliness. He told me I lost my sparkle. Yeah, he stole that for a good long while.

They just walk away, blowing up what we thought was a really good life, and leaving us betrayed gasping for air like landed fish who were caught just for sport.

I know that after trying to for a decade, I will never understand why. I will never untangle the skein. I wish I could stop trying. 🤷‍♀️

I also know that I loved hard and true and that neither of them will never apologise for messing with my mental health, because they somehow feel that the end justified the devastating means. Their blissfulness was worth sacrificing me for.

Their love is bigger, better, more worthy. Right? I wasn’t worthy of love.

I loved hard.

It’s what I do.

And it’s scary AF. Because, for other people, somehow I am never enough. Okay?

I’m enough. Just loved the wrong man. Far too much. For far too long. It aches. So very, very badly.

I know how Trinket feels right now. That she’s won the love jackpot.

Because I felt that way until I knew about him fucking Leanne under my nose.




Until he replaces you just like that, and you realise you were just an appliance to be used up.

Anyway. Home now. Bled out my pain for today, it’s obviously a tired pain wave hitting again. It will pass.

Need to wash my hair and snuggle down nice and warm.

I miss my barman’s snuggles.

Love you all. Stay strong. Stay kind ❤


Memory floods

When you are in a pain wave, flashes of your life flood in, unexpectedly.

Wiping you out.

Dropping your heart through your feet.

Tonight as I fed the dogs, a huge flood nearly washed me away…

I had to sit down and breathe, my head between my knees.

The memory was visceral, and I felt it throughout my body. It was about how when my Love Monkey (🤮🤮🤮) was away (hunting, fishing, AKA fucking other women) he’d send me longing messages, about how much he missed and needed his Snuggle Bunny.

And, idiot that I was, I’d swoon and think how damn lucky I was to be so treasured, falling asleep with a heavily scented item of his clothing, imbued with the essence of him.

He was probably sending me those messages, lying in bed after licking Leanne to orgasm.

And the message flashed into my vision, one he sent me, by mistake, instead of Trinket one day when he was driving home from her place.

At first, I thought it really was for me. A fleeting moment where I thought he’d been down there, she’d bored him senseless, and he’d come to his senses, finished things with her and was driving back into my arms. A message of longing.

He’d already switched his love bombing to her. Completely dismissing me – the (cough) love of his life – for a stranger. Using the same language, the same nicknames, the same way of communicating to her that he had to me.

These moments are hard.

But you keep fighting 💔💪


When the roof falls in

Today, two days before I have a roofer booked to come look at my roof, the ceiling collapsed in the bathroom.

On my daughter.

Thankfully, she was unharmed.

The roof literally fell in, a metaphor for my relationship and life.

But damn. I got it looked at last year, and was told it was fine.

Yeah. Fine.

Sure it is.

So, days before Christmas, I had to ring three plumbing/roofing outfits, to get as someone to come and look at it, stop the rain from pouring in.

And no one can fix it for a month now.

Tomorrow I have a lodger coming to stay for a month…

And I rang my insurance broker, realising that the silver lining is now this is an insurance claim.

As I tried to get to grips with this, during the utter chaos of a Monday at work, I started to realise that this was the opportunity to renovate my grubby little bathroom.

If I’m getting a new roof, and gibstopping/painting, why not?

So, a plan is formulating. I realised I have never fully been the person who can (and has to) make all the decisions. I am thinking a fully tiled wet area, with light steampunking….

It’s a small space, and I need to be mindful of going too dark with my colour palette. So the lighter picture has potential. With exposed copper plumbing.

And, although it’s freeing, I’ve got to be honest, I miss having Rog to bounce ideas off. We were a good team, did a few good renos. Our disco diva bathroom, with a mirror ball, red claw foot bath, etc, back in the 90s was a favourite.

It is all on me this time.

I guess I won’t miss him telling me I can’t.

My heart is forever broken that we have missed out on the promise of these years.

Forge on, Paula. In your broken house. A metaphor for your broken home and broken heart xxx

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Lots and lots of aches

Spending time with our eldest was just fantastic this weekend. The film festival movies were lit.

But, I admit, I am triggered by being with our children. Made with such intense love. The struggles of babyhood and being new young parents, but the way that forges you even closer than before. My heart aches so hard remembering how truly fantastic we were. How much love there APPEARED to be.

The film we saw at lunchtime was hard. A Vietnamese one called The Third Wife. During it a very young first time mother, labouring, when she was struggling to birth her child, a make shift episiotomy was performed. And later, she was struggling with a very unsettled, constantly crying baby.

Triggered! I had an enormous episiotomy when our eldest was born. And through my tearing fears, and the subsequent stitches over tight old scars from the rape repair, was a major physical difficulty I struggled with for around tbe first year of her life. We still had a lot of amazing sex, first tenderly making love despite those stitches just the day after she was born. But I had to be VERY careful with certain positions for quite a long time, and it did concern me a lot. That maybe I was never going to have the full range of my previous sexual capabilities.

It was genuinely scary.

I was chatting with my daughter, S about life today. She’s a good egg. And she asked me if my new life is mostly good now. She knows about my heartbreak, and we visited the site where my new apartment is to be built. She said she’s proud of me pushing forward despite my pain. Cute. I really appreciated hearing that. She’s at a career crossroads and is seeing a careers coach and has applied for a couple of jobs that are not using her trade. We talked about one in particular that she would be fantastic for, but it isn’t fulltime. I approached the idea of part time study, and she isn’t opposed to it.

She mentioned that our old friends probably don’t get me and my new way of having to be now…

She is very intuitive.

And the reason for that is because I have no fucking choice but to reinvent, and start over. He just stopped loving me.

If he ever really did.

It just keeps hurting. And I know there is absolutely NOTHING I can, or could do. You just have to absorb and accept the pain will probably never go away. All those babies, all those miscarriages, all that deep, profound love. Pouff! Gone.

My kids are fantastic. S always books us into the BEST restaurants. We ate at a fantastic Japanese inspired place last night. We ate well. And I need a month to detox from eating and drinking far too well!

The left was my tamarillo sorbet on a Brie de Meaux thingie. Right was sesame tuile and something delicious. I forget, 🤣 it was all insanely good!

I’m so damn privileged to have these great people I made, to spend time with them, to laugh with them. To help them, as they help me.

I wish I could have spent the past two weekends with my two eldest, without the past two years happening. In other words, with the man I love. Their father.

The one who disappeared, and no longer exists. My love, my heart, before he was body snatched by aliens and now lives with a stranger, a widow and her kids.

That is the weirdest part of it all. Thirty years of love, just wiped from existence. He just transplanted himself elsewhere, with a stranger. Carry on…


Fun night

This has been a big weekend. Glorious, almost spring-like weather.

At last.

I stayed home all weekend and worked. I fenced. I mowed. I gibstopped. I sanded and sealed.

I mentally changed plans about the fire surround and hearth. Think I am going to do black. And then paint my interior doors black.

I stacked bricks. I planted. I did tractor work – moving half of the logs from the earlier arborist visit, up nearer to the barn, ready to chainsaw into rounds to dry before splitting for firewood.

I organised a shearer to come to sort my wee flock out. Get them in so I can drench them, vaccinate, tail and castrate lambs, etc, at the same time.

And all along, all weekend my heart was racing, burning, hurting so much. I often have this, just anxiety and heartache. I wasn’t rushing, nor straining myself. Just steadily checking things off a list.

I honestly try so hard to keep moving, planning good things, catching up with friends, bushwalks, bike rides, beach trips. But I have NEVER cried so much in all my life! I can’t seem to stop the damn tears!!! I didn’t think I was a massive crier prior to DDay. Think I am quite a tough cookie. I dropped a log on my good knee today, and it wasn’t too bad. Will be a nasty bruise in the morning. Physical pain, I tolerate well. But as soon as my heart burns, my chest aches, my lip starts wobbling as I am doing the most mundane of things, and then, it’s all on. Freaking waterworks.

And, to top it all off, late tonight I had a trip to A&E. And some time on the ECG machine and an angiogram and bloods. I am a bloody pin cushion these days! Thankfully, nothing looks damaged or blocked, suspected – wait for it, ugh – broken heart syndrome. They have let me come home (dogs, they wanted me to stay overnight, but I convinced them to let me out) and I have just got back. On beta blockers for a month or two. Fuck’s sake. What next?