Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Yup. Another extension to lockdown in my region. Thursday night lift has now been extended to Monday night.

My weekend plans (which basically consisted of tying BG to the bed, the hormones are RAMPANT!) are thwarted again.

I’m not dealing with that super well.

It really is odd. How you can be a happily autonomous being, and you then absolutely hate having to go a few weeks without a certain person.

Aunty Cindy is becoming a world class cockblocker.

Anyway, guess it means more gardening. More chainsawing. More “adult toys.”


In other news, the tension in my body has backed off a notch or two, knowing my 28 year old daughter is no longer under the same roof as that whore who fucks her father.


Lockdown blues

Today is day 11 of complete lockdown. I just calculated that this is 14 days since I have touched my boy.

Level 4 won’t be over before this Wednesday, at the earliest. In Level 3, we are still not allowed to travel outside of our immediate area. That will be another week or two, minimum. That will mean BG and I won’t have seen each other for at least a month.

This doesn’t sound that long. Lots of people I know have partners who travel overseas for work, or live on separate continents.

I’m feeling very pathetic. I was good on my own. Living a single life. Planning on staying that way.

But, I’m obviously pathetic. Roger and I rarely had many nights apart. In 30 years. He hunted, and went on overnight fishing trips. I occasionally took the kids to my mother’s. She died when they were very young, so that didn’t happen much. Or I worked the yearling sales, away for a few nights. I think the longest we ever had apart was maybe a week? When him and his mates got a ballot block hunting wapiti in Fiordland.

So, in a relationship, I’m obviously a disgusting needy bitch. Who fkn knew???

It’s affecting me. I know this. Aching for touch. Missing being able to snuggle. Horny AF. Yeah, I know, toys. They get a workout.

Not the same. It’s that comfort. That physical reassurance. I’m ashamed that I am this way.

And then I realise I am being a bit hard on myself. I have kids, and great friends, who have hugged and held me on this healing journey. On my own, during lockdown, I can’t snuggle down in her bed, with my daughter, hug a friend. Touch another human.

My brother is having a terrible mental health crisis. His head injury, pending divorce, job loss when he can’t move up here during lockdown, as he had planned…and then my Dad, down there trying to support him, ended up back in hospital with a mystery illness, scarily similar symptoms to those he had last year, culminating in the loss of a kidney. My youngest daughter, walking her own mental health balance beam. Yesterday’s extension of lockdown announcement meaning she will never return to her office. Her resignation effective during the extension, she feels deflated. Won’t get a proper send off, with her beloved colleagues.

My most recent off the plan apartment purchase finally had title issued yesterday. Trying to coordinate legal and mortgage paperwork remotely is becoming a challenge. Banks especially, like you to sign mortgage paperwork, in person.

My boss is being her usual lockdown utter control freak. Having zero access to our database, trying to work out of Dropbox, is frustrating, to say the least. I have cried four times over this. It’s utterly miserable being cut off at the knees, and I feel like my 15 years of dedication and loyalty to her is being rewarded with mistrust and ugliness.

I haven’t heard any more about the job I applied for almost a month ago. A single email. We are compiling a shortlist. We will get back to you shortly.

No other opportunities that look likely.

Timing. It couldn’t be more shit.

I need a damn hug. And some very vigorous sex, to be honest.

I feel like shit. And probably at best, halfway through this current situation.

So, good old Winston’s words to the fore, yet again.

Because I won’t let them beat me. Those damn suicidal thoughts that I can see peeping on the periphery of my vision. They can just fuck right off before they get anywhere near me again!

And, to be honest, they have only ever been a real threat when Roger chose other people. I always manage to lift myself up about everything else.

And BG sent me a message today, saying he us working on a plan. Whatever that may be. Relocating here, to base himself until Level 2, when he can open again, albeit with restrictions? I don’t know what his plan is. But I appreciate that he’s thinking about it!

And the most awful thing of all is, that while I do miss him. Do love him.

It’s not the depth I felt for Rog. And I’m pretty sure I will never have that love, that security, that enveloping safety and warmth I thought I had for at least 23 of those 30 years.



BG is a bloody honey!

He doesn’t know it, but I’ve had a week where I have felt very out of sorts. No real reason, just a lot going on. And he has helped. Kinda anyway. Just having him miss me is nice.

I’ve started the job hunt and as many may relate, it’s a bit disheartening. But if I find something worthwhile, I’ll have a good crack at it. The problem is, I’m at the top of my payscale for this current type of employment. And I get the same salary working four days a week that I did working five. That will be hard to replicate. I really think this is a case of needing to own my own business…but with another real estate deal about to settle, and a bathroom reno to pay for, I need to consolidate finances right now.


My poor son’s flight to his new job overseas was cancelled – again. He’s frustrated. I was all sorted, trailer hitched up, to go shift him out of his flat today, Friday, as he was flying tomorrow. Nope. Not now. He’s decided to go to work instead. His ex employer (he’d resigned to move to his new position in Australia) has been good to him, and given him some temp projects as this delay drags on.

My youngest had an enormous mental health week. I am very concerned for her, but at least she’s talking, sharing her bottoming out with me. And plans to tell her therapist the full extent. She has been holding some back.

On top of all of that, my libido is crazy, I’m off the scale right now…

Anyway, BG sent me sweet messages last night. He’d had a committee meeting, must have gone on late, as he was having what he called “whinge drinks” afterwards with the president.

And sent me a message saying how much he missed me, and how he didn’t deserve me and my support.

He always thinks he’s punching above with me, which cracks me up. Self flagellating. His friends don’t realise how fragile he is, his self doubts. His worry about not “being enough.” He comes across as very comfortable in his own skin.

But yeah, it’s good for the bashed ego, for sure, for me to hear how he treasures having me in his life.


The same damn journey

I was reading Walking the Journey’s post this morning, about her feelings around her D-day antiversary.

Ugh, ALL the feelz…

It’s the same damn story. These guys who cheat. They find a willing woman to impress, have a honeymoon period with, all fresh, exciting, new. Meanwhile, the long term partners are thinking they have a monogamous relationship – in WTJ and my own situations, we “caught” them cheating (or the cheating was exposed to me in my case – I was so dumb I believed his damn lies…) and then believed we were working towards healing from affairs. Promises were made, lies were told. We were duped into believing them AGAIN!

As she writes below, we both thought we were exclusive, and yet, she and I were/are painted as these crazy women, when all we were doing was trying to fight for the relationship we should NEVER have been put in such a position to have to do so! There were promises made. Honesty pledged. STI fears expressed. And I know I BEGGED for honesty, openness, transparency – and most of all, for him not to put his penis in other women at the same time he was doing that to me.

He swears he won’t contact her again. So to hide her from me, he buys a burner phone on the 23rd and creates a fake facebook account to be in contact with her.

All the while, he is sleeping with me. But he’s telling her his marriage is over.

He’s telling her he sleeps in another room. Poor him, his wife is so crazy and horrible and won’t have sex with him. Poor husband. Poor Whore, she can’t have him whenever she wants because of his crazy, insane wife.

He tells her he stays for the kids and needs to work this out before he can leave. He tells her his mean crazy wife will play games and not allow him to see the kids. He has a lot to work out, but he’s leaving soon. He promises poor Whore that he will leave as soon as he can.

Meanwhile crazy wife is having amazing sex and thinking she had stopped the affair before it began. Crazy wife has no idea what is really going on.

He maintained the entire 8 months with her that his marriage was over and he was lonely and abused and not loved.

And I’m fighting with all I have to show him how much I love him and that we have something worth fighting for. No matter what he did, I wasn’t giving up.

I think thats the worst part of it all for me. How hard I was fighting for him, all the while being lied to and cheated on.

I even get angry that I felt moments of empathy for the trashwhore. He lied to her too.

I feel sick. This is the terrible frustration with a cheater. They promise you the moon, and deliver shit sandwiches.

And I am so blessed. I have this incredible, incredible friend, better than any sister, who gets me, understands this. Today she was feeling philosophical, and helped me so much with this





I really do have some amazing people, and a wonderful life.

Shame he didn’t want to share that with me. I was a DAMN good partner, and I loved that man SO much.


I am now off to the lake to do my reccy – and am checking on another friend’s holiday home, too, just at the next bay. Will be a loooooong night x


We did it

Our son’s graduation day done. Was really good, but I’m exhausted.

Been carrying around all this anxiety and the really, really, REALLY stupid thing is this. Roger and I get on like a house on fire. Chatted away, smiled and laughed all day and all through dinner. We get each other. We like a lot of the same stuff. We have thirty years of wonderful history together. We built a life and a gorgeous family. But it’s so very weird not to be able to share properly with him. To have a giant filter on, to not be able to touch him lovingly, kiss and stroke that face with my fingers, tell him how much I love him, etc. Would love to post a photo of the kiddos, but won’t invade their privacy. So beautiful. I just beamed with rays of love coming out of my pores for them.

I do realise this is Roger’s modus operandi, that oh-so-endearing charm. He’s so “nice” and totally lovable. I see how Trinket is so into him, it makes me feel really nauseous… threw up twice with nerves and thinking about them together..ugh. The whole thing is so FUCKING stupid.

He has just built a new life away from the farm, that I begged him to sell after his affair with Leanne there, and just swapped me out for Trinket. Pretty cruel. And pretty damn stupid.

The stupidity is this, we really like each other. And if he hadn’t run out of patience, and started the sneaky online shit, Trinket would have never existed and we could have worked things out.

That is the absolute crux of my pain. Not being given the chance to demonstrate my healing. Not being given a say.

Anyway, I also know that if he wouldn’t give me that, given that I gave him second and third – etc – chances when he cheated, and I never did anything but be hurt by his choosing other women, fucking other women, chatting to other women (surely you are allowed to be hurt by such betrayals???) and given his penchant to sample other women from time to time, that isn’t a good omen for me.

However, glad we did it. And the kids were great. Driving him to airport tomorrow. Such a fucking huge waste. Such an avoidable amount of agonising pain and suffering.



Last night was quite funny. I went to an indie movie with a friend, and when I got home, my mate whose partner left her three years ago for his ho-worker, has shared custody of their two sons, who lives in Sydney, and is the little sister of my former BFF, messaged me in frustration. She is pretty magic. Has a wonderful attitude and outlook mostly. She is the one who still sends me daily affirmations. Lives so positively. Gorgeous girl.

Anyway, she had a few frustrating co-parenting issues this week and needed to let off steam in a safe space. So she did. She talked about how her three married sisters go on about how ‘nice’ her ex is. The one who is divorced knows, but she experienced this too. An arsehole throughout their divorce, who got full custody of their daughters for a year, despite her fighting hard for them, then she got them back, because parenting is hard, right? He just took them to hurt her. Lucy, my friend in Sydney herself has a good, workable relationship with her ex. But he is not nice. He lied and cheated, told her he had broken it off with the ho-worker, my friend stayed, then found out he never broke it off. (Hmmm, ding, ding, ding! Roger fucking Leanne again two years after he “ended it,” anyone???) and his new partner is a real covert bitch to their kids. It makes her want to scream when her own sisters say he’s a nice guy.

The funny thing is, her sister who was my best mate since childhood, is the worst at this.

And she actually did it to me the other day, too. There is absolutely nothing you can do. If you protest and say, hey, please don’t tell me how lovely my ex is, he hurt me very deliberately, and very cruelly, my heart is so, so broken, you have no idea, then you look like a bitter bunny.

So, you smile and nod.

And stay silent. Your heart pounding in pain. Because, yeah. I once thought he was lovely, too. Why do you think I loved him desperately for three fucking decades, even after he cheated on me, lady???

Then you get in your car, drive away and scream in utter frustration at the bloody image management. Expert Level.

Anyway, she vented, I understood, and we brushed it off with a few laughs.

Nice indeed. Don’t get me started on my nice v kind rant!

Having a fab day, getting some chores ticked off.

I was looking for a piece of art I bought when I was at the lake house the other day, and got distracted by my friend arriving, and forgot that I didn’t locate it. I have been shopping for some homewares for the room I am doing up, and realised I was missing that piece.

I bought this ethnic sculpture, it’s a really cool, tall shape, and I just could not find it anywhere.

I guess it now lives with Roger and Trinket.

FFS. That was mine. He does tend to just help himself to shit. It is seriously uncool.

The dining table he took to his new home was in our maimai, but actually belongs to our friends. They were not that impressed, my friend, Violet told me, but they let it go.

He took an armchair that “we” gave to our eldest daughter when she turned 21.

And now I am assuming he has helped himself to my art.

Good work.

Entitled people do my head in.


The benefit of the doubt

There have been some angry, frustrated words about Trinket poured out here. It comes in waves. Waves of utter exasperation that she was unable to understand my position in all of this.

That floored me. Because I mostly converse with betrayed spouses who are doing a lot of work to understand themselves, their cheaters, and their relationships, whether they are working at rebuilding that partnership, or rebuilding themselves, I just hardly considered that a former betrayed would swallow the stories of a cheater. Again.

But, I thought about it recently. If lying (and cheating) is all you know, why would you expect anything more? If she at least has fun with him, maybe she just expects to be lied to and cheated on, and that doesn’t bother her at all? Not everyone needs monogamy and truth to be happy, perhaps?

I don’t hate her. I do have angry moments that are directed at her choices, my frustration showing. I am just disappointed in her choosing to hurt a faithful partner in believing his stories. At not at least giving me that asked for three months, to see what happened, she appeared to understand me asking her for it. As someone who lived with a cheater who at least once wanted to leave her, I really thought she would see my kinda desperate drive down to meet her, in shock and pain, as a red flag, and a cry from a fellow betrayed for help. No one has seen what I have been dealing with in the aftermath of the Leanne affair. I have had a couple of friends say to me recently that they now have a little more insight into why I was struggling.


He did not do the work to make me feel safe. They didn’t know he would not change his phone number. That he had sex with her again two years after he apparently broke up with her. That there was tens of thousands of text messages to other women on dating apps. That he was keeping all of this information from me. After all he really is a super convincing, ‘nice guy.’ People really LIKE Rog.


There are times when I wish she did know my story. But, I have no control over any of that, she only gets his version, which no doubt helps her feel not like she’s not an OW. It’s not that she deliberately chose this pain for another person, how could she possibly have any idea how badly I have been hurt, that I battle suicidal ideation almost daily? It’s that she thinks we were done, that I was a bad partner, who no longer loved him. Move on. And I doubt she really thinks of me much at all, in reality. Too loved up and getting shagged within an inch of her life! I know his version will be that we were separated. But, I think you need to both be aware of this BEFORE there is any looking around for a new partner.

Too much to ask?

Two years of internet dating, while my belief – what we had discussed – was that we were waiting AT LEAST until the pressure of my Masters had passed. That isn’t single. Not in my book anyway.

And as the saying goes, change what you can’t accept, and accept what you can’t change. I realised many, many years ago that Roger is an immovable object (stubborn mothafucka) when he has DECIDED. There was no way I was ever going to be able to convince him that the thesis was the final piece of the healing puzzle for me. No way. I bet he still doesn’t believe it. He puts up this uber cool, totally in control persona. Why would anyone doubt Roger, the all-knowing?


One thing that has been very clear to me in this journey through hell it that my gut always knew. It knew he was cheating with Leanne, long before my head ever had any idea. It was the reason I begged him to go to couples’ counselling, and he refused. I ‘knew’ something was not right – I just never suspected an affair


So, his irrefutable logic was that I was never going to heal – because he DECIDED on that narrative, and yet my gut told me that it was time, that I did feel good with him again. Oh, the irony! And the sexism! A man decided how I thought and felt. Because I am obviously not capable. Such a clear example of binary thinking that masculinist tradition allows for. And marginalises women and their opinions and emotions.

Anyway, more stream of consciousness stuff being brain dumped here, to try to settle my mind. I didn’t leave work until 8pm, and it is now 1am. I need to try to get some sleep. Read a book for half an hour, maybe…

Night all x


Can You Die of a Broken Heart?

So, my health took another nosedive the weekend before last. I ended up in the Emergency Department of my closest city’s hospital, with serious chest pains, and difficulty breathing.

It was 2am.

I was put on the ECG machine, and an angiogram was performed. I was eventually diagnosed as suffering from stress-induced cardiomyopathy – broken heart syndrome. I have blogged about this scary experience. I have been monitored closely for the past week or so, and my regular cancer blood draws have now had heart tests added to them. Interestingly, it affects women waaaay more often (we obviously FEEL pain more deeply) and, even more tellingly, it does not heal with re-partnering, as it does for men. Hmm, Roger, in a nutshell. He feels no pain, because he has plastered over the hideousness of divorce with a new woman, dropping his pain levels instantly.

As this article from the NZ Herald states:


While separation, divorce or breaking up with a partner are not the same as watching your soulmate die, they still put your heart through the mill. For women who are divorced, the risk of a heart attack is between 1.29 and 1.39 times higher than for women who remain married.

For men, the figures are similar, with the risk of heart attack for those who are divorced being 1.38 times greater than for their married counterparts.

What is different, though, is that, when men remarry, the risk drops back down — but this doesn’t happen to women when they find a new partner.

To put the figures into perspective, the risk posed by divorce to a woman’s heart health is on a similar level to that of high blood pressure or smoking.

Not surprisingly, of course, the more divorces you have, then the worse it is for your heart.”

It is a real, and quite terrifying thing. I feel like I have watched my soulmate die – but then someone else still walks around in his body, and worse, another women gets to use that body! – it is fucking UNBEARABLE!!! My heart is under a fuckload of stress at the moment. I am on beta blockers, trying to keep me calm (and non-suicidal.) I have a woman who decided to ignore my warnings that she was dating a man who was NOT single – who had a loving, exceptionally hurt partner and three children, and yet, her happiness, her high, of his attention, was more important than any of the heartbreak (now, quite damn literally) that her participation in such a relationship – NO MATTER WHAT HE TOLD HER, I TOLD HER THE TRUTH OF HIS DECEPTION AND LIES – has caused a family to fall apart.

I have blogged before about her lack of care, about how she chose to believe his bullshit stories, has taken no heed of his past. My past will most likely be her future. So everyone keeps telling me, but I somehow doubt it. Because, whilst they live apart, and are all loved up, going to movies, art galleries, dinners at nice restaurants, climbing mountains, bike excursions into the countryside with picnics, etc, they can play at happy families, he can charm the pants quite literally off her. This man was telling me he loved me forever and would never stop trying to make up to me for the pain he caused, whilst chatting to other women all over the country. I know, and have saved evidence that he was still chatting to one of them months into a new ‘commitment’ to this current one.

She has never approached me to hear my side of the story, or to apologise for luring a man who was clearly not leaving me – he had stayed with me through the pain and anguish and apparently recommitted to me after his huge affair – without having a back up woman ready and waiting. He was never going to leave and be alone. He has never been alone in his entire life. She even heard some of the disrespectful things he told me about her, just weeks into this, and it did not raise any red flags for her. Her self esteem must be in the gutter. No way would I be with a man who spoke about me the way he did about her! Instead of realising the damage she created, by participating in his stupid bullshit lies, because hey, she feels good – if it feels good, do it, right???

I have read a few things lately, about remorseful OW. The ones who got carried away by the charm, the lies, and excitement of “new love” and fuck the wife and kids, I DESERVE TO BE HAPPY! Who, later down the track learn that the lies were real, he really did fuck over a good, loving woman to pursue the new target of his affection, way too late.

By the time these women finally work out who these guys are, it is too late. Their self esteem is ruined, the woman who was loyal to a lying, unloving, cheating prick, who she absolutely loved, and wanted to make it work with, is broken, and the whole damn house of cards is falling. The man never gets the chance to actually do the hard work of becoming a better man really down deep, he just gets to polish his image to the new woman, playing at wanting to be better for her, that she has somehow earned the right for him to be faithful, even after all the betrayed partner did to learn to forgive, to teach him how to be a better person, to love fully and with everything. The new woman gets the improved model, because I worked hard at trying to get him into counselling (he was extremely reluctant, and never did any research into cheating, or why he behaved the way he did – that was all on me) even if it is currently just image management, and putting on a good front…

house of cards

Because Rog, so cleverly ran, and moved his whole life, his means of earning a living, away from the town where the past is known, his cheating is not a factor for them. He does not have to go to the pub, and see my friends, who know what he did. He doesn’t have to sit in the school hall, knowing that the locals know who he is. I have had to sit quietly, after an initial shock reaction, when I tried to tell his two best mates what he had done, who he really is, what I had been living with. And the locals are coming ’round. There have been several approach me lately, saying, hell, I’m so sorry, Paula, I can see what he did, and what you had to put up with. He seemed so sorry, but we did not know what you were experiencing. He seems so damn ‘nice.’ The truth is now seeping out into the world, he just managed to outrun the toxic backlash of that truth by relocating and reconnecting with family members who did not know us through the most painful thing he ever did to me.

Whereas she can introduce him to her friends and family as her loving new partner, they don’t go, oh, shit, Trinket has taken on another fucking cheater, we need to look out for her. He rarely has to deal with his own children, instead, she has co-opted him to be a surrogate father to hers. He can pretend he is a loving, upstanding partner, like he did with me, until he was rumbled by a scorned affair partner. If Leanne had never told me, I would never have found out about the double life he lead for at least eighteen months. We would still be together, he would be breathing a huge sigh of relief that he did not lose the woman his mother described as his best asset – but hey, he would have missed out on his Trinket, so there is that… After all, she is obviously more beloved by him than I ever was, and THAT is the root of all my pain. That I gave it everything, and there is nothing left in the tank. He never gave me any agency in any of it. I didn’t get to choose whether he broke my heart by cheating on me, despoiling my homes, I didn’t get time to heal, because he kept pushing me to do it faster than I was capable of, and I found a way to make me feel okay about me again, to rebuild my self worth, and he went, ah, fuck, can’t have her feeling good about herself, I think I will replace her, she gets no say in this.

Because of this, the fact that he never has ever admitted to any other affairs, without me physically confronting him, with evidence, he just has never confessed, come clean, he only knows how to bury his secretive, deceptive behaviour very, very well, very, very deeply. And Trinket, who has lived this life before, with a secretive, deceptive cheater, who will never let her know, has jumped back in the shark tank, thinking this time, I have a pretty shark. He won’t eat me, he’s too pretty.

And sadly, she might be right. The fear of every rejected and discarded faithful spouse is that they will be better for the next one. It shouldn’t matter, they were not capable of being faithful to us, but it is the total injustice of the idea that I fixed him for a woman to ‘steal’ him away that feels so, so terrible, and totally shreds my heart.


Regrouping. Always

I’m such a pile of sunshine and light, lol! Had a particularly shit day yesterday. So, will briefly … debrief, and press reset.

I was going through the computer, looking for some information for our accountant, and came across some files in some really weird places, and opened. Oh fuck. Not cool, some saved stuff between them, and a couple of other women from well before I knew he was cheating again. Further before than he has previously admitted to. And kinda gross stuff – with REALLY bad photos, lol. It really threw me. I don’t know why. It is quite odd, that I am still totally blown away that he lies, I mean, when someone shows you who they are, right???

So, I was pretty bad, and just got in my car, and took some clean linen that my daughter had left here after using my dryer, and went to her. She has work this weekend, so was having a quiet night in. I didn’t say a thing to her, just jumped in bed with her and watched some Netflix. I had my little dog with me, and she snuggled down. I ended up staying the night. Which was so the right thing to do.

I also did something I have only done once before. I got a comment on here, that I deleted. It was from someone telling me to change my therapist, and admit myself to a psych hospital. One of those, you-need-to-get-over-it comments. You will not get better writing about it and sharing online – was quite abusive in tone actually – um, many psychologists disagree! Writing was so cathartic to me in the production of my thesis – it was a physical process of opening up and absorbing the healing process. Hey lady (I am assuming a woman, from the username) I know. I know I am trying so hard here. In my country, it ain’t that easy to get the right kind of mental health help. You can’t just check yourself into a psych hospital! They won’t bloody take you! I have now stopped seeing the therapist I was, she was very expensive, and not dealing with the trauma effectively. I do have some more tools in my arsenal now that she has given me, and I will keep working to find what it is I need. I have also been sent some links to some retreats, which I am considering – the darling friend who sent them suffered suicidal trauma after her DDay, and credits the retreat with saving her life. You’ve gotta take that seriously. Once again, finance does come into this…dammit

Home now, deleted the files I found, and am DETERMINED to move forward from this heartbreak.

I had a good, long hard think about reality versus what a cheater constructs as your reality, and decided to go back and start to own MY reality – even if he was cheating and lying all over it. I truly FELT loved and treasured. I TRULY loved and treasured him. He was my everything, my bear, my monkey, my Hunk Lumox, and the man I trusted with all my secrets, all my fears, all my flaws. Turns out that was a bad move, but hey, I loved completely, entirely, with every atom of my being. I don’t know how to do it half-arsed.

So, this idea that I didn’t love him anymore after DDay – that he has told friends, Trinket, his family, is bullshit. I told him I loved him every day. Some days I told him that the love was changed, damaged, but changed might not be a bad thing, and that I still loved him, despite him doing the worst thing he could do to me, use my trust to have his whores in my homes (so I got to visualise him balls deep in them in my own ‘safe’ spaces.) And somehow, a couple of people who knew me for sometimes over thirty years, bought his story. They knew he cheated on me, that I was loyal, loving and gave my all, and yet, a couple of them went, oh shit, that Paula, she must have deserved this. Like the Great Betrayals article referenced in my last post, the cheater, who was SEEN to be trying for redemption (yeah, image management, great job, Rog – fuck he is so good at that manipulation shit!) was forgiven, and I was somehow vilified, as the bitter and sad rejected loser that he didn’t want anymore, a la Fels’ (2013) description of the injustice:

“Discoveries of such secrets typically bring on tumultuous crises. Ironically, however, in my clinical experience, it is often the person who lied or cheated who has the easier time. People who transgressed might feel self-loathing, regret or shame. But they have the possibility of change going forward, and their sense of their own narrative, problematic though it may be, is intact. They knew all along what they were doing and made their own decisions. They may have made bad choices, but at least those were their own and under their control. Now they can make new, better choices.”

However, for the cheated on, she writes;

“As a psychiatrist, I can tell you that it’s often a painstaking process to reconstruct a coherent personal history piece by piece — one that acknowledges the deception while reaffirming the actual life experience. Yet it’s work that needs to be done. Moving forward in life is hard or even, at times, impossible, without owning a narrative of one’s past. Isak Dinesenhas been quoted as saying “all sorrows can be borne if you put them in a story or tell a story about them.” Perhaps robbing someone of his or her story is the greatest betrayal of all.” (Fels 2013).

Lucky them, right, they get to be shiny and new – in my case – for Trinket, the stupid ex-betrayed who believes this magnificent mindfucker. Having such a blast, hand holding, longing gazes into each others’ eyes over large buckets of chardonnay…ah, how sweet are they? I keep thinking about what they look like to the outside world. A late middle aged couple, sitting there in that cafe, all loved up, how lovely is that? Naw. You never know the backstory, do you? How they lied and cheated their way over a loving, hurt woman, and her family to display that image to the world.

As for that small handful of cheater-liar-believers. Well. Fuck ’em. Or, in the prosaic words of Sweet Brown:

ain't nobody

So, onto the owning my reality. I really loved him. And worked my butt off to try to trust him again, even though I kept catching him in lies and untruths all along. We did have some magnificent times. Even after DDay. He thinks we didn’t. Here is a brief highlights package (if only he would have listened to me about this, instead of galloping off with Trinket luring him away. He just needed to sit and LISTEN to me for once in his life. Ugh, so stupid to blame her, but I absolutely guarantee that had she not existed, we would be together now – and before anyone states the obvious – until the next one, I do know that. But, he was not leaving anyone until he had a better option lined up. My daughter said that to me the other night, too. If Trinket was not there, to catch his fall, he would not have jumped. This time.)

We took a family holiday just a few years ago which was unbelievable. We never had much money, so this kind of thing never happened. But, our eldest daughter had long ago left home, and we realised we should do a fun trip with the younger two. Fortuitously, the oldest boomeranged home again, just before we left. It was just magic. We went horse trekking, and spent the night in a gorgeous wee historic house, at the top of the lake. There was a huge storm overnight, and Roger and I snuggled up close, making love quietly and urgently as the lightning lit up the sky. I love thunderstorms at night, probably because they make me ‘frisky’ and I loved his softness, and attention, as he held me protectively.

That night was something else, to be held like that in a small bed, aching all over from previously unused riding muscles, in a house with no electricity, like he was never going to let me go. Man, swoooooooooon. I just melt thinking about it now…

and travelled around some of our more beautiful areas


Doubtful Sound snapped on my phone camera from Wilmot Pass

We worked together, happily, in our farming life together, even after DDay, loved my animals… and spending time with him, snuggling close into his back, hugging him tightly, my hands sometimes ‘wandering’as we drove around the hills on the quadbike, breathing in the sweaty, earthy scent of his working self…

We grew vegetables for our family, in the raised beds he made for me…


We opened our home to exchange students, our Argentinian daughter, especially…


Youngest daughter and Argentinian daughter at the spring about 1km from our old home

We had THE MOST ROMANTIC holiday to visit that daughter and her family, just the two of us, travelling through Argentina. I LOVED this so much. Yes, there were sad moments, I was reflective, about what had happened, but I loved the trip, loved our spontaneity, and the sights we saw, the places we stayed, the art, the museums, the wide open spaces, we even went to a horse race meeting!


Purmamarca, Jujuy province


Inside Catedral Basilica de Salta

We had wonderful, relaxing mini breaks, on our boat, hanging out, fishing – I love fishing…evening relaxation on the lake, taking long walks, drinking a glass of red wine, curled up together on the couch, reading in front of a blazing fire, at the bach.


We loved our racehorses – this picture was taken prior to the first start of our most successful homebred horse, ‘Louis.’ We also had what I think was the defining moment, I have been told this was the moment he decided to leave me (but did not have the guts to do so at the time, was waiting for the next woman to be firmly lined up first) over this horse. I feel so awful when I recall the moment. We were driving to see him race, and were running a little late. Roger was driving, his phone rang, and decided to take the call. He has been tech challenged in general, although I think since he has had to deal with his own affairs (pardon the pun…) he has improved these skills. However, at the time, he did not have his phone connected to Bluetooth, and was driving, fast, on a narrow, windy country road, with me in the passenger seat. I asked him not to answer it as he was driving, and he did, I yelled at him as he did. Yep, he left me over being a harpy. Fuck, it was way more awful than I have described. And although I felt in danger, I was in the wrong, as the trainer was calling, and he heard me yell…ick, I feel sick…


The point is, despite niggles – and sometimes hard times – I loved him. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to heal enough to stay. I wanted him to understand how he had made me feel by having a long affair with our friend, in our homes, and how there was not a quick fix. One does not just magically ‘move on’ when you love someone very, very deeply, and they betray you. It takes years of hard work. And very, very deep, passionate and MUTUAL love. But, the fact that I was still there, fighting for us, fighting for sanity and to trust him after his choices to explode our love story, that was real. My foolish life was me really loving him. He just refused to consider it when I knew I had finally done what I needed to do to rebuild my self esteem, in gaining a higher degree, and a separate identity to being Roger’s partner. He lost the power position in the relationship, and took the easy way out by trading down to the beige mouse – the former betrayed who is now revelling in finally having won the prize after a marriage spent coming second, or third, or eleventh, she wins at last, woohoo! – whom our friend Bella described.

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Woo woos

I am having really weird juju tonight.

I can’t explain it. Just this bizarre vibration or tension I feel. It feels like he is nearby.

And that is really odd, because I am unable to go home as my father is doing my head in. I don’t even like him very much, and never expected him to still be in my house! So, I got in my car and headed to a nearby beach town. A place I normally feel at ease in. Am holed up in an Airbnb here. Which is really cute.

My oncology appointment kinda depressed me today, followed by a good therapy appointment, where we discussed who I am. What my core values are, and how values and behaviour interact. So. To get out of my head, I came over the hill, to the beach. Had a cocktail and a salad and sitting here shivering with these odd feelings. And I realised, I don’t ever not think about him. And it has always been like this for me.

When he went into the bush, hunting.

Away fishing.

When I went to the UK for 6 months.

At work.

I can’t turn my thoughts away from him. So I am probably just being ‘normal – for me.’

But it is a weird feeling, shuddery, like he is nearby. And not all that well? I have always had this bizarre, embodied connection to what he is doing, where he is, who he is with. Ugh. Creepy. And quite insane.

So stupid really. Probably just because this is the city where he came during his (unbeknownst to me at the time) internet dating period. To stay in a motel here. Who knows who with?

So, just gonna blah on here to get it out of me.

Love. Loving someone who makes you feel sick. It’s a shit of a thing.

We discussed this in therapy today. How frustrated I am about still loving this man I feel such a deep connection with. And why I do. It is so destructive. And I know better. Never thought I would be this girl. This stupid girl.

My therapist asked me, yet again, why I kept compromising who I am for him. And it came out that for more than twenty-five years, he was able to make me feel so treasured, so special, so loved. Because he knew that was what made me malleable, agreeable, able to do as he wanted. I ache to feel that way again.



Youngest daughter told me on Friday that when her Dad finally showed up at her flat, one of her male flatmates was quite rude. He said to her, “wow, is that your Dad? How the hell did he get your Mum? Punching. He ugly.” To which daughter turned to him and said, “really? Not cool, dude. I look the most like him of all of us.” But she told me this story, no doubt to try to make me feel better.

I didn’t. I just thought how shallow people are. I am no raving beauty. And Rog is a perfectly fine looking, older, bald man. With great bone structure, and kind soft eyes.

Whom I miss. But am glad he is safely tucked away in the arms of another woman right now. Because that is safest for me right now.

Feeling very vulnerable tonight. And hella horny. What a combination. Glad I came over here. Can wake up to the sound of the ocean, and go for a walk on the beach, then head straight to work. I am so lucky to have this option. To practice self care when I need it.

I also looked up more info on narcissism tonight. To remind myself of the idealise, devalue, discard that these people do.

And some stats about how many people on the dating apps/sites are liars. And the numbers were staggering, according to Psychology Today, “A study of over 1,000 online daters in the US and UK conducted by global research agency OpinionMatters founds some very interesting statistics. A total of 53% of US participants admitted to having lied in their online dating profile.

So, Rog telling Trinket he was single was not that surprising. The sites are crawling with liars. And is the major reason I won’t take his advice, and put myself out there in that way. It makes me feel so sad for the genuine people who really just want to love and be loved.